My Walk Through the Valley of Baka, Part I
I made the same reference in the last post; it’s from Psalm 84. Baka (בָּכָא) means ‘weeping’ and the operative preposition is ‘through.’ I didn’t do much weeping, but you get the idea. This has been on my mind for the last few months as I watched the behavior of many people at the homeless housing. And it’s interesting that my sojourn in homelessness occurred in the San Fernando Valley.
Almost on a daily basis, I read or listen to Christian commentators. Many of them discuss eschatology or break down scripture. But one topic has interested me: missionary work in Third World countries. Oh, I don’t feel lead to do it, but I find a consistent observation fascinating: that the evil side of the supernatural is often more undisguised and overt in African, Central American, South American, Middle Eastern and Asian countries than in the USA and Europe, due to the prevalence of non-Christian and/or occult practices in many of these places. Observers have also said that this often makes prospective new converts in these places more open to God’s supernatural manifestations than is so in the First World.
We “sophisticated” Westerners–even Christians–tend to scoff at the otherworldly. But what are incidents like this, this and this (ad infinitum), but supernatural manifestations? Jesus healed demoniacs; and I bet that, if those demoniacs had lived in the 21st century, they’d be posting manifestos against God and everyone on social media before they went out in a blaze (pun intended) of glory–or before the Son of Man had mercy on them.
But I saw nothing so horrendous. However, I saw things that my previously sheltered state rendered me powerless to explain using “rational” means. Was the homeless facility in which I lived a portal for the Enemy? I’m sure it was; it was an aggregation of fear and hopelessness, which is what the Enemy is selling. That much I know.
Day after day, I could sense the evil working in the homeless facility, as I mentioned in the last post. Occasionally, I would allow those feeling to affect me, but it was never for very long. Prayer, reading the Bible and regularly attending church would push those feeling back. But it was a constant effort. (One of my prayers is that I don’t let up now that the attacks are not as overt.) I’d say that I wasn’t all that successful, as my writer’s block might indicate.
And a few times, I got to see the works of the Enemy up close.Let’s talk about a guy named Dean.
Dean,* a Navy veteran, was slim, had long brown hair and blue, glassy eyes. He walked around the courtyard of the facility in full ramble mode. If one actually listened, it sounded like gibberish–usually. And, usually, it involved Jesus. Dean’s main theme: that he, himself was Jesus.
I heard of one supernatural incident in which he was the star and saw one myself.
I was sitting on one of the benches in the smoking area having a conversation with someone else and Dean was behind me, babbling. The facility appears to have once been a hotel. The smoking area is a small, area in the corner of the courtyard. It’s boxed off by planters which are separated by wooden benches and in the planters are trees in various stages of growth. (Interesting aside: if one sits under the trees, it feels as if it’s raining; the trees “weep.”)
Dean had an odd habit of pulling the leaves off of the trees and tossing them randomly. But, this time, he was pulling them off and tossing them on my back. I cut off my conversation, turned to him and said, “stop that.” I was looking him directly in the eyes.
Suddenly his glassy stare cleared and he responded.
“Get off my land. Go back to your husband.” I felt a chill go down my back. I could only think to rebuke him in the name of Jesus the Christ and that’s what I did. On the mention of Christ’s name, Dean stalked away from me.
The second incident involving Dean is second-hand, but, to me, it’s more jarring.
Two other residents of the facility–Rodney and Janice–got to see what I’m about to relay. Neither person is particularly religious (though, after the following incident, Rodney began attending church with me).
The two watched as Dean climbed up on one of the planters described, babbling as usual about Jesus. Then Dean put up his arms in Crucifix fashion and began to exclaim: “I’m Jesus, I’m Jesus!”
“Get the f*** down from there,” Rodney said, and, just as he finished speaking, both Rodney and Janice say that they felt an unnatural wind blow between them and Dean; so strong that it pushed the former two back. They saw the wind hit Dean directly, knocking him off the planter, and onto the ground–on his backside.
The word in Hebrew for ‘spirit’ is ruah (רוּחַ). It is also the word for ‘wind.’ The Holy Spirit smacked Dean.
Weeks later, Dean ended up getting kicked out of the facility for violence against security and, for months, he hung around on the perimeter of the place–as did several others who had been ejected for various offenses. (Just as I was about to leave, he was allowed back in, as were several other similarly afflicted persons who had been kicked out. And I could feel the level of spiritual chaos rising.)
There are a few other things that happened while I was there, and I will write about them.
*All names are pseudonyms.