I used to think that demons were powerful and could really hurt you. Many people prefer not to talk about the spirit realm and shy away from it. But is that the answer? The book, The Demons Within by Raquel Aleman, was a huge eye-opener to me in how the spirit realm works. The good news is that Jesus defeated Satan at the cross a long time ago! And you and I can walk in this victory every moment, every hour, and every day. Raquel Aleman has had more than once an encounter with demons. When you grasp the story below I know you too will see that “nothing is impossible with God.”
Check out her website for a copy of her book:
Victory over Death
by Glory Aleman
If I had paid more attention, I would have recognized all the familiar signs and heard the silent cry of his heart. I would have loved him more; had more patience, more compassion and done everything within my power to help him walk through the darkest time in his childhood. But I was too busy catering to my machismo husband’s every demand to see that my son, John’s, state of mind was in shambles.
By the time I noticed his changed personality, John had been expelled from school because of numerous fist fights and his behavior had already spiraled out of control. He was always bursting with rage and would explode into loud and angry screams at the smallest provocation. But, instead of getting to the root of the problem, my husband’s way of dealing with John’s behavior was to belt him more often.
I didn’t know why John was acting up – why he had become so rebellious. And I didn’t understand why he’d rather be living on the streets than with me and the rest of his family.
When John was 21, my best friend’s grandson – a teacher – was charged with molesting 23 of his students. My family and I started to campaign relentlessly in an effort to prove the teacher’s innocence.
When John saw what I was doing, he came rushing up to me. With hands shaking and tears streaming down his cheeks, he said, ’Why’re you defending that sicko? You don’t know what he did. You weren’t there, Mom. If he goes free, I swear I’m going to shoot him! Mom, I was nine! I was only nine!!!”
I stared at John in shock as I slumped to the floor, my own tears spilling down my face. It all made sense now. His change in behavior, his constant bouts of rage, his moody and introverted personality…
My precious once free-spirited boy had been hurting for years because of what that deranged teacher had done to him. Before I could gather enough emotional strength to talk to, or comfort him, he stormed to the door, turned back, looked at me, lips trembling with emotion then ran out the house.
As his mother, I had failed to protect him. Why hadn’t he come to me for help? How could that have happened and I not know about it? I knew what kind of trauma could do to a child’s psyche because I had experienced it myself. So why did I not recognize the signs?
I didn’t see John for months after that, but during that time, I never stopped praying and interceding for him. He’d call me once in a while to let me know that he was okay, but no matter how much I pleaded, I couldn’t talk him into coming home. All I could do was continue to pray and trust that the God I believed in would heal his hurts and send him back to me.
A year later, that same teacher’s photo was splashed over every television station and newspaper. A fancy lawyer had succeeded in setting him free and gotten him acquitted from the 23 counts of child molestation.
Two days later, John called.
“Mom,” he whispered, sniffling. “They let him go! They let that monster go free!!”
“I know,” I whispered. “I’m sorry son.”
“I can’t … I can’t deal with that, Mom.” He sobbed. “I can’t sleep … I can’t eat … I get so many anxiety attacks.”
“Come home, son.” I too started to cry. “Your dad and I can help you.”
“Can you erase the memory of what that sicko did to me? I don’t feel…normal. It’s best that I go.”
“Where are you going?” I asked, already experiencing a sinking in the pit of my stomach. “Where are you?”
“At the… abandoned house on Sixth Street,” he whispered.
“Son, where are you going?” I demanded again, feeling a blanket of helplessness begin to engulf me.
“I took…something,” he sobbed. “I can’t handle this. I love you, Mom. Goodbye.”
I dropped the phone, ran to my truck, and sped to him. I knew where the house was. Breaking every speed limit and ignoring every red light, I prayed that I would get to him in time.
When I ran to John, he was convulsing on the floor, his eyes twitching. I didn’t have to be a doctor to know that I was too late.
The only antidote and armament in my possession was the Word of God.
“Devil, you will not take my son!” I screamed. “In the name of Jesus Christ, I demanded that you pull your claws off of him. My son will live and not die.” Grabbing John by the arms, I dragged him to my vehicle, shoved his body inside, and sped to my church.
“Father God, You did not give John to me just so he would live a tormented life and die an early death. Your son, Jesus, already did that for all humanity,” I cried. “Lord, thank you that my son will live to do great and mighty things for Your kingdom.”
When I got to the church, I dragged him inside and hollered for help. Several pastors ran to assist me.
“Sister, Glory, just let him be,” said the senior pastor after taking a look at him. “He’s already gone.”
“No, he’s not!!” I argued. “My son will live and not die. Please help me pray. I don’t need any of you to help me believe for a miracle. The miracle is already mine. All I need is for you to be in agreement that my son will wake up healed, set free, and transformed. Now, PLEASE pray.”
Three hours later, John sat up, smiled at me, raised his arms to heaven and whispered, “Jesus. Jesus.”
John wandered for a few more months, but he did come home. Today, he’s of a sound mind, loves and serves the Lord, and has three children.