Grace and peace, believers.

This has not been a good week for me spiritually.  I allowed Satan to beguile me into succumbing to anger, and the result was that I spoke and behaved in a way that was very unbecoming a Christian soldier.

Most of our readers know that I have been fighting a monumental battle with the forces of darkness.  My family and I endure attacks by the enemy that few—other than those who are on the front lines in this spiritual warfare—experience.  Now, I am not so naïve as to think that my case is much different than what most of us in the body of Christ experience.  In point of fact, I have heard much worse.  But, it is merely a matter of fact that you cannot reveal the machinations of Satan in the way we do here and not have him come against you with both barrels blazing.  That’s just the plain truth.

A favorite weapon Satan uses against me is my own wife.  As many of you may know, my wife is not saved.  Though she considers herself a Christian and attends church regularly, she was born and raised a Roman Catholic, and she has never renounced the Roman Catholic faith.  So, for all intents and purposes, my wife is still a Roman Catholic. 

Believe me when I tell you that Biblical Christianity; that is, Protestantism, and Roman Catholicism do not get along at all.  Biblically speaking, my wife and I are unequally yoked; and the results have sometimes been catastrophic for me and my family.  Roman Catholicism is a dark spiritual force that can wreak havoc on a person’s spiritual well-being and that of his loved ones as well.

My family’s spiritual battles have been fought on many fronts: at home and in the streets, in the U.S. and in Europe, in and out of court, privately and publicly, in and out of the media.  It has been a monumental struggle; and there appears to be no relief in sight.  This struggle has certainly taken its toll on everyone in my family.

But I am dealing with it, and have been dealing with it for over fifteen years.  But the last five years have been the most difficult.  As many of you may know, my wife and I only reconciled a year ago, after being separated for four years.  What you may not know is the circumstances of our separation.  I am sharing this with you in the hopes that it will minister to someone out there who may be going through the same thing.

Back in 2008, after long deliberation, I decided to leave my wife.  More details can be found in my article entitled Unequally Yoked.  I was afraid of what might happen to my children if I left, but I reasoned that since the children were with their mother, there was nothing to fear.  So, on the day I was scheduled to fly to the United States (we were living in Germany at the time), I departed for the airport.  But once I arrived, circumstances conspired to keep me from leaving.  Literally everything went wrong.  In the end, I was unable to leave. 

This weighed heavily upon me.  I reasoned that perhaps God did not want me to leave after all.  So, I went back home.  However, things only got worse.  I realized I still had to leave.  As I pondered this, I began to wonder if God wanted me to leave, but not alone.  I wondered if He wanted me to take my children with me.  But I knew that would never happen, because every time I brought up the issue of going Stateside, my wife was reluctant to go.  But the more I thought about it, the more it began to make sense. 

My children at this time were nine, seven, and five years old, and they had never been to the United States.  Many times, while putting them to bed, they would ask me what America was like, and I would describe it to them.  I was saddened by the fact that my children were Americans, but knew nothing about America.  I was even more saddened by the very real possibility that, if I were to leave, they might never know anything about it.  I resigned myself, therefore, to remain in Germany.  But the thought of leaving never left me.

One weekend, my wife went to England to visit a friend.  I decided that while she was gone, the kids and I would spend the weekend at a military base we would visit about two or three times a year to shop and to be around other Americans.  This was as close as we would get to actually being in America.  Somewhere between home and the military base, however, I made the decision that we would fly to America.  And that is exactly what we did.

To make a long story short, we were there for a year and a half.  And it was the best year and a half my children and I have ever had.  Of course, this did not set well with my wife.  She was distraught.  And how could I blame her?  I had betrayed a trust, and taken her only children from her.  I was not proud of that fact.  But I just had to get my children into an environment where I could raise them properly without the negative influences of my wife and Roman Catholicism.  I will not go into what those influences were, because there is no way to do that without casting my wife into an unfavorable light.  In fact, in telling this story, the only one who will look bad is me.  But truth is truth; and sometimes it is not pleasant—even for the truth teller.

To continue: though my wife was initially upset, she eventually found some peace with the situation and, without the distractions of a family, she was able to go back to school, save up some money, travel, and do all the things that she always wanted to do.  Meanwhile, the children and I did all the things that we had always dreamed of doing together.  We went to the park, fished, played, ate at Burger King, Golden Corral, White Castles, ate Chinese food, went to Chuck E. Cheese, raced around Sam’s, etc., etc., and etc.  We had a great time together. 

At home, I didn’t have a television set, so we did not have the worldly distractions that television brings.  Back in Germany, the television set was one of my greatest challenges, as my wife watches it a lot, and my children watched it way too much.  Without this distraction, my children were forced to be creative in their play.  They drew, wrote stories (my youngest daughter wrote a number of comic Gospel tracts), put on plays, and read.  We read the Bible almost every single day, and I told them Bible stories at night.  This became very important, because it eventually led to their salvation.

Eventually, however, my wife decided she wanted the children back in Germany.  So she took me to court and won the right to do so.  During the court proceedings, however, something happened that made me understand that my taking the children in the manner I did was probably the best thing I had ever done in my life.

A “child specialist” was brought in, who was supposed to interview my children to determine if they were competent enough to take the stand, if necessary.  I didn’t know why this was necessary, because I had already indicated that I would not compel my children to take part in the proceedings in any way.  Well, the specialist talked to the children (without my being present) and, shortly thereafter, came out and told the judge that he had interviewed the children and that they were intelligent and capable to stand trial, if necessary.  The judge then asked my wife and I if we wanted them to do so, and we both said no.  About an hour later, the trial was over, and a few days later, I was to learn that the judge ordered the children returned to Germany. 

That evening after the trial, my children and I were at dinner, and they were telling me about all the sweets and soda they were given while they were waiting for the trial to conclude.  During our discussion, my youngest daughter told me that the “child specialist” asked them some very strange questions.  I asked her what kind of questions the man asked her, and she told me that he asked them if they were Christians.  When they responded that they were, the man then asked them if Roman Catholics were Christians.   They told him that Roman Catholics were not Christians, to which the man replied that Catholics are Christians also, but they just worship differently than Protestants.  He then asked them why they felt that Roman Catholicism was not Christianity, and my daughter replied, “because Roman Catholics worship an idol named Mary, and the Bible says not to worship idols.”  The man then told my children that Protestants worship Mary too, but they do it “in secret,” or words to that effect. 

A chill ran down my spine at those words.  At that moment, I realized why there was such a concerted effort to return my children to Germany and why my lawyer only weakly defended me at the trial.  I also realized why I had felt so strongly that God wanted me to take my children to the States, even though I knew it was wrong.  Satan had hoped I would leave the children in Germany with their mother, so that he could turn them into Roman Catholics.  He wanted to send them to Hell.  I believe he wanted to do this out of revenge, because I had been evangelizing Roman Catholics for two years, before I took the children to the States.  Someone might have even gotten saved—or, at least a seed had been planted—and he did not like that one bit.  Satan was out for revenge.

Well, God had other plans.

In August 2009, my wife took my children back to Germany.  And I fell into a black hole of grief from which I did not emerge for about a year.  I’m not asking for sympathy, mind you, because my wife fell into a similar hole: I’m only relating my feelings.  For the next two and a half years I had to deal with the profound sadness my children felt at being forced to live somewhere they didn’t want to be.  It hit my boy especially hard.  He ended up going into a depression and he gained about twenty pounds.  His self-esteem was decimated, and my wife sent him to therapist after therapist.  Once, he was even beat up in the boy’s bathroom at school and ended up with stitches in his head.  You can read more about that here.

Back in the U.S., I tried my best to put one foot in front of the other.  I got deeper into the Word of God, and my prayer life improved in leaps and bounds.  In February 2011, I launched this blog, and in the Spring of 2012, I started a podcast ministry entitled, “These Last Days.”  God opened my understanding of the Scriptures, especially end time events, and I wrote the articles on Generational Curses and Bipolar Disorder that have shown many how to be set free.  I also wrote the articles on the Antichrist and the Mark of the Beast, Steve Harvey, and a host of others that have garnered thousands of hits.  God had shown me my purpose in life.

But back in Germany, my children were miserable.  My son’s depression worsened, while my daughters grew rebellious and unmanageable.  It was sometimes unbearable for me to talk to them and hear the profound sadness in their voices.  They would always ask me when I was coming to see them, and I would always tell them I would see them again one day, but that I didn’t know when that day would be.  Then, one day in March 2012, my son dropped the bomb.  He told me that I had to come and see him right away, because he couldn’t take it anymore.  So I dropped everything, and two days later I was in Germany.

There is no way to describe the scene I was greeted with without casting dispersion upon my wife.  But suffice it to say that I felt instantly justified in having taken them four years earlier.  Anger and disappointment built up in me the likes of which I have never before felt, but I dealt with it.  I told myself that I had to give it to God and I really thought that I had.  But this week, I realized that I hadn’t given it to Jesus at all.  I had merely suppressed it, stomped it down, tamped it into a neat little package and sat on it.  But this week, having withstood three solid weeks of misbehavior, and having been reminded that I have been dealing with this for fifteen years, I stood up, and the anger and hurt popped back into form none worse for wear.

Saints, I can’t remember the last time I have been that angry.  Actually, I can.  And that was the time I ended up giving my wife a black eye.  Don’t worry.  You can’t be any angrier with me than I was at myself.  Saints, anger is not good.

I can’t remember the last time I have said the things to my wife—or to any woman, for that matter—that I said last night.  My only saving grace is that I didn’t call my wife out of her name, using the expletives that are most often reserved for these occasions.  It is only because of this that humility hasn’t prevented me from writing this, because, believe me, Saints, there was little else that I failed to say.  It is only because of this that when the devil whispered in my ear that I hadn’t really changed from that vile person I was before I got saved, that I was able to respond, “Satan you a liar!”

But the damage was done: I had gone too far.  And again, as was the case before I left five years earlier, the whole neighborhood had heard me do it. 

Hurt and embarrassed, I left the house and took a walk.  An hour later I was back, and I went straight to bed were I remained for the next fifteen hours.  During that time, I dreamed dreams of clarity.  I realized that I hadn’t given anything over to Jesus.  I hadn’t given Him the hurt.  I hadn’t given Him the pain.  I hadn’t given Him the disappointment.  And I hadn’t given Him the anger.  I had kept it all.  I also realized that all my life I had hungered for love, affection, and genuine appreciation and gratitude and had never gotten it.  I realized that all I ever wanted was for my wife to genuinely appreciate me as a man, as a husband, and as a father.  I realized that I just wanted my wife to appreciate that from the time we first started out, I had always had her back, and that she never had to worry about anything.  I just wanted her to be grateful that I was there.

I had no idea that this need was so strong in me, until I found myself screaming, “Say ‘Thank you!’ Just say, ‘Thank you!’”   Later, while I walked around in the chill of the early morning hours, I realized the incredible power that ingratitude, real or imagined, can have over someone who needs to feel appreciated.  It can be devastating.  I also understood that I was once guilty of the same crime thirty years earlier.  There was once someone in my life: someone deserving of my gratitude, my affection, and my love, and I didn’t give it.  That person had loved me, cared for me, cherished me, and valued me, and I didn’t reciprocate.  And I could have.  I should have.  But I didn’t.  What comes around goes around.

E.P.A., if you are reading this, I’m so sorry I was so ungrateful.  I’m so sorry I lacked understanding, compassion, love, and genuine affection.  I now realize how important it is for a person to feel needed, and you always said that you just wanted to feel needed.  I understand that a person needs to feel valued and important.  And I’m sorry.

Saints, I am no saint; that’s for sure.  But I thank God for the blood.  And I bless the name of Jesus, the God of Second Chances. 

This time, I’m giving it to Jesus.  It does no good to need to be appreciated by someone, if the person is dead set against showing appreciation.  It’s useless to need to be needed by someone if the person doesn’t want to show you that you are needed.  It’s counterproductive to need to feel loved by someone who doesn’t want to show you love.  In fact, it can be downright destructive, especially if you are involved in daily spiritual warfare. 

What then, do we do, when we need to feel loved, appreciated, needed, valued, and important to our significant other, yet the significant other is unwilling or unable to convey that sentiment? 

We have to let it go; that’s what we have to do.  We have to give it to Jesus.  Now, I know that is easier said than done.  I know it.  But we have to do it.  We can’t go around holding onto the feelings of inadequacy, of loneliness, of being unwanted, of being unappreciated.   If we suppress them, they will only come back up one day, at a time when we least expect them to, at a time when we can least afford for them to.  This is not good.

I know it can be done.  I did it with other things, and the feelings attached to those things were every bit as real as these.  I understand now that I just chose to hold on to these feelings, trying to justify them.  They may be justified, but that doesn’t make them good—or healthy.  We have to give them over to Jesus.  We have to let them go.

We may never hear what we want to hear.  And we are going to have to be alright with that.  We should take comfort in these words:

“I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee” (Hebrews 13:5).

Please pray for me, and I’ll pray for you.

Be encouraged and look up, for your redemption draweth nigh.

The Still Man