I was first exposed to the realities of demon possession and spiritual warfare as a young teenager. My dad was a well-respected Southern Baptist minister who was gifted at expounding God’s Word and who had a huge heart to help hurting people. However, he had no idea the focal point of his career would end up being deliverance ministry . . . something he would eventually define as his life calling. It all started when a woman (who was part of a satanic coven) called my dad at midnight, saying someone had given her his phone number. She asked, "Is it true that since Satan is real, that God is real too?" This encounter began a long season of late night phone calls, emergent rushes out the door, threats on our family’s safety, and all night prayer vigils. And yet, my parents still welcomed this woman into our lives. She spent many nights sleeping in our guest room, even over Christmas. I watched my parents evolve as they tried to help this woman out of profound demonic bondage, all the while struggling to keep up with an unfamiliar learning curve. But their faith drove them forward, fueled by love for God and love for people . . .
Last year, I had the odd idea that I should give up wearing make-up for Lent. But Lent was starting in just a few days, and the thought of not wearing make-up to certain places felt daunting . . . so I put the idea on hold. I try to say “yes” to all of the Lord’s promptings, but He knew I needed more time to process this idea. This was one of those thoughts God planted for me to ponder . . . until I felt His grace to move forward. So I told my Abba I was listening and gave Him my “yes” for the following year. And now here I am a year later . . .
I signed up for Facebook (FB) after my son was born in 2008. It was fabulous connecting with old friends and sharing pictures of our families with each other. However, it did not take long before I started to receive friend requests from old high school classmates, and friends of friends that I barely knew. It seemed harmless to accept their requests, but before long, my newsfeed page was covered with posts from people with whom I did not have a relationship. I did not care about their political opinions or what they ate for dinner, but somehow I ended up thumbing through all their posts. At times, I even felt an unspoken pressure to . . .
