Me, Reading My Bible.

Now, it is not my purpose here to in any way to try to convince any reader of anything.  I literally have no desire at all to argue with you about anything to do with God, Gods, or the lack thereof.  I might actually care a bit about what you believe - but it is simply not productive for me to have any sort of back and forth with you about why you may not believe the story that I intend to write out here, or why you think that it is something other than what I say that it is.  "Rational" explanations are fine and dandy with me, but just as I do not expect you to accept my explanation, you should certainly not expect me to accept any sort of "new atheist movement" agenda either.  I intend to write this story, and if you decide to interpret it as me being insane, stupid, or otherwise a irrational - I'm perfectly happy with that.  

But this is a story that I experienced first hand.  I'm not making it up.  If one wishes to dismiss it or explain it away due to something said by some arrogant biologist somewhere who can't seem to comprehend an allegory when he reads one - that's not my problem at all.  I only wish to tell a tale that is absolutely as truthful as I can relay it through an online article.  Perhaps it will prove to be useful to someone somewhere in their personal life.  That, my reader, is the purpose of what follows.

I was living in the Oso Grande trailer park off of Bear Creek Blvd just outside of Desoto, Texas.  There were eight men living in one single wide trailer, and there were three other trailers with the same crowded disposition.  The trailer park was huge, but our trailers, and the men packed into them as sardines, were all a part of Rhema Ranch Ministries.

What is sad to me here is that I do not recall the young man's name.  He was a small seventeen year old that someone found trying to sleep in the Lancaster, Texas Wal-Mart - they brought him to our ministry for drug and alcohol addicts.  It didn't even seem legal to me.  I thought that seventeen years of age was an age that would have someone classified as a child.  This rehab/ministry was full of hard core types, a lot of ex convicts.  They put the seventeen year old boy in my bedroom, which I shared with an ex Hollywood actor who'd fell into drinking very heavily.

Very understandably, the young man didn't speak much, and seemed depressed.  He was still so young that he had a lot of acne, and he had very thick glasses too.  There was no indication of the boy having been any kind of substance abuser at all - he was just homeless.  Of course none of us were in positions to complain about a non addict in our midst, the ministry was more a ministry than a rehabilitation center.  Everyone who wanted to be a part of our ministry was welcome to be a part of it - so long as they weren't using drugs or drinking.

I do not know if you, the reader, have ever been inside a thirty year old single wide trailer home before, or not - but these are small trailers.  There were two sets of bunk beds in each bedroom.  Nobody had room for even enough clothes.  Very cramped were the quarters.

What happened  in the middle of the nights happened three different times in exactly the same way, and I do mean exactly.

This was all several years ago, and at that time I was studying the Bible, and spending a large part of each and every day thinking about the meaning of various and sundry scriptures, and how it all fit into my world.  I was trying to understand things that I'd never understood before, and making a lot of progress at it.  You shouldn't ever think that I've ever been any sort of evangelist, or fundamentalist Christian.  I've a very scientific view of things, and I'm basically a liberal on all social fronts.

I don't write things to get attention - I do this for some other sort of personal satisfaction.  I'm not expecting this article to even get read very much.  Practically - I'm expecting the "new atheist" hordes to come and condemn it all as gibberish written by an idiot.  Frothing at the mouth - as if rabid, the hordes of Dawkins can be seen all over the internet.  Quite an angry lot, those - angry at the world.  It's so funny how they think that religions are the cause of the world's problems.  It's so sad how they miss that were all religions vanquished forever, there would still be the same stupid people doing the same stupid things. . . .like blaming other persons and other persons beliefs for their own problems.

Back to the Rehab/ministry. . .

I typically slept like a rock.  It was joking lead said that I was the head of the sleep ministry.  I was taking some prescription medications then that just kept me tired, and I would always be the first person in bed, and the last to get up.  I'd nap all day long too - when I could get away with it.  I never woke up in the middle of the night needing to relieve myself, or anything like that at all, so the first night that I suddenly awoke for no known reason - I was lying there in silence wondering.  WHY am I awake?

I'm going to assume, dear reader, that you have never been inside of a jail, and have never lived in a communal rehabilitation or ministry.  What you should understand is that when you share a room with several persons seniority gets you a bottom bunk.  Mr. McIlvain, the ex Hollywood actor had the bunk above mine and kept it because he just didn't care much about such things.  The other set of bunk beds was only half full, and the seventeen year old boy slept on the bottom bunk of that set of bunk beds.  

My bunk mate  , Mr. McIlvain, would talk in his sleep sometimes.  I was used to that.  I could hear it sometimes when I was in a light stage of sleep, and I'd sleep right on through it.  My bunk mate, however, always spoke ENGLISH when he spoke in his sleep.  Oh sure, it would be gibberish too sometimes - but at least it always sounded like him.  It WAS him when he talked in his sleep.

So I was inexplicably awake in the middle of the night - and this was unheard of.  It was dead silence other than the sound of snoring, and I, of course, had no plan for anything but to go back into my dream world - where I seemed to always want to be.  The silence, normal night time sounds of the other two sleeping persons, however, was soon interrupted by something that was not human, and didn't sound at all like any sort of language.  The seventeen year old boy who's name I no longer recall began making horrific sounds.  The sounds were not the sounds of his voice, and they were not human voice sounds.  They were the sounds of anguish and contempt, and hatred.

I don't have any problem at all telling you that I was frightened.  Throughout my years I've been in many situations where I was frightened.  I've had four different persons pull a pistol and aim it directly at my face.  I rather like my face, and I intend to keep it in it's natural form, and with the proper apertures - for as long as I am able.  Again, dear reader, I'm going to assume that you are not like me at all, and that you will probably never have even ONE person point a loaded pistol at your face - forgive me if I'm wrong about that.  The thing is, when something like that happens - there's no point in being frightened - as you are in the position to where you should either accept that you are going to die, or either stare the person directly in the eyes, and laugh at them.  In any case - cooler heads really do prevail in those situations.

But this was different.  I'd rather someone pull a pistol on me than to hear sounds coming from a human being that are not human.  There was no possible way that the young man of seventeen, with his still adolescent scratchy voice, could make those sounds.  I've been alive for thirty seven years now, and I've never even heard such malicious sounds come from studio production equipment and all it's digital manipulative glory.

Three times it happened the same exact way.  I never told anyone about it then, and so far as I can recall, I've only ever told three other persons about it; one face to face - and two online.

I simply prayed for it to stop, and, as I'd been instructed, in the name of Jesus, the carpenter from Nazareth; and stop it did.