Love

Sharing Jesus in the Quiet Places of Care

~ Observant Servant ~ Leave a comment

Over the past couple of months, I’ve been given an unexpected and sacred gift: the opportunity to care for an elderly gentleman from Iran. What began as a simple caregiver role quickly unfolded into something far deeper. In a short amount of time, we’ve shared meaningful conversations, laughter, quiet moments, and a genuine friendship that I now treasure.

As our trust grew, so did the space for deeper conversations. Recently, those moments opened the door for something even more beautiful, the chance to share Jesus with him. I’ve been able to speak about the miracles and healings I’ve witnessed, the faithfulness of God in my own life, and the hope that can only be found in Christ. Every time I speak His name, my heart fills with a joy that’s hard to put into words. It’s the kind of joy that reminds me why the gospel is truly good news.

This man does not yet know the Lord, but I can see the Holy Spirit gently at work in his heart. There’s a softness now. A curiosity. A quiet openness that wasn’t there before. I’m not here to rush the process or force a decision. I’m simply honored to love, to listen, and to be present. I plant the seeds, and God brings the growth.

Being a caregiver often means tending to physical needs, but moments like these remind me that God places us exactly where we are to care for hearts as well. Sharing Jesus doesn’t always look like preaching. Sometimes it looks like presence. Like kindness. Like patience and love poured out one conversation at a time.

I leave each visit feeling full and deeply grateful, humbled that God would allow me to be part of His redemptive work. It’s a reminder that obedience, no matter how ordinary it feels, can carry eternal significance.

“How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!”
Romans 10:15

sharing Jesus

Casualties in a Spiritual War

~ Observant Servant

There are days when the spiritual battle feels distant, almost theoretical. And then there are days when the casualties become painfully real. Not bodies on a battlefield, but hearts that grow weary, faith that fractures under pressure, and people who once stood strong now lying wounded along the road.

Scripture never pretends that spiritual war is clean or casualty-free. In fact, it speaks plainly about it.
Paul reminds us, “For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places” (Ephesians 6:12, KJV). Wrestling is close combat. It is exhausting. And in any close fight, someone gets hurt.

One of the most sobering casualties in Scripture is Saul. He was chosen by God, anointed, empowered by the Spirit. Yet through disobedience, fear of people, and jealousy, he slowly lost ground to the enemy. The Spirit of the Lord departed from him (1 Samuel 16:14). Saul did not fall all at once. He was worn down over time. Pride became a foothold. Insecurity became an open door. The casualty was not just Saul’s kingship, but his peace, his clarity, and ultimately his life.

Then there is Judas Iscariot. He walked with Jesus. He heard truth firsthand. He saw miracles with his own eyes. Yet Scripture says, “Then Satan entered Judas” (Luke 22:3). Judas became a casualty not because he lacked proximity to holiness, but because he allowed unchecked sin and disappointment to take root. The enemy did not need distance. He only needed permission.

Even strong believers can become wounded. Peter, bold and sincere, swore loyalty to Jesus, yet denied Him three times. Jesus warned him ahead of time: “Simon, Simon, behold, Satan hath desired to have you, that he may sift you as wheat” (Luke 22:31). Sifting does not destroy the grain, but it is violent and disorienting. Peter wept bitterly afterward. His denial was a casualty moment, but not a permanent defeat. The difference was repentance and restoration.

Spiritual casualties are not always dramatic betrayals. Sometimes they look like burnout. Elijah, after calling fire down from heaven, collapsed under despair and asked God to take his life (1 Kings 19:4). The prophet who outran chariots was suddenly too tired to go on. Warfare had taken its toll. God did not rebuke him. He fed him, let him rest, and gently reminded him that he was not alone.

That matters to me.

Because spiritual warfare is not just about demons manifesting or battles being won loudly. It is also about quiet losses. Marriages strained. Believers sidelined by offense. Faith weakened by seemingly unanswered prayers. People who love God but are bleeding internally.

Jesus acknowledged this cost when He said, “The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy” (John 10:10). The enemy aims for casualties. But Jesus does not leave the wounded on the field. He continues, “I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.”

What comforts me is this: casualties are not the same as defeat. Scripture is filled with the wounded who were restored. David fell, yet was called a man after God’s own heart. Peter denied, yet became a pillar of the church. Even those overtaken in a fault are to be restored gently (Galatians 6:1).

Spiritual war is real, and so is the cost. But so is the grace of God.

Today, I choose to stay alert without becoming afraid. I choose humility over pride, repentance over denial, and vigilance over complacency. I pray not just to win battles, but to tend the wounded, including my own heart.

Because in this war, survival is not about strength alone. It is about staying close to the Commander, listening for His voice, and trusting that even when casualties occur, redemption is still part of His strategy.

In a war like this, no one is meant to fight alone. Scripture urges us, “Wherefore comfort yourselves together, and edify one another” (1 Thessalonians 5:11, KJV).

Encouragement is not optional in spiritual warfare; it is a lifeline! When one soldier is wounded, another must help carry the weight. We remind each other of truth when lies feel louder, of hope when fatigue sets in, and of God’s faithfulness when vision grows dim.

Hebrews tells us to “consider one another to provoke unto love and to good works… exhorting one another: and so much the more, as ye see the day approaching” (Hebrews 10:24–25, KJV). Sometimes encouragement is a word, sometimes a prayer, sometimes simply staying present. But every act of encouragement pushes back the darkness and keeps another believer from becoming an unseen casualty. In this war, strengthening one another is not weakness. It is strategy.

spiritual weariness

The Safety of Being Hidden in Christ

~ Observant Servant

There are seasons when I feel pulled in a hundred directions. Responsibilities. Conversations. Expectations. Noise. And in the middle of it all, I find myself longing for something quieter — not escape, but refuge.

Psalm 91 has become deeply personal to me:

“He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High
shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress:
my God; in Him will I trust.”
— Psalm 91:1–2

The phrase that lingers with me is “dwells in the secret place.”

It does not say visits occasionally. It does not say rushes through. It says dwells.

There is a difference between knowing about God and living tucked close to Him. Dwelling implies remaining. Lingering. Staying when there is nothing impressive happening. Staying when there is no audience. Staying when the world feels loud.

I am learning that the secret place is not dramatic. It is quiet. It is the steady turning of my heart toward Him before I turn toward the day. It is choosing stillness before reaction. It is letting His voice speak before every other voice gets my attention.

The world rewards visibility. God invites hiddenness.

The world celebrates speed. God cultivates depth.

And depth does not grow in noise.

When the psalmist says we abide under the shadow of the Almighty, I picture being close enough to feel His nearness. A shadow only covers what stands near. The promise is not for the hurried or the distracted. It is for the one who dwells.

I have also realized that the secret place is not about isolation. It is about alignment. I can walk into a room full of people and still carry that quiet steadiness if I have first sat with Him.

There is protection in that kind of life. Not protection from hardship, but protection from losing myself in it. When I dwell with Him, fear does not get to define me. Urgency does not control me. Approval does not anchor me.

He becomes my refuge.

And refuge is not weakness. It is wisdom.

There have been moments when I tried to fight battles without first dwelling. I reacted instead of resting. I spoke before listening. I moved before praying. And I felt the strain of carrying weight that was never meant to sit on my shoulders.

Psalm 91 gently corrects that tendency.

Dwelling is not passive. It is intentional. It is choosing to remain in Him so that when the winds rise, I am not uprooted.

The more I sit with this, the more I realize that the secret place is not a location. It is a posture. It is the quiet decision to trust Him before I trust my own understanding.

“He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in Him will I trust.”

That last line feels like surrender. Not frantic faith. Not anxious striving. Just trust.

If you feel stretched thin or unsettled, perhaps the invitation is not to do more, but to dwell more deeply. To return to the quiet place where your soul is reminded who holds it.

The secret place is not small. It is sacred.

And those who dwell there are never alone.

Father,

Thank You that my life is hidden with Christ in You. Thank You that I am not exposed to the shifting opinions of the world, not defined by applause or diminished by silence. I am held.

When I am tempted to measure my worth by visibility, remind me that security in You is greater than recognition from others. When hidden seasons feel confusing or small, help me trust that You are forming roots beneath the surface.

Teach me to live from belonging instead of striving. Quiet the part of me that wants to prove, perform, or compete. Anchor me in the truth that I am adopted, chosen, and fully Yours.

If You are growing something in me that no one else can yet see, give me patience. If You are protecting me from pressures I don’t even recognize, give me gratitude. If You are shaping my character in unseen places, give me humility.

Lord, let my identity rest safely in Christ. Let my heart be steady whether I am noticed or not. Help me value faithfulness over fame, obedience over approval, and intimacy with You over public affirmation.

Keep me hidden where I need to be hidden. Bring me forward only when You are ready. And in every season, remind me that being held by You is more than enough.

In Jesus’ name,
Amen.

hidden in christ

When Our Lives Speak

~ Observant Servant

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how much our lives communicate without us realizing it.

It’s easy to speak about faith. It’s easy to post a verse, share encouragement, or explain what we believe. But what lingers with people isn’t usually what we say — it’s how we live.

Jesus said, “By their fruits you will know them” (Matthew 7:16).

He didn’t say we would be known by our intentions. Or by how well we articulate truth. He said fruit. Something visible. Something that grows over time. Something others can taste and see.

That humbles me.

Because I know there have been moments when my words were stronger than my actions. Moments when I spoke about patience but responded too quickly. Moments when I spoke about grace but struggled to extend it.

And I’ve also been on the other side — wounded by inconsistency. Hurt by someone who carried the name of Christ but not always His character.

The world already knows hypocrisy. It doesn’t need more of it from us.

When Paul wrote, “Follow me as I follow Christ” (1 Corinthians 11:1), that feels bold. Almost uncomfortable. To live in such a way that someone could safely imitate you.

But I think that’s the invitation.

Not perfection. Not performance. But alignment.

Alignment between what we proclaim and what we practice.

Jesus warned about causing others to stumble (Matthew 18:6). That isn’t meant to create fear, but awareness. Our lives carry influence whether we want them to or not. The way we handle conflict. The way we apologize. The way we respond when misunderstood. The way we treat people who cannot benefit us.

All of it speaks.

And yet, what comforts me is this: when we fail, restoration is possible.

Peter denied Jesus three times. Publicly. Painfully. But in John 21, Jesus restored him with gentleness. He did not discard him. He drew him close again. Peter’s failure was not the end of his usefulness. It became part of his humility.

That gives me hope.

Because practicing what we preach is not about never stumbling. It is about being willing to repent when we do. To reconcile. To make things right. To let our apologies be as visible as our convictions.

Philippians 2:15 says we are to “shine as lights in the world.”

Light is not loud. It is steady.

It shines in the way we forgive when it would be easier to hold on. In the way we tell the truth when it costs us. In the way we love quietly, consistently, without needing recognition.

If I speak about forgiveness, may I forgive.

If I speak about love, may I love sacrificially.

If I speak about Christ, may my life reflect Him even when no one is watching.

The world may never read the Bible, but it reads us every day and perhaps the most powerful testimony we carry is not the eloquence of our words, but the integrity of our walk.

I am still learning. Still being refined. Still asking the Lord to make my life match what my lips confess.

May our lives speak clearly. May they speak gently. May they speak Christ.

reflection in Christ

The Gift of Hate: A Forgotten Weapon for Christian Freedom

~ Observant Servant

There is a kind of language in Scripture that feels strong, almost uncomfortable at first glance.

“Abhor what is evil; cling to what is good.”
— Romans 12:9

That word abhor isn’t mild. It isn’t polite. It means to recoil. To reject something with conviction. And if I’m honest, there have been seasons when I’ve tried to follow Christ without fully embracing that part.

I’ve loved what is good. I’ve pursued growth. I’ve prayed for freedom. But I’ve also, at times, tolerated what God clearly calls harmful. Not because I wanted rebellion, but because some things felt familiar. Some compromises felt small. Some habits didn’t seem urgent enough to confront.

And yet Scripture doesn’t suggest a casual relationship with sin. It doesn’t say “be cautious around evil.” It says abhor it.

That challenges me.

Because this isn’t about hating people. It’s not about harshness or condemnation. It’s about recognizing that sin destroys what God loves. And if I truly love what He loves, I cannot stay neutral toward what harms it.

Psalm 97:10 says, “You who love the Lord, hate evil.”

Love and hate feel like opposites to us, but in this context they’re deeply connected. If I love freedom, I will hate what enslaves. If I love truth, I will hate deception. If I love the people in my life, I will hate whatever seeks to wound or bind them.

I’ve come to realize something uncomfortable: sometimes we stay stuck not because we lack prayer, but because we haven’t fully decided we’re done.

Sin can feel good for a moment. Compromise can feel manageable. Certain patterns can feel like home simply because they’re familiar. And familiarity can dull conviction.

There were times in my own walk when I tried to “manage” certain weaknesses instead of confronting them. I would ask for strength while still secretly tolerating the very thing that kept me bound.

Freedom didn’t begin until tolerance ended.

Hebrews 12:1 tells us to “lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us.” That language is intentional. Lay it aside. Not negotiate with it. Not rename it. Not make peace with it.

Lay it down.

I’ve learned that holy hatred is not loud or dramatic. It’s a quiet resolve. It’s the moment when something in you says, “This is not who I am in Christ anymore.”

It sharpens discernment. Things that once felt gray become clearer. It changes how you pray. You begin praying not casually, but with conviction. You begin asking God to uproot, not just manage.

And yet, even here, humility matters.

Because this is not about self-righteousness. It’s not about looking at someone else’s struggle and feeling superior. It’s about standing before God and saying, “Search me. If there is anything in me that grieves You, I don’t want it.”

Hebrews 5:14 speaks of having our senses trained to discern good from evil. That training happens in the Word. It happens in surrender. It happens when we stop softening language around sin and start calling it what it is.

But we must be careful.

We hate the sin. We never hate the person.

Jesus was unwavering toward evil, yet tender toward the broken. He confronted bondage without crushing the bound. That balance humbles me. I don’t want a heart that is hard. I want a heart that is aligned.

The more I love God, the more I want to love what He loves and reject what diminishes His work in me.

Romans 12:9 does not stand alone. It pairs two commands together: “Abhor what is evil; cling to what is good.”

It is not enough to reject darkness. We must cling to light. Not loosely. Cling.

If there is something in your life that still quietly holds you, maybe the invitation isn’t to try harder. Maybe it’s to become honest enough to say, “Lord, I am tired of this. I don’t want it anymore.”

The day you stop excusing what binds you is often the day freedom begins to feel possible.

Not because you are strong, but because you have decided you agree with God.

And agreeing with Him is always the beginning of liberty.

Father,

Search me gently.

If there is anything in my heart that I have tolerated simply because it felt familiar, bring it into the light. If I have grown comfortable with what You call harmful, awaken me. I do not want to manage what You desire to remove.

Teach me to love what You love and to reject what diminishes Your work in me. Not with harshness. Not with pride. But with clarity. With conviction. With humility.

If there are patterns that still bind me, give me the courage to call them what they are. If I have excused what You have warned against, forgive me. I don’t want partial freedom. I want wholeness.

Lord, purify my loves. Align my heart with Yours. Let my agreement be with truth, not temptation. Strengthen my resolve where I have been weak. Soften my heart where I have grown indifferent.

And as I turn away from what harms, draw me closer to what heals. Help me cling to what is good. Help me rest in what is righteous. Help me remember that Your commands are not burdens — they are protection.

Make my life clean before You. Not performative. Not self-righteous. Just surrendered.

I want to walk free.

In Jesus’ name,
Amen.

silent prayer

Knit Together in Love: Why Unity Protects Against Spiritual Attack

~ Observant Servant

Why Being Knit Together in Love Matters

I’ve been thinking a lot about how fragile unity can be — and how powerful it is when it’s protected.

Scripture speaks of believers being “knit together in love.” That phrase feels intentional to me. Knitting takes patience. It takes care. Thread woven through thread until something strong is formed. It doesn’t happen accidentally.

Colossians 3:14 says, “Above all, put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.”

Love is described as something that binds. Holds. Secures.

And yet, I’ve seen how easily that binding can loosen when we stop guarding it.

Disunity rarely begins with something dramatic. It often starts quietly. A misunderstood comment. An unspoken offense. A conversation held in the wrong tone. Bitterness that goes unaddressed. Gossip that feels harmless in the moment.

Ephesians 4:27 says, “Do not give the devil a foothold.”

That word foothold stays with me. It suggests something small at first — a crack in the wall. A place to stand. And once that space is given, it doesn’t stay small.

I’ve felt how division drains a room. How tension weakens prayer. How unresolved hurt makes worship feel heavy. It’s not just relational. It’s spiritual.

Psalm 133 says, “Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity… For there the Lord commanded the blessing.”

There. In unity.

That tells me something sobering. Blessing flows where unity is guarded. When unity erodes, something vital is affected.

I’ve seen ministries unravel not because of lack of gifting, but because of unresolved conflict. I’ve seen families strained because pride was protected instead of peace. I’ve seen churches lose their clarity because love was assumed instead of practiced.

And if I’m honest, I’ve had to confront my own heart in this.

It’s easy to talk about unity in theory. It’s harder to choose humility when you feel misunderstood. It’s harder to forgive quickly when you believe you were right. It’s harder to guard your words when emotions are high.

Philippians 2:3–4 tells us to “value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others.”

That kind of humility does not come naturally. It is chosen.

Unity doesn’t mean uniformity. It doesn’t mean pretending differences don’t exist. It means choosing love over ego. Choosing reconciliation over being right. Choosing to protect the bond rather than prove a point.

I’ve learned that unity must be tended like a garden. Forgiveness has to be practiced daily. Offenses must be addressed gently before they take root. Conversations must be had in the open rather than in whispers.

When Christ remains at the center, perspective shifts. We remember we are one body under one Head. We are not competing pieces. We are connected.

First Corinthians 12 reminds us that we belong to one another. That truth humbles me. My words affect the body. My attitude affects the body. My willingness to forgive strengthens the body.

Unity is not weakness. It is protection.

When love binds us together, the enemy has fewer places to stand. When humility replaces pride, footholds disappear. When forgiveness is quick, division struggles to survive.

I don’t want to be the thread that snaps.

I want to be someone who protects the weave. Who chooses patience. Who refuses gossip. Who prays for those I struggle to understand. Who keeps Christ at the center even when emotions try to move Him aside.

“Above all, put on love.”

Above being right.
Above being heard.
Above winning the argument.

Put on love.

Because when love binds us together, the fabric holds.

And where unity is guarded, God’s presence rests in a way that nothing else can replicate.

Father,

Search my heart where unity is concerned.

If there is pride in me that resists humility, soften it. If there is offense I have allowed to linger, bring it gently to the surface so I can release it. I do not want to be a place where division finds room to grow.

Teach me to value peace more than being right. Guard my words from carelessness. Guard my thoughts from suspicion. Guard my heart from bitterness that tries to disguise itself as discernment.

Lord, help me walk in the kind of love that binds rather than separates. When misunderstandings arise, give me patience. When conflict comes, give me gentleness. When I am tempted to withdraw or defend myself, remind me that unity is worth protecting.

Keep Christ at the center of every relationship You’ve placed in my life. Let humility anchor me. Let forgiveness come quickly. Let reconciliation matter more than reputation.

If there are cracks forming anywhere around me — in my home, my church, my friendships — show me how to be a bridge instead of a barrier. Make me mindful that my attitude and my words carry weight.

Above all, clothe me in love. Bind my heart to Yours so closely that division has no foothold. May my life contribute to harmony, not fracture. May I help strengthen the weave, not unravel it.

In Jesus’ name,
Amen.

Demons and Deliverance

~ Observant Servant

There’s a portion of my testimony I don’t talk about much and that portion has to do with how badly demons were tormenting me. How terrified I was. I became paranoid. Confused. Thought I was losing my mind. The first time I admitted to what I went through, I was told by a well-meaning Christian, that it was merely a “mid-life crisis”. After that, I never mentioned the depths of torment that I went through again.

In fact, the only time I have openly admitted to it was when I heard someone else talking about their experience. And at that moment I was in tears because I was so relieved I wasn’t alone in my experience.

Demons are nasty and some of the worst ones are let in when a person becomes involved with the occult. I embraced the occult at a young age while still under my parents roof. My mom had her own past that I only know bits of. I know that she was no “dabbler” but into heavy duty stuff that had serious repercussions down the family line. Even after she became a ‘Christian”, I was still raised watching shows like Bewitched, I Dream of Jeannie, Twilight Zone and Tales from the Crypt on a regular basis. Add to that everything Disney had to offer and well, there you see my upbringing was soaked in witchcraft.

I turned fully into the occult by the time I was a teen. That went on for 35 years but in reality, it was my entire life.

When I found myself looking in the direction to Christ for answers, the demons in my life suddenly began rearing their ugly heads. Even though I wasn’t drinking or taking drugs, my mental state went on a terrifying downward spiral toward an abyss that I only knew I wanted no part of.

They began ganging up on me with demons in other people. Thoughts would flow through my mind and the people around me would either say exactly what I was thinking or make a comment about my exact thoughts without me saying a word. It was so horrible. I couldn’t escape my mind. It drove me to God.. and when I committed to Christ, it didn’t get better. In fact it got so much worse. Because now I had switched teams. The threats and visions I got were so intense that had I not been where I was at when it happened, I would have taken myself out in an effort to escape.

Christianity is supernatural.
You can’t escape it.
There is a real unseen realm where the most intense wars are fought.
Any Christian who thinks otherwise or thinks they can skate by and avoid it is fooling themselves.
They are blind.

All of that was part of my journey of deliverance. The only thing was I didn’t realize that I was in the process of it. I still had no idea of what I was up against.

As I stated before, becoming a Christian didn’t stop the torment. When I came to Christ through this process, the Holy Spirit was literally all I had. I didn’t own a Bible and I was in a facility that had no books available. In fact there was nothing available other than a tv with super bad reception. I spent (what I later found out was) a week straight in a large “L-shaped” room with about 20-25 other people. Though had you asked me what day it was or even what time of day it was, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you. It felt like I was outside of time and space. I was aware it was passing but mentally I was outside of it, watching it pass. (Again, this was sober – I had no drugs or alcohol in my system and yet I felt like I was trapped riding a terrifying high.)

It was during this time that I began the process of learning how to hear the Holy Spirit. It was a crash-course in spiritual warfare that continued for months even after I made it back home. Initially it was like my mind was downloading all sorts of information. The veil had been pulled from my eyes and I saw the battle for souls. I watched it play out. I had visions of the wins and losses for both sides. Things that I can’t even describe.

While the enemy filled my mind with threats telling me I would never be safe, that I had a target on my back, that they would never leave me alone, cushioning me with more and more fear, the Holy Spirit would make His presence known to me, promising me that I would be kept safe just as long as I would believe and trust Him. While the enemy would manifest in the people around me and they would talk amongst themselves making their plans against me within earshot, I would pray to walk by them unseen and be amazed when those same people would pass me by as if I was invisible.

When I finally got my hands on the Bible, I began to devour it. After a particularly heavy spiritual attack one night (I was seeing demons manifest themselves outside my bedroom window) I cried out to God for several hours in prayer. I awoke the next morning with the word “Ephesians” on my heart and I began the process of learning who I was in Christ. Slowly my mind became clear. I was still being tormented but I was finally able to function mentally. I believe this was the Holy Spirit showing me how to renew my mind. I stopped seeing spirits and I began to attend church and I felt like my battle was over for the most part.

Or so I thought.

I found a church that did outreach. They had sound doctrine and were really nice people. I shared with them the spiritual side of my journey and their response was one of disbelief. It was nothing like they had ever been through so they couldn’t relate it seemed. They never really talked about the spiritual realm to a level that I seemed to have lived through.

After that, I kept things to myself. I was still suffering. I had major depression. I still had a lot of anxiety and although the urge to end my life was no longer there, intrusive thoughts would come at random. Even on my good days where I truly felt blessed by God. The most common thought I had on a regular basis was a vision of me stabbing myself in my throat. I didn’t know why.

I was often questioned as to why I didn’t have the joy of the Lord and I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t have an answer. I didn’t know that I was still in a battle. I would read the Bible, go to church, worship, pray, share the Gospel and yet I was still in chains. I wasn’t growing fast enough, praying hard enough, doing enough… These thoughts came into my mind and were echoed and pointed out by those around me.

As humans, even the best of us fall short. The enemy doesn’t fight fair and shortly after that I found myself isolated, completely rejected, and curled up in my closet sobbing from the depths of my heart begging God for mercy because I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what was wrong with me and when my first church family pushed me away, I thought God had abandoned me.

That I was a hopeless cause and a wasted effort.

Then I felt “John 6:37” in my heart.

“All those the Father gives me will come to me, and whoever comes to me I will never turn away.”

I clung to this scripture, repeating it over and over to myself. I was in a state of desperation.

The next day, I got a message that told me to look into Hardcore Christianity.

Looking at the name, the thought came into my mind that this was where they send the toughest cases. The delinquents. The “rebellious individuals who refuse to surrender. A boot camp for the worst of the worst Christians who fail at being a Christian. Like when parents send their kids off to military school to “straighten them out”. I had no idea what to expect. Even after reading the information on the site I was still terrified. But I wanted so desperately to be fixed.

It was only after I watched a teaching by Mike Smith that I came to the full realization that I was still under attack. That all the thoughts I had were not my own. That there were still demons at work inside me and around me. That I wasn’t free. That they had been using both those around me and my own thoughts to skillfully orchestrate my destruction. That the images and thoughts I was having were not me but those of a completely separate entity inside me. Multiple ones at that.

It has been a process, dealing with the layers upon layers of spirits. One of the most important things is mind renewal. This is also a constant thing. An area that you can not, MUST NOT, become complacent in. Lack of mind renewal is like cracks in your armor. You MUST renew your mind and continue to do so. If you do not, the enemy will eat you up and spit you out. The demons will come back like bad relationships. You must get rid of your sin. Learn to hate your sin. Ask God to help you hate your sin.

Deliverance is a journey. The best news is that God is helping you through it. If you are born again, you have the Holy Spirit and you cannot lose.

If you suffer from anything like I have posted above, There is hope!!

Please contact mike@hardcorechristianity.com

https://hardcorechristianity.com/arizona-deliverance-center/

spiritual warfare

#DeliveranceTestimony #JesusSaves #ChristianTestimony #BornAgain #FreedomInChrist #SpiritualWarfare #DeliveranceMinistry #SetFree #OvercomingDarkness #BreakEveryChain #FaithJourney #NewCreation #GodsGrace #LifeInChrist #TestimonyTuesday

Symptoms of Demonic Operation in a Person

~ Observant Servant ~ 1 Comment

There is a conversation within Christianity that I once avoided because I did not know how to articulate what I had lived through. It revolves around a simple but uncomfortable question: can a born-again believer still be oppressed by demons?

I used to have strong opinions about that question. Now I move more slowly.

What I can say with humility is this: the Bible never plainly says that a Christian cannot experience demonic oppression. What it does show us, repeatedly, is that human beings can be inhabited, afflicted, tormented, and set free.

And I know what freedom feels like because I have received it.

Deliverance changed my life. It shifted the way I understand suffering — in myself and in others. It gave me compassion where I once had frustration. It allowed me to forgive people whose behavior once confused me, and it allowed me to forgive myself for struggles I could not explain.

When I read Mark 5 now, I no longer see just an extreme story about a man in tombs. I see a portrait of torment.

The man in the region of the Gerasenes was not merely troubled. He was isolated. He lived among the dead. He could not function in normal community. Chains could not restrain him. Night and day he cried out and cut himself.

It is easy to distance ourselves from that account. But when I slow down, I see patterns that are not as foreign as we might prefer.

There is the inability to live normally — the withdrawal, the strange pull toward isolation even while longing for connection. There is extreme behavior — anger that feels bigger than the moment, reactions that seem disproportionate, a volatility that harms both the individual and those nearby.

There are shifts in personality. The man said, “My name is Legion; for we are many.” That line used to intimidate me. Now it reminds me that fragmentation is not always psychological alone. Sometimes there are layers at work that counseling by itself cannot untangle.

There is restlessness. “Night and day he was crying out.” I remember seasons when sleep felt unreachable, when my body was exhausted but my mind would not rest. Psalm 127:2 says the Lord gives sleep to His beloved. When sleep becomes elusive without medical explanation, it is worth praying beyond the physical.

And then there is anguish.

Not ordinary grief. Not situational sadness. But a torment that lingers even when circumstances improve. A heaviness that does not respond to encouragement, logic, or willpower.

Mark 5 also shows self-harm. Mark 9 describes a spirit that threw a boy into fire and water to destroy him. These passages are sobering. They remind me that the enemy’s goal has always been destruction — not inconvenience, not mild discomfort, but destruction.

I write this carefully because I know how easily these conversations can become extreme or imbalanced. Not every struggle is demonic. There are real medical and psychological conditions that require compassionate, professional care. But neither should we ignore the spiritual dimension simply because it is uncomfortable.

My own experience with deliverance did not make me dramatic. It made me steadier. It did not make me suspicious of everyone. It made me more discerning. It did not make me arrogant. It made me grateful.

When the Lord exposed what was oppressing me and removed it, I felt something lift that I had assumed was simply “my personality” or “my weakness.” That experience reshaped how I see others. Instead of asking, “What is wrong with you?” I find myself asking, “What might be afflicting you?”

That shift alone has been a gift.

If someone reading this recognizes patterns in their own life — persistent torment, intrusive thoughts, uncontrollable rage, spiritual heaviness that does not yield — I would encourage prayerful discernment. Seek wise, grounded, biblically anchored help. Do not chase sensationalism. Do not isolate. Bring it into the light.

Jesus did not recoil from the man in the tombs. He crossed a sea to reach him.

And when the demons left, the man was found “clothed and in his right mind.”

That phrase moves me every time.

Clothed.
In his right mind.
At peace.

Freedom is not chaos. It is clarity. It is stability. It is rest.

If you are walking through something that feels darker than ordinary struggle, there is hope. There is no torment beyond Christ’s authority. There is no oppression He cannot confront. There is no chain He cannot break.

And sometimes the first step toward freedom is simply admitting that the battle may be more spiritual than you once believed.

demonic operation

Send me…

~ Observant Servant

“Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, ‘Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?’ And I said, ‘Here am I; send me!’
Isaiah 6:8

Back in October of last year I felt the need to take a day trip to a place called Montezuma Well. The gentle nudge came when I was looking for some out of town areas to explore. Now granted, in my happening upon this place in a Google search, it seemed to be a bit boring. Plus it was hot out and it’s about a 3 hour drive from where I live. Gas was also around $4.25-4.50 a gallon. So, in my opinion, it wasn’t worth the drive. But I went anyway.

While driving I kept thinking that maybe God wanted me to go there for a reason. So I began to pray about it. As I was getting close, I realized I really needed to get gas. So I asked God to lead me to a place that gas was less than $4. (And if He did this, then I would know that I was in His will in taking this trip.) I was beginning to feel pretty silly about driving so far for nothing spectacular.

Eventually I happened across a small mom and pop station and it had gas for $3.99. I took it as a sign that God was hearing me and pulled in. There was no one around other than a tanker driver who was delivering fuel on the other side of the pump. He was Hispanic burly guy, a little rough looking. He kinda seemed angry and closed off in all honesty. As I was pumping my gas, I noticed he was watching me and I started feeling a bit of fear creep up but I brushed it off and greeted him mentioning something about the weather. I don’t remember what exactly it was I said but he seemed to relax a bit and we had a brief chat.

While I was finishing up and putting my card back in my wallet, I felt I should give him a Gospel tract. (I carry them with me in the form of $1 Million bills.) I offered it to him, asked if he had seen one before. He said “no” and I told him about the real treasure was on the back where it told about Jesus. He just nodded, didn’t really respond.

As he was looking the bill over I said “You know… Jesus, He loves you. He sees you.”

It’s not normally how I initiate conversations when I share the Gospel but my “normal” seemed out of place on this day.

He paused for a moment and when he looked up, he had tears in his eyes. It was like he transformed into a whole different person in front of me. He began to tell me about how he lost his job during the pandemic because he refused to get vax’d. How his wife had left him and took his children and he lost his house and everything else and now he was living in his truck. He told me how he felt so alone and isolated and he had been praying for a sign because he didn’t think he could make it. He was so broken. I couldn’t help but hug him and encourage him to draw nearer to Jesus. We conversed for a bit more then I prayed for him and gave him a Gospel of John. He thanked me, his spirit seemed much lighter and he was smiling.

Then we went our separate ways.

It is so important to be sensitive to the Holy Spirit. Ready and willing and having your feet shod with the Gospel of peace. One conversation can turn someones life around. I encourage you to pray daily for the Lord to use you. Ask Him to give you an opportunity to bring Jesus into someone’s life. I promise you will be blessed by the encounter.

feet of the Gospel

Healing of the Heart and the Role of Deliverance

~ Observant Servant

One of the biggest things I have struggled with is allowing others to get close to me. Like many of you, there have been severe wounds inflicted on my heart that left deep scars and even more areas that have left my heart raw. Lies, betrayal, abandonment, feelings of worthlessness. For years, most (if not all) of my adult life, my heart bore the weight of this burden. It manifested itself on the outside as well in more ways than one. Sure my attitude could be forced into an appearance of everything being great in my life, but there was a spirit of depression on me.

Yes, Christians can be infested with demonic spirits. I know that there is a lot of controversy surrounding this topic. The thing is, the enemy copies everything of God. We know this. He twists it, he perverts it, he makes as a appealing as possible to the masses and, sadly, fools even the followers of Christ. The subject of the gifts such as the gift of tongues and Deliverance is no exception to this. One must pray for discernment not to be deceived.

The spirit of depression manifested itself through my creativity. My inspiration always came from a wounded heart steeped in rejection and isolation, and if I am being honest, unforgiveness . Art projects reflected dismal, dreary and sometimes even dark scenes. Creative writing while pouring out my heart, always resulted in the saddest of stories. When I would create, the mask would fall away and even the most cheerful colors were laced with scenes of heartache. Repentance and surrender to Christ changes that.

Once I forgave others and myself (you MUST forgive yourself), God began the process of healing my heart. It was often a struggle. Every loving touch hurt. My heart was battered and bruised. It had areas of infection that needed to be cleaned. With any wound, the cleansing process is unpleasant. Sometimes it hurts terribly as the antiseptic is used to wash away all of the infected areas. The process of cleansing the heart is no different. In order for the healing process to be effective, God must cleanse it first. This means exposing unwanted areas. But the Lord God has the most gentle touch and the most loving way to handle tender hearts to make them whole again. The result is feeling so much lighter and freer and experiencing true joy.

God has been working on my heart. As with all healing, it takes time. It is a process. There are times that it took prayer and fasting and there were times it took something stronger. An army of prayer warriors and deliverance.  The most uncomfortable part of it was the exposing of my wounded areas to God and others. Becoming even more vulnerable. Admitting I was still hurting. Being reminded of those painful times in my life that I just wanted to bury and hide away. They had to come out. They had to be exposed. Like any wound, if you just cover it up, infection sets in. So my wounds had to be uncovered in order to be attended to. After prayer and deliverance from the spirits that were haunting me, I felt cleaner. My heart was lighter. My soul could breathe. Jesus set me free. Repentance, forgiveness and deliverance were the method. I am so grateful and I pray that each one of you can experience the love of God through being set free.

Your Christian walk is to be filled with joy despite the circumstances you find yourself in. The only way to have that joy is to surrender to Jesus.

Father,

You see every hidden wound, every place in my heart that I have tried to protect, cover, or bury. You know the betrayals, the abandonment, the lies that tried to define me. You know the weight of rejection I have carried and the shame I have wrestled with in silence.

Lord, I bring my heart to You again.

Where it is bruised, touch it gently.
Where it is infected, cleanse it.
Where it is hardened, soften it.
Where it is still afraid to trust, breathe courage into it.

I choose to forgive — not because it was easy, not because it didn’t hurt, but because You forgave me. I release those who wounded me. I release the accusations I have held against myself. I refuse to partner with bitterness, rejection, or depression any longer.

In the name of Jesus, I renounce every spirit that attached itself to my pain. Every lie that says I am unworthy, unlovable, or alone — I reject it. I receive Your truth instead.

Heal my heart, Lord. Cleanse what needs cleansing. Expose what needs exposing. Give me the humility to let You and others see the tender places so they can be made whole.

Teach me how to love again without fear.
Teach me how to be vulnerable without shame.
Teach me how to walk in joy — real joy — that comes from surrender.

Fill the places that once held darkness with Your light. Replace heaviness with freedom. Replace sorrow with gladness. Replace isolation with holy connection.

Thank You for Your patient hands. Thank You for not rushing the process. Thank You for never abandoning me in my brokenness.

I surrender my heart to You completely.

In Jesus’ name,
Amen.