Out_of_the_Devil_39_s_Cauldron

to emanate from somewhere beyond the living room, yet it sounded so near.
I jumped from the couch and wheeled around at the four walls but saw no one. Yet somehow I
knew I was being watched. Then the voice spoke again. And this time every hair on my body stood at
attention: My son, I am coming soon. What are you planning to do with yourself?
The voice wasn’t from any demon. This voice was different from any voice I had ever known.
The best way I could describe it was the awesome peace I experienced that was beyond human
comprehension. Like standing at a brook and hearing its current passing by.
Seconds later, my eyes were led across my living room to a vision of a blazing sky, like a ball
of fire, while people on earth screamed and ran in fear for their lives. I tried to make sense of it all,
but at the same time I wanted to shake it off like it never happened. I waited with petrified amazement
until the strange vision disappeared. Seeing something that amazing left a need in my heart.
A few days later I couldn’t hold it in anymore, and I confronted Robert about what happened
in my living room. As I explained to him, he said, “Jesus is calling you, John. Jesus loves you.”
“You’re crazy, you know that?” I said, laughing it off. “I finally came to the conclusion that
you’re crazy. No one is calling me.”
His message to me was clear. The choice to surrender to God was mine. No one could make it
for me. I could either continue yielding to the devil, worshipping him and his demons, or I could give
my life to Jesus and let Him have full control. But was I willing to part with the position I held in
espiritismo under threat of death? Was I ready to stop doing what I loved? Did I really want God to
change me? I was so confused that when I went home that night, I didn’t consult the resident demons in
my bedroom. Instead, the next night I arranged a meeting with Aunt Maria.
As we sat at her kitchen table, she said, “John, what seems to be the problem?”
“I’m tired of these hallelujah people saying that we’re evil and they’re the good ones,” I said.
My aunt stayed silent, her eyes focused on me.
“Aunt Maria, did you hear what I said? Why are we the bad ones and they are the good ones?
Could you answer my question?”
Aunt Maria turned her eyes away from me. “I’ve been a devil worshipper since I was a little
girl, and I’m glad that I have these powers and I can defend myself and hurt those who want to hurt
me.”
I knew in my heart that Aunt Maria couldn’t answer the question, and I realized that maybe
these church people knew something I didn’t know. For the first time, I felt ashamed and dirty being
part of this thing called the religion. I walked away feeling sorrowful, empty, and confused.
Stepping into the Light
Time went by and once again Rachael’s parents extended an invitation they had prayed I
would accept: to visit their church.
I laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”
But they asked me to think it over. So I told them I would. Since when did I care about other
people’s feelings? I was only interested in me, how to descend deeper into the abyss of hell, how to
do greater things than anyone in the religion had ever done. Yet little by little, moment by moment, my
resistance was breaking down. Lately I had found myself unable to say no to such simple invitations.