“Write for Me.” The voice within was clear, firm, and inviting. I was just finishing my first daily walk around my block and was heading slowly up the driveway to the house. It was a hot, sun-baked August morning in 1997. I had been lost in my thoughts of wonder, and even a touch of euphoria, as I recalled the events of the night before.
Actually, it had begun earlier that day before. Well, to be more accurate, it had begun about five years before that.
In the fall of 1992, I had seriously injured my spine. A herniated lumbar disk put me down for months until I had surgery in 1993. That put me down for years. I developed scar tissue and inflammation of the spinal nerves which caused chronic pain.
The depression and spiritual warfare that ensued were more than I care to relate, but it was a long, painful journey of grace and God’s goodness that pulled me out of the pit of despair. But I still fought off and on against spirits of rejection and fear. If I made the slightest misstep, I was sure God was upset with me. Satan had lied to me over and over that there must be something wrong with me, or this could not have happened. I often felt worthless and full of self-hatred, which was a far cry from the way I always had been prior to this ordeal. The sad truth is, I had been prone to pride and self-righteousness, and the sadder truth is I didn’t even realize it! But all that changed when I lay flat on my back for months and years.
The day before that particular day, I had been a little stern with someone on the phone, because they had called me at an improper time with a request I could not fulfil. I realized much later that it was not a bad thing that I had to say no, but at the time, Satan used it to oppress me.
The following day I battled guilt and a huge sense of failure. As the day wore on, it intensified to the point that my chest began to feel heavy, and I would catch myself sighing deeply to fill my lungs, which seemed to be struggling under a heavy weight. (I have no respiratory or cardiac problems.)
I was unable to go to church that night with my husband and daughter. It was our annual Campmeeting with many visitors and special guests attending. This added further to my depression and feelings of despair. After they left for church, the house was quiet, and I busied myself reading, but I kept feeling distracted by my growing anxiety. It was in the midst of this silent warfare that I heard an audible voice in a deep mocking tone speak the words: “God hates you!”
I was so startled I almost fell off my seat. I knew immediately that it was Satan, and I had to rebuke him at once—no matter how depressed I felt! I began to resist him in prayer, and gradually I felt more at ease in my spirit. I put on some good Holy-Ghost anointed worship music and lay down to read my Bible until my husband came home from the service.
Naturally, he came home bubbling over with the joy of the Lord! As he shared the highlights of the service with me, I began to laugh and converse with him, and soon I felt totally free from the oppression. I said nothing to him about my earlier experience. I felt that the battle was over. But I was wrong!
A Violent Satanic Attack
It was about five in the morning when I awoke in excruciating pain. I had dealt with pain and even severe pain for most of the five years since the injury. But this was like nothing I had ever had before. In addition to the back and leg pain that I often experienced, I felt like my insides, from my abdomen down to my pelvis, were going to implode. The downward pressure and sharp, dagger-like pains were so acute that I did something I never do—I sat straight up in bed, and then in one swift movement, I stood to my feet, because the pain was so great, I could not bear to sit. Usually, I always took my time to roll to my left side and rise up gently, supporting myself with my arms, and carefully pushing myself up off the bed while protecting my right side. But not this time!
Somehow, doubled over in the darkness, I made my way to the bathroom and sat down. But the pressure and pain in my lower body impelled me to stand. I propelled myself to the vanity and leaned onto the counter. By now my heart was pounding and racing to the point that I felt it would burst, and the pressure I had felt downward was now also rising violently upward through my chest into my throat. I knew that my body could not sustain this assault for long, and I realized I was dying. I began frantically gasping for breath as my heart continued to palpitate wildly. I was shocked by the violence of the attack.
That’s when I became aware of my inner self leaving my body, and the only way I can describe it: I felt and saw myself being sucked up out of my body by a huge black tornado. As I ascended rapidly into a black expanse, I saw what appeared to be bright neon-colored laser beams shooting around me like lightning bolts. I could no longer hold onto the vanity, and I knew that I was about to slump to the floor. I realized that if I did, Benny, my still sleeping husband, would find me lying there in the morning dead, and he would never know what happened.
As I considered this, I suddenly became very angry in my spirit. I really didn’t mind dying if God wanted to take me. I actually am looking forward to going to heaven—but I knew that this was not the way that Christians are supposed to die! This was terrorizing and demonic, and I was quite indignant that the devil thought he could get away with it!
My condition was so that I could not call out to Benny to be heard from the bathroom, so with all the strength I could muster, I stumbled back to the bedroom. I leaned over the bed and began slapping at his chest, saying over and over in a desperate voice, “Benny, I’m dying! I’m dying!”
He awoke with a startle. Thinking I was a burglar or intruder, he grabbed me hard by my shoulders. When he realized it was me, he kept repeating, “What’s wrong?” But by this time I could not respond, and I felt myself going limp, only held up by his grip. He began lightly smacking my face, trying to bring me out of my non-responsive state as he kept imploring over and over: “Sharon, what’s wrong?!”
I could hear him faintly, as though he was far away, but I could not answer. I remember thinking to myself, Why doesn’t he pray for me before it’s too late and I’m dead?
My thoughts were instantly answered when in a voice of authority, he cried out, “In the Name of Jesus…!” That’s all I heard, and that was enough! In my heart I shouted, “Yes! Yes!”
At this point the violent symptoms stopped, and I slumped over on the bed limp as a dish rag. Just barely able to speak, I weakly whispered, “Call my parents.”
Benny reached for the bedside phone and dialed their number, only to be greeted by the answering machine. Over and over he called, hoping the incessant ringing would rouse them. Finally, my mother came to the phone and called for my father to come. They all agreed in prayer, and we hung up and returned to bed. I was amazed and thrilled to find that all the pain had left! Normally, it would take hours, and sometimes days, to reverse such an intense episode of nerve pain in my legs.
I awoke the next morning with an overwhelming realization of how much my Father in heaven loves me! I believed that He allowed me to come to the brink of death and Satan’s evil plan to show me that He has me in the palm of His hand, and nothing can destroy me. I have never doubted His love for me again!
It was in this state of grateful, reflective meditation later that day, as I walked up the driveway, that He spoke to my heart, “Write for Me.”
Now I had been writing for the Lord since my teens. I have written everything from poetry to recitations for marriages, anniversaries, dedications, eulogies; not to mention the hundreds of sermons I have written, edited, and co-authored, as well as books for Faith Is Action ministries. But I had never written a book of my own; although I had always aspired to. I knew intuitively that this is what He meant, and with the ease of answering someone who might ask me for a glass of water, I simply responded, “Okay.”
I began immediately to write what became the book The Chrestian Christian. The words flowed freely from my spirit, but it took months to complete, as I was not able to sit at a computer to type. I hand wrote page after page, many while lying in bed. And as I wrote, a great transformation began taking place in my heart. I remembered the times when I had cried desperately, “Lord, show me you still love me!” And the day He clearly answered to my heart, “I am loving you … through My people.”
I knew He was referring to all those precious saints who came with home-cooked meals, who stopped by to do a load of laundry or clean the bathrooms; the ones who had sent beautiful flowers and countless cards of encouragement; the ones who had called to pray over the phone and give me a word of Scripture; the ones who had taken my young daughter shopping for clothes and school supplies.
It was these selfless, caring saints who had spoken His unfailing love into my life again and again.
As I began to see that this is what ministry is all about, reflecting the heart of Christ to His people, I discovered God’s heart beats strongest in those whose lives reflect “chrestianity.”
Initially, I felt that this book was meant for me alone—a sort of catharsis for my own mending of heart. But God has graciously allowed me to share it now with many others, and I hope they too have come to recognize the chrestianity in those around them, and in their own renewed spirits.
Sharon Hardy Knotts
August 2002
About The Author
