Mary Crashed

While in China I had the privilege of working in deliverance and loved it. The thing of it was that I never asked for that opportunity. I was sought out by individuals I didn’t know and I had no idea why they came to me for help.

The midweek meetings when I taught in Beijing were the highlight of each week because we met in small groups of our own choice. My prayer partner was the wife of a diplomat and their apartment was commodious so they held a meeting in their home. The gathering could be noisy so it was my habit to go to the kitchen to be quiet before the meeting. A bedraggled young woman whom I didn’t know started attending and she came early to search through the rooms until she found me. She didn’t talk much but followed me like a puppy. I knew she was demonized but didn’t have permission to address that, until one evening she asked if I could take her through deliverance. I was cautious and asked my prayer partner if she would join me and we could meet in her apartment. She agreed so the appointment was set up.

When I came to meet with Candy, my partner, I brought her a book by Rebecca Brown, MD, He Came to Set the Captives Free, which she put on the sideboard to look at later. Mary came and we sat on the floor together to seek the Lord for His will. I heard very clearly that there was to be no deliverance. Candy also heard the same. So we tried to explain to Mary that the Lord wouldn’t let us do any deliverance but that He loved her very much. Candy had some oil so Mary asked if she could have some on her finger. Then she needed to use the restroom. When she came back into the room we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways.

Candy and her husband had a social engagement that evening and took their two little girls with them. While they were out their apartment caught fire and everything was a total loss. There were no fire stations in Beijing. The fire was so hot that the bed frames melted. The family was moved to a much smaller apartment so there were no more meetings in their home.

I was not invited to the burned out apartment to see the damage for one whole year but I finally asked to see the damage.  The Chinese workmen were afraid to enter because they felt an evil present there. I walked through the trashed apartment looking carefully for – I didn’t know what. Finally I noticed a swipe of oil on the door frame across from the bathroom, so I knew what took place! Candy and I prayed together to drive out the evil and within the week workmen came to rebuild the destroyed apartment.

Meantime, Mary crashed and had to taken to a psychiatric hospital. She had two young children so another member of the Beijing International Christian Fellowship went to Mary’s home to get the children and happened to find the book I had loaned to Candy. It had my name in it so the assumption was that I gave Mary the book.

It turns out Mary was deeply involved in Satan worship, and I had heard the Holy Spirit correctly to NOT do deliverance. But most of the Fellowship was up in arms because they considered that I had precipitated the crash and there was talk of having me sued. How could I be so foolish as to give Mary such a book? I shouldn’t be reading such foolishness, much less give it to a demonized person!!! My prayer partner was the only one to know the truth but she was silent.

One of the religious police set up a meeting with Candy in Candy’s apartment to confront me, and Candy  just let the woman castigate and threaten me with no attempt to set the record straight. At that time (late 1990s) I had no idea about SRA (Satanic Ritual Abuse) and didn’t understand what happened or why. Thank goodness I knew God’s voice! There were others who had “a word” for me, none of it positive, but in my heart I knew I had done nothing wrong.

Only now, years later, do I understand what happened. Did I do deliverances after that? Yes. I knew God’s heart for freeing people from bondages. And I have never been overly concerned with what the religious police might think.

Everybody knows Americans don’t have demons, so since coming home from China in 2002 I have had a hard time going to church, probably because I have a taste for high (spiritual) adventure. Until this past year I have withered on the vine. I am so thankful for my heavenly Father’s soverign move back into my life. He has promised me that I will still bear fruit even to old age and that is happening. Having been out of any spiritual action for about 15 years, this major emotional healing experience of the past year has helped to whet my appetite for more of Him. Discovering the intricacies of my own soul  makes me willing to look to the precious Holy Spirit for detailed guidance, acknowledging my need of Him as I reach out to others.

 

 

Abuse By Neglect

Incomplete Immune and Neurological Systems

Healing is not an accurate term for the restoration of an incomplete  immune system or neurological system. Immune systems and neurological systems continue to develop after birth for up to 18 months, but fail to develop through parental neglect to bond with the infant. It would be more nearly correct to ask for a creative miracle in such a case. If a child were born with only one hand, the healer would not pray for the missing hand to be healed; he would pray for a new hand. So should the healer pray for a person with an incomplete immune or neurological system to be restored as God originally intended.

Several situations where a compromised immune system needs creative restoration:

  • Failure of the infant to bond with parents through parental neglect. Normal growth fails to take place in the brain which is only partially complete at birth.
  • Severe prenatal and infant trauma
  • High level, long-term stress such as war, severe illness, abuse
  • Toxic food and drink: unregulated food additives, pharmaceuticals, genetically modified crops (GMOs), water treatment plants introducing toxic chemicals into our drinking water, etc.

Jesus healed every sickness and disease, cast out devils. But He also restored blind eyes and deaf ears; people who could not speak spoke after Jesus touched them. He raised the dead and restored withered limbs.  Then He commissioned His followers to do the same. After He returned to Heaven His followers continued doing God’s work on earth. We are coming into a very exciting time rivaling those first disciples and their works, but we have yet to see creative miracles taking place to the degree we need them and that we long for.

There is a horrifying increase in occultic abuse of children and the blood sacrifices of prenatal and new-born infants from mothers that no one knew were pregnant. Children who survive these horrors have wounds that extend into the very core of their souls and desperately need healing. But the healing needs to be of the whole person – body, mind, will, and emotions – not just one aspect of their persons. In most cases that will entail healing of parts so wounded that creative miracles are necessary for restoration and normal, healthy life.

As soon as a new mother is able she goes back to work, leaving the infant in day care. With whom does the baby bond? Especially in the American culture, a baby is often left to cry when he/she needs changing or feeding, etc. Instead of teaching the baby to be tough, it teaches the baby that those who should care, do not. He/She feels abandoned. Parents cannot be trusted. Normal development is arrested. This is abuse by neglect.

Did you know there are day care facilities that actively participate in Satanic Ritual Abuse? The child may not have verbal ability to express his/her trauma and appears to be poorly adjusted by busy, distracted parents. If a child is successful in getting to kindergarten without experiencing trauma, he/she will probably have that experience in school as schools presently operate.

Even among adults there is a high incidence of PTSD and panic attacks, anxiety, failure to thrive from stress and illness. The human body was not intended to bear the intensity of stress we are experiencing.

We desperately need more believers who are anointed with gifts of healings, signs and wonders, and miracles. Dissociation is becoming increasingly common as are neurological issues such as Parkinson’s Disease, diabetes and neuropathy, etc. Unfortunately, our medical professionals don’t recognize the increase or the symptoms, and if they do, they don’t know how to deal with healing and repairing the damage. They lack the tools to work with.

As the Praying Medic has mentioned in a recent podcast (https://prayingmedic.com/2017/09/podcast-089-question-answer/), healing is the casting out of something. In contrast, the repair of incomplete development of the immune or neurological system requires power to regenerate and/or bring to life something that doesn’t exist. Jesus restored a man’s withered hand. That was not a healing; it was a miracle requiring power. In Acts chapter 3 a man born lame, who was now 40 years old, was “healed” by Peter and John. Bones and muscles that had not developed were restored and the man leaped up praising God.

Ask God for the power to bring to life those parts of the human body needing restoration and new life. His power is so desperately needed.

Understand that God’s power and authority are based on a relationship with Him and are not given indiscriminately.

Hebrews 2:4 says (this great salvation) was established and plainly endorsed by God

Who showed His approval of it by signs and wonders

and various miraculous manifestations of His power

and by imparting the gifts of the Holy Spirit

to believers according to His own will.

Chris

A young American by the name of Chris taught English as a second language.  During the summer Chris had married a Chinese young lady who spoke no English.  Although Chris spoke, read and wrote Mandarin, his wife was a complicated Hangzhou beauty and he had a hard time understanding her way of thinking based on generations of feminine oppression, so hesitantly he came to ask me questions about women in general.

Chris clearly loved his wife and she had the power to bring him to his knees.  Wang refused to cook, so Chris bought food off the street or in the foreign teachers’ dining room.  Often the steamed buns he left on the table would come up missing and he couldn’t understand why she would throw them out.  She refused to keep the apartment clean, so he hired the two cleaning ladies approved by the weiban (Foreign Affairs Office, an extension of the Public Security Bureau) to clean once a week.  These ladies cleaned all our apartments irregularly, although cleaning was not their specific purpose.  They were generally peasants with an intense loyalty to the Party whose primary purpose was to search our personal effects for sensitive documents; after all, foreigners were all spies.  Nevertheless, Chris had nothing to conceal.  In July before we were to go home, Chris was gathering luggage from the back room and discovered several plates of steamed buns in the storage room, turned to stone.  Wang  was as stymied as Chris was.  The only credible conclusion we could come to was that the Mainlanders, who despise mixed marriages, had tried to create friction between Chris and his new wife.

Chris had a philosophical bent and I enjoyed our conversations that sometimes lasted all afternoon.  He told me he was a member of the West Coast Hell’s Angels, a tough guy who carried chains, brass knucks, and a big chip on his shoulder.  He told me his mother was a Lutheran and a religious fanatic, so he was anti-Christian and a liberal Democrat.  Chris believed there were no absolutes in human life, so I asked if he were willing to share his wife, with other men.  Was it alright if some stranger stole her?  (Kidnapping of women is still practiced in remote regions of China.)  Why is stealing wrong, or lying, or murder?  He turned red when we talked about solutions to political problems although he didn’t swear and wasn’t disrespectful of me.  Slowly we came to trust each other’s integrity in spite of our disagreements on major issues.  Chris had a degree in History and was analytical in his approach to social and political problems.  I respected his ideas and offered logical opposition with biblical absolutes, for example, to abortion, socialism, evolution.  If I made sense to him he was honest enough to acknowledge it.

One evening Chris and I were hotly debating some issue when several of my Chinese students came to visit.  Chris wouldn’t be distracted by their presence and continued the heated discussion to press his points home.  I answered in like spirit and my students’ heads were swiveling to follow the conversation.  After Chris left the students were excited that they had been allowed to listen to such a natural situation; their practice of English was limited to artificial conversations from their text books.   They commented that they couldn’t tell who was superior, either.  In Chinese culture the man should be honored, but the elder should be allowed to win a debate.  Truly the young man and the elderly woman were equals, they marveled.

“Chris, you make me think, and I like being challenged,” I commented one afternoon.  “I can’t conceive of you being a member of Hell’s Angels.  You are a good man and intellectually honest.  Also, you are kind.  That’s obvious because you are so in love with your wife and forgive her over and over for the cruel things she does to you.”

“You sound like my mother!” he snapped. “I would like to take my wife home to America but I don’t want her to become a religious fanatic like my Mom.”

“That’s not likely. Even if Wang were converted she still wouldn’t be like your mother because of cultural differences. Besides, you can step in and gently teach her to be honest and respectful in her faith.” Chris thought this over.

“You’re probably right,” he acknowledged.

His wife refused to go with him when Chris went home at the end of that school year, choosing instead, to go back to her father’s house.  He missed her and often wrote me scrawling letters to express his tender feelings and loneliness for her.  In one of his last letters, months after returning to the States, he was exuberant.  His wife had called his home while he was at work and told his mother that she was at the local airport.  Could Chris come to pick her up?  What a reunion that must have been.  The last I knew, his beloved wife was taking classes in English at a nearby college and they were getting better acquainted.

Three Parts of the Human Soul

Three Parts of the Mind

I asked Abba to reach into my unconscious mind to cast out demons that enabled blockages and then remove the blockages. To heal all the wounds I can’t access. And recreate where necessary. I hadn’t realized the significance of failure to bond with my mother so I asked the Holy Spirit to bond with me. He came so tenderly it brought tears to my eyes with His sweet, gentle love and peace. What an awesome Lord He is!!!

An alter, the “Prostitute”, came to tell Jesus she loved Him back in June and I was embarrassed by her. She had been falsely accused by hyper-zealous Christians in my early days so my Guardian put her in a marble jail. After the Guardian was converted I decided to let her out of confinement and as she stepped out of the marble jail she was about the size of a Barbie Doll. I blessed her and prayed over her and she grew taller until she was adult size. She had on a red dress and spike red heels – dressed to the teeth! She immediately went to Jesus. They embraced like they had known each other for years as  jealously I watched. As they stood in each other’s arms, her red dress changed to a white robe. I asked if she would integrate with me and she said not just now; she wanted to spend a little more time with Jesus first. I never saw her again because we integrated naturally as I fell out of agreement with the lies and false accusations that had lodged deep in my unconscious mind. At the time I couldn’t understand who she was although the Holy Spirit told me she was quite competent in all she chose to undertake. He seemed to admire her but I was mystified. Now I understand that she was part of my Functional mind in the unconscious.

The functional part of the soul is the mind. The mind has three parts: conscious, subconscious, and unconscious. The conscious mind is awareness, how we go through the day. The subconscious mind is the repository for the memory. And the unconscious mind holds beliefs and patterns of thought and behavior. Included in the unconscious mind are automatic skills (playing the piano), thoughts and habits, automatic reactions (such as immediate anger when surprised); complexes (inferiority), phobias (fear of heights),  repressed feelings, subliminal perceptions, desires.

There is no easy access to the unconscious mind except through dreams and rare flashes of memory. Also in the unconscious mind is bonding or lack of bonding of the infant to the parents, especially the  mother. This bonding enables happiness in the infant and the ability to socialize with confidence. It is also responsible for a healthy immune system and neurological system because the new-born hasn’t fully developed physiologically yet.

According to HeartSync (https://www.slideshare.net/rfochler/heart-trek-2016-teaching-week-1) there are two types of trauma. One is the absence of care necessary for normal infant development (neglect). The other is various kinds of abuse that wound the inner being of the victim.

The Original Self is under the three parts of the human soul. Below, the three parts are described  briefly. The goal is to communicate value to each part of the person, including dysfunctional qualities. Recognize that the dysfunction (anger, hatred, denial, confusion, etc.) is there for a reason.  Taken from HeartSync Week 2 slide set, # 17-19, 22

Failure to bond has life-long repercussions:

  • compromised immune system        
  • inability to socialize
  • complexes
  • depression          

 

3 parts of the soul

Russian Expats in China

The expatriates I met in China were a study in human nature and I enjoyed getting acquainted with people from many other nations of the world, particularly in Beijing where embassies are located and about 200,000 foreigners live.  The significant foreign population is worrisome to Chinese officials who try to keep a firm hand on all they do, especially as regards the Beijing International Christian Fellowship and mid-week fellowship  groups.  When I first visited BICF in the mid1980s one could walk in freely.  Even Chinese could enter the meetings although if someone were caught, both the guest and the host were in trouble.  Eventually, with attendance hovering at 2,000 on Sunday mornings, those entering the huge meeting hall were required to show their passports because Koreans, Taiwanese, Japanese and Southeast Asians could not be so easily identified as Caucasians and Africans.

                                        A Russian Scientist

Before the end of the Cold War I met several Russian scientists at universities where I taught English as a second language.  The Soviet Union is a vast area including many ethnic groups and I was charmed by their graciousness; they were good ambassadors for their country.  Of course, I was mindful of their Communist ideology and tried to be respectful if someone were unwilling to answer a question, for I was a “question box,” full of curiosity.

In my first assignment there were two Russian scientists.  Universities are where scientific research is conducted, so foreign guests are carefully watched.  Nevertheless, I was extremely curious about A. and his teammate who played the piano.  The piano player was from the Baltic Sea area, dark skinned and hot tempered, so I learned to leave him to his after dinner music.  A. was from Moscow and had a sunny disposition.  His skill at acquiring languages was astonishing.  Only a few weeks after the term began, when the Foreign Affairs Office took us to see nearby places of interest, A. would step off our bus and converse with passing Chinese on the streets.  He wanted to learn English and asked me to tutor him so I willingly agreed and was in awe of his ability to pick up idioms and proverbs, which make language more natural.

On Russia’s National Day the two men held a celebration for the foreign teachers after dinner.  A’s .part was to recite a Walter Mitty essay in English although he didn’t understand all the words.  His dramatic recitation was incredible – we appreciated his effort to speak to us in our language after studying only a few months – and clapped wildly when he finished.  He didn’t expect our enthusiasm to be so exuberant.

“I say something wrong?” he inquired.

“No, no,” we wailed in tears.  “You were wonderful!”  A. burst into a smile.

After leaving that university I kept in touch with A. who eventually returned to Moscow.  The last I heard from him his mother had died and he was too devastated with grief to write.

                                                  Tatyana

At a different university there were a number of Russian students studying Chinese and a lady who taught the Russian language.  We knew Tatyana to be the “party whip” to keep the students from straying into the American camp.  Tatyana was a personable woman and we Americans enjoyed including her in our get-togethers, but we knew from the Russian students that she could be harsh when one of them exceeded his boundaries.  In fact, one of the beginning American teachers in our compound made frequent trips to Beijing with one of the Russian students to sleep together.  The youthful American commented that the Chinese were very reluctant to rent a room to them because they weren’t married and were racially different.  The two decided to get married in China hoping that international law would allow the young man to immigrate to America as her husband.  When I last heard, they were not having much luck in getting him a visa.

                                        Another Russian Friend

After the Wall came down in Berlin, the Russians in China were much more relaxed.  B. lived across the hall from me.  She was about my age and height, with a heavy limp.  During a volley ball game years ago she had fallen and dislocated her hip but didn’t receive proper care.  We went out often as tourists to see many attractions and her stamina was admirable, but she longed to recover a natural walk.

“Joyce, I have this experimental medicine.  Will you give me injections?”

“Yes, I would be glad to, but I’d like a nurse to show me the proper procedure.  Also, have you considered the quality of the needles?  I’ve heard that Chinese-made needles are very poor quality and could cause inflammation if the series of shots will be long.”

I located a Chinese nurse who taught me the procedure. I had worked as a medical technologist in the lab of a teaching hospital in the States and already knew how to draw blood, so injections were a piece of cake. The only problem was an occasional bad needle that made B.  scream with pain.  The medicine didn’t seem to make any difference but B. felt she was doing something to help herself.

 

Dealing with Generational Curses

The most difficult part of my journey has not been the fragments and alters. Jesus and Abba soverignly walked me through those dark places. My part was simply to hunger with a strong commitment and obedience. I have found the most difficult part of my journey to be generational curses. The reason I didn’t want to go to earth to be conceived and born was curses on my life even before conception. I remember how reluctant I was to go, at Jesus’ bidding, to my parents.

When I took the time to go through the renunciations provided by Restoration in Christ Ministries (www.rcm-usa.org) I was surprised at the massive exit of dark entities, like a dust cloud. There was a definite sense of greater freedom.

What caught my attention as I thought about my first year of life and the two bouts of double pneumonia before I was a year old – it seemed that my mother and her father, my maternal grandfather, prayed much for me, but their prayers were like curses! How was that possible, I wondered. As far as I knew, Mom’s ancestry was Quaker and they were good people. I did have a question about Grandpa’s father, though, so I obtained that man’s obituary. Sure enough. My maternal great grandfather was a Freemason, belonging to two different lodges.

I followed up with a closer look at the manifestation of curses and found that it was generally the first-born who was targeted with certain curses. Because Mom and Grandpa had no understanding of Masonry curses, their prayers were perverted by the enemy who saw me as his property. Three areas of physical health effected by Freemasonry are respiratory; blood conditions and circulatory problems; and lack of  emotional balance. (https://youtu.be/lnri2zV5KDA) All of these can be observed in my family line back to the great grandfather.

A complete surprise was discovering that I have druidic roots, too. I am our family genealogist and knew that was possible, but had only been successful in tracing maternal ancestry back to early America. I knew Mom’s family was English, however.  Druidic roots are quite different from Freemasonry but definitely noticeable. Because Druids were the intelligencia of their day, and because they dealt with knowledge that God had forbidden (Post: Basis of My Calling), their power was/is strong witchcraft.

For example, one of the disheartening druidic curses that has followed me has been the suspicion by those in leadership that I am a danger to them – guilty of high treason (Arthur Burk at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FnNU0lqAXRc). My calling in the Lord is intercession, so this attitude of leaders toward me has been heartbreaking. Druidic traits include ability to discern and wisdom, which has been a blessing to my siblings and me, but the perversion of knowledge of the future (prophesy) has brought heartache and distrust.

Falling out of agreement with those curses while facilitating the blessings has caused me some confusion and hesitation as to how to proceed. I believe I’ve heard the Holy Spirit saying to rest in Him and trust Him to guide me and teach me. He will show me the way.

There are occultic practices on both sides of my family, as is probably true of all families if they are searched far enough back. Those practices are usually not as severe as the “organized” witchcraft of Freemasonry and Druidism. But bloodshed, Satanism, and deliberate abuse for programming of victims is on the rise and must be dealt with by Jesus. Both victims and perpetrators need to repent and accept the precious Blood of Jesus for sins of rage and bitterness, of violence and bloodshed.

After repentance comes a process of healing and recovery with the triune God reaching down in pity and compassion to lift up His beloved, broken humanity. Inner healing, emotional healing are simply words describing the process of holiness our Lord is calling us to. I wonder if those who say they are too busy or that their history is too intricate have really considered what the walk with Jesus is about. The love and intimacy of walking with my Beloved has been worth every step on the path with Him.

French-Canadian Teacher

During the spring of 1989 the marches crescendoed before the June 4th Tiananmen Massacre.  The university where I taught hosted two Rhoades Scholars and their families as well as another man who brought his wife and two little children to teach in China and do research for his PhD.  School authorities insisted that we faithfully show up for classes even though students were marching every day and classrooms were empty.  The three families fled from the anticipated tragic end of the marches and returned home.  One of the remaining foreign teachers, besides me, was a French Canadian woman in her 40s.

C. had traveled extensively but this was her first year in China. She knew to be cautious about eating raw fruits and vegetables but picked up a microorganism her very first week in the country. The resulting bloody diarrhea made her faint and weak.

After class one morning C. called the university Foreign Affairs liaison to meet her at the university hospital.  The system of getting a doctor in hospitals in China requires the sick person to stand at a window to tell what the problem is.  Then they must go to another window to stand in a long line with people pushing and shoving to pay for the hospital charge.  The receipt must be returned to the first window where a doctor is assigned.  There are no waiting rooms and no seats for the ill.  Since C. was too ill to stand in line, Mrs. Z. stood in line for her.  C. passed out and fell to the filthy floor so someone ran to find a doctor.  Meantime, C. awoke.  The university liaison was gone so she got up and walked back to our compound, a considerable distance.  You can imagine the hubbub when Mrs. Z. and the doctor came rushing back into the reception area only to discover that the foreign teacher was nowhere to be found.

All that school year C. kept her apartment windows heavily curtained, which I thought was rather peculiar, and she wasn’t friendly at all.  But as the student marches increased in May she began to knock on my door and come in to discuss the situation.  She had a wonderful sense of humor in expressing her political fears.  I was the contact person for the American Embassy in that city but there were no calls – ever.  The Canadian Embassy called C. every day, however; so she was a source of comfort to those of us remaining at the school.

One day C. asked me if there were detective agencies in China and I assured her there were not.  She confided that the reason she had plead serious illness and covered her windows so tightly was because she was having an affair with a Chinese  graduate student who also worked in the University Foreign Affairs Office.  In the confusion of the marches this young man had failed to keep a clandestine appointment with her and C.  was worried about his safety.  The Chinese despise immorality among foreigners and their own, and mixed marriages.

“How can I find X.?”

“If you have plenty of money, find someone who is wise in the ways of their own culture and offer them enough money to cover traveling expenses, hotels and food to locate your lover.  Tell them you will give them twice that amount when you recover X.”

C. thought over the people she knew and chose a man who agreed to her proposition. Now the anxiety of waiting hung heavy over her, so we tried to find things to occupy our minds. One afternoon I commented that I needed a hair cut but I hesitated to go to a local barber.

“I’ll cut your hair,” Claudette offered.

“I didn’t know you knew how to cut hair!”

“Oh, I’ve cut other people’s hair at times,” she remarked airily.

So I carried a chair out into the back of my apartment, gathered a small table for comb, a mirror and scissors, and found a towel to cover my shoulders.  First C. cut this side, then a little from the other side to even them up, then a little more on this side again.  At last there was almost nothing more to cut so I begged her to stop.  Some of that greasy kid stuff was necessary to make my spiky hair lay down.

“Miss B, you got your hair cut!”  Pause.  “I don’t like it.”

Neither did I, but what was done was done, and it took a long time to grow out, too.

One morning Voice of America shortwave radio ordered all Americans to leave China and the Foreign Affairs Office called to say they had arranged for C., two other single foreign teachers and me to go to the provincial Foreign Affairs Office to get our documents in order so we could go home.  Buses weren’t running so we were taken by private car through back streets to the provincial offices.  Everything went well although the Russian teacher was noticeably tense.  However, getting back to the university was not as easy.  Many of the streets we had just used were blocked by public buses and crowds of paid thugs – paid by the government to confuse the populace into thinking the students were violent.  C. and I were wide-eyed, but the Russian teacher was terrified.  Possibly she had seen this type of chaos in her own country and anticipated a bloody end.  Eventually we got safely back to our compound, relieved to return to the relative security of our high walls and iron gate.  By this time the government had ordered all public transportation shut down so we depended on our university officials to find us transportation to Beijing or Shanghai with a Chinese chaperone.

X. was found in a prison far from our university. Money will buy anything, so C. bought off the prison officials and quietly X. went home rather than return to university. Realizing that she had put his life in danger, C.  arranged for covert curriers to deliver messages rather than further compromise his safety by telephone.  The city telephone system was manned by our English majors.  The lovers decided to get married but the work unit had to give permission since marriages and births are considered a state issue.

“If the University Foreign Affairs Office refuses to give permission for X. to marry me, what will we do?” C. wondered one afternoon.

“Every document in China can be counterfeited.  Why not buy the necessary documents on the Black Market,” I suggested.

“Great idea!”  So C. found the connections she needed and the two were married.  The next step was for her to safely get X. to Canada, so they planned and schemed to counterfeit his passport.  This took several months but finally they were able to arrive in Canada.  The last I knew, X. was ecstatic and had arranged to have his parents and brother come live with them in Canada.  Then extended family members began emigrating. Exasperated,  C. wrote me to say there was no room in her little two-bedroom house for one more body and she was thinking of moving out. That was the last I heard from her.

 

The Guardian

I described several weeks ago (July 29) an encounter with the Lord that I didn’t understand very well. Now I’m more able to explain why I felt like I had been converted all over again, although I had given my life to Jesus as a 14 year old.

As has been the case with my emotional healing journey, something happens regarding healing, then later I read about it and the Holy Spirit brings understanding. Perhaps the reason for this healing sequence is that I must trust Him. By this time, I am eager to have Him working deeply in me because He is indeed trustworthy.

By reading the book Broken to Whole, authored by Matt Evans, Diane Moyer, et al, I found several references to the Guardian as one aspect of the tripartite person, the other two being Function (mind) and Emotion. Apparently the Guardian is most difficult to work with, very controlling to keep the original self “safe”. Back in the early part of my journey I met Fear who was terrified that I would be hurt by God the Father and Jesus in my inner meadow. (Tree House, Jan. 28) She was an alter living in the Guardian segment of my soul, and she was trying to keep me safe. Sometimes the Guardian is not a believer and hinders God’s work within. And in my case, the Guardian seemed to be a man – a harsh one (I was extremely strong-willed).

I begged God to go deep into my inner being for healing but I didn’t know what to ask for. I simply trusted Him to know what I needed and to address the issue(s) – which He did. Because the Guardian is a part of me, it felt like I had been converted all over again. Converted or not, he was still harsh, so I asked Abba to fellowship with him while I slept. The next day I noticed that the Guardian was now a woman as she should be, and she was gentler though still on guard.

I explained to the newly converted Guardian that the Holy Spirit was my Standby, so she could relax and trust Him to protect me. I told her about the two demons that came to harm me several months ago and how fierce Holy Spirit was in sending them away. Sometimes evil entities are vaporized before they have time to turn around to flee!

The precious Holy Spirit is truly a gift – a Treasure. Sometimes as I think to myself, He agrees emphatically with what I just thought, and that surprises and delights me. He is listening even when I’m not talking to Him directly. And sometimes when I speak to Abba or my Bridegroom,  the Holy Spirit answers! I laugh and ask if He answers for them, too? His voice is distinct from theirs but always gentle and kind. At times I am not easy to work with and He is so longsuffering and humble in dealing with me. Oh, how I want to be like Him!

Thoughts on Emotional Healing

Someone asked me how I got started with this most recent emotional healing journey so I thought my readers might like some of the back story.

I have always been a cat lover and have always had a cat here in the States. When I returned from China I got a cat. When he died I got another. My last kitty was an animal shelter rescue – it was a kill shelter. The cat had some strange ways and one day I noticed that he had a notched ear – he was a TNR – trap, neuter, return – from some large city. My town is quite rural and far from any city having such a program. The cat had the typical health issues of a feral cat so I cared for him as best I could but after three years of medicating him every four hours, he died of kidney failure. I grieved for him more than I should have because he plugged a huge hole in my loneliness as a single, retired missionary.

When I started looking for another cat more than a year later I heard a tiny voice suggesting that I needed to spend more time with the Lover of my soul. But I didn’t want to be without a cat so I delayed. Finally I gave in and requested my pet deposit. The check came in August of 2016 and I began to have serious longings for love in my loneliness. I laid in bed at night and begged Jesus to come and love me. Then one night He came! I ran to meet Him and He pressed me to His heart. He didn’t let me go after a short polite hug but held me, and I melted into Him.

I gave up something that occupied my time and attention. Then He came with something He knew I hungered for more than a pet could ever give. So, the first requirement for emotional healing is a desperate, sustained hunger. Few people come to the foot of the cross unless they are desperate for an answer to the deep longing within.

The second step is desperate, sustained hunger. No, this isn’t a typo. After a taste of the supernatural, too many people say, “Thank You very much.” and go on their way, no longer desperate. Jesus’ love meant far more to me than the love of a sweet kitty. I couldn’t get enough of Him and pressed Him for every moment of intimacy. In that commitment to Him, my Bridegroom responded gently and with longsuffering, for I was like the feral cat – I didn’t know how to behave – but never did He make me feel inadequate or dirty.

All my life I have yearned for an intimate relationship with the Creator. I have printed on a slip of paper where only I can see it when I sit to have a devotion in the mornings:                     meditation brings revelation;                                                                                                             revelation brings manifestation.

I have memorized several chapters in the Psalms, and possibly Psalm 27 is my favorite. I often pray it to Jesus before going to sleep at night and on waking in the mornings.

Psalm 27:4 One thing have I desired of the Lord,

that will I seek after;

that I may dwell in the house of the Lord

all the days of my life,

to behold the beauty of the Lord,

and to inquire in His temple.

My spirit groans with desire to see Jesus’ face and be able to talk to Him (as opposed to prayer).

Psalm 27:8-9 When You said, “Seek My face,”

My heart said to You, “Your face, Lord, will I seek.”

Do not hide Your face from me;

Do not turn Your servant away in anger;

You have been my help;

Do not leave me nor forsake me,

O God of my salvation.

If Jesus wanted me to seek His face, then He must show me His face! I remind Him of this, and He always comes when I cry. I remind Him that His commands and these promises are for NOW – not sometime in the distant future, in Heaven.

Psalm 27:13-14 I had fainted unless I had believed

to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.

Wait on the Lord; be of good courage,

and He will strengthen your heart;

wait, I say, on the Lord.

There is another verse that I remind the King of kings of. In Matthew 11:12 we are told that the violent take the Kingdom by force. That’s me. I am violent in accessing God’s holy Kingdom. And by experience I have found that He likes that kind of violence! He loves it. And rewards me with His beautiful, majestic, humble and gentle presence.

After one exceptionally precious encounter with my pure and holy Bridegroom I asked Him if this was a one-time experience and He replied, “No, Joyce. You can come any time for an encounter with Me.” And He reminded me of Hebrews 4:16 where we are encouraged to come boldly to the Throne of Grace. My need is simply more of Him. To know Him is to hunger for more.

Mom’s Visit to China  

Mom and my sister came to visit me during the Chinese Spring Festival.  I wanted to take them to see the Great Wall, terracotta warriors and other sights of interest while they were in China, so one of my students from Xian, offered to help make arrangements for us to visit his home town.  He wanted us to sleep at his home so I left the responsibility of getting local officials’ permission up to him.  As with most Chinese students, he thought his family could have foreign guests, but I cautioned him to protect himself by getting documents signed by the proper authorities.

When we arrived in Xian he took us to his home to meet his family but we were not permitted to eat with them nor sleep at their home overnight.  Instead we were put in a car and driven more than one hour out into the plains to an isolated factory.  The strange men showed me that the factory furnace had been heated warmer than usual for their workers and lead us to a room in a small isolated guesthouse.  The beds had been made with clean sheets and blankets and there was hot water.  The men showed me where the toilet was and then said they would return the next morning to take us back to town.

My sister was terrified and thought we were being imprisoned.  I didn’t understand what the men had in mind and knew it was strange but I didn’t want to add to her fear, so I made little of our strange accommodations.  The worst of it was the bitter cold and the lack of adequate water to drink.  We slept in all our clothes under the heavy cotton batting quilts and woke up early because we couldn’t sleep for the cold.  Finally we had to get out of bed to be ready for the men’s arrival.  They came as they said they would and I asked them to take us to a Chinese hotel which they did.

Bill offered no explanation about the odd “hospitality” but we hadn’t brought enough money to stay at a decent hotel – “decent” being 5-star in my sister’s mind.  I can remember that it was warmer than the factory on the desolate plain, but still very filthy with spittle on the floors and unwashed tea cups for patrons to drink their hot water from.  The drapes were filmy Dacron, stained from many rains and scanty covering for the windows, the Chinese not wasting unnecessary fabric in window or bed coverings.

This incident solidly confirmed my sister’s fear that she might never get safely back to America. As soon as we returned to Beijing she asked one of my friends with connections in the airline ticket booking office to get her a flight back to the States as soon as possible. So the day after we got to Beijing my sis left Mom behind and fled back to America!

Thankfully, Mom stayed with me for the second week of  ”touristing”.  She said I had been in China almost ten years and if I said it was safe, then it must be safe.  I was so happy she stayed and without my sibling to always be complaining about something, Mom and I had a wonderful time.

It was months later that Bill told me the officials wanted to turn the three of us over to the police as being spies since our passports were counterfeit.  I brought out my passport and we studied it carefully.  The Chinese characters were plain and easily read, so we concluded that the officials must have been semiliterate, not being able to read their own language.  Of course, I never told Mom or my sis  how close we actually came to being turned over to the Xian police for having counterfeit documents.

I had been to Xian twice before and both times had difficulty getting back to my Chinese university because of corrupt officials in transportation and hospitality. A crime syndicate controlled hotels, train and plane tickets in and out of the city.  Pay up or you don’t go.  With tourism being a multimillion Yuan business, local crooks cooperated with each other for their mutual benefit.  The mafia finally got too big for their britches and Beijing took notice of the embarrassment they brought to China through stranded and very angry tourists.

Mom was eager to join me in intercession and deliverance of the foreign students’ building at the university where I was teaching at the time. A German student studying Mandarin told me there were often footsteps heard in their halls and sometimes knocks at their doors. When they went to answer the door no one was there but they could hear someone running away. I did some research and discovered that the foreign students’ building was located over an ancient graveyard.

With such a long history, modern buildings are frequently erected over old cemetery ruins.  Mom and I prepared ourselves by searching our hearts and confessing any sins brought to our minds then each of us took oil to the now empty dormitory to walk through the halls and stairwells, anointing doors, windows, and other openings, commanding entities to leave. When my friend and her fellow-students returned there were no more knocks on their doors or footsteps heard in the hallways.

I took Mom to a qi gong exhibition in a large park so she could see and experience the supernatural strength of practitioners of qi gong. One man held a very tall ladder on his shoulders and another man climbed it. Along with qi gong there is often a foul stench. Both men had trouble with their balance and stability and at last failed. Mom admitted that she was binding the empowering spirits as was I.

Mom’s visit is among my favorite memories in China.