The cutting Edge Of Depression


                         By Phil Scovell


     Most of my adult life was normal.  My father died
unexpectedly when I was 11 years old and one year later, I was
pronounced totally blind after a dozen eye operations on my
failing retinas.  Two weeks later I was enrolled in a school for
the blind nearly fifty miles from my home and only came home on
weekends.  Otherwise, life was normal.

     I know those events, to some people, were traumatic but that
word wasn't in my dictionary at the time.  Christians did tell my
mother, on the other hand, when I was a teenager and using LSD,
shooting up speed/amphetamines, marijuana, hashish and some over-
the-counter things I prefer not to mention lest some knuckle head
gets the big idea to try it for himself, that I needed to see a
psychiatrist.  I wonder why we never say they should see the
pastor over such things?  I'd be mad if I were a pastor and
everybody kept sending my people I was pastoring to the
psychologist or psychiatrist but it doesn't seem to bother most
pastors for some reason.  In fact, it truth be told, they probably
send more of their own people to the shrinks than their free
advice giving church members do, but I digress.

     As I married, had children, and grew older, with more and
more responsibilities, my life seemed pretty normal.  My children
all could see normally so there was one burden I could stop
worrying about.  Now that I am in my fifties, all of my
grandchildren see normally, so there's another burden I can stop
toting around.  I made pretty good money for a blind guy and my
business was going well and growing.  I have a home, something I
never dreamed I'd have, I'm married to the best woman I have ever
met to this day so there's another plus, and if I were to sit down
and put a pencil to it, sort of speak, I could come up with
hundreds of things I am truly thankful for both as a Christian
and a father.  However, and somehow you knew there would have to
be a "however" in this story, I had a problem.  I don't think I
ever mentioned this to anyone over the years; in fact I'm sure I
didn't.

     during my mid adult years, I had somewhat of a concern, oh,
you could call it an undeveloped worry, about knives.  Strange,
though.  I had knives all over the place.  Somehow, and for some
reason, knives seemed to begin to bother me later in life.  I
wasn't afraid of them and yes, I have been cut by them many times
over my life, and yes, I carry one in my pocket all the time.  In
fact, I sort of liked knives.  Maybe I became concerned about them
after I made the mistake of asking my father to teach me how to
clean the fish we brought home all the time from a day's fishing
at the lake.  Perhaps I watched to many scary movies.  I have
never witnessed anyone killed by stabbing.  I mean, no body in my
family died that way as far as I know and I certainly never saw
any kid in my neighborhood cut anybody.  Well, Orville cut his
foot real bad on a broken pop bottle wading in some drainage water
but I don't think that counts as far as knives are concerned.  He
also got his mouth stuck on a popsicle once and nearly pulled his
lips off trying to get it loose but somehow I think I am drifting
off topic.  Anyhow, what I used to have, concerning knives, was
some sort of fear that I might use it on myself.  Well, it wasn't
exactly a fear but more like a feeling at the time and one I could
easily dismiss by stopping to think about knives.  As I said,
fortunately I never told anybody about this.  If I had told my
mother, she probably would have purchased me a new set of knives
for Christmas and I could have become a collector.  If I had told
a psychiatrist about it, he probably would have put me into the
hospital for a few days, shot me up full of drugs, and then had me
come in as an out patient once a week for the next ten years until
my fear of self destruction were purged from my life.  I'm not
sure what my pastor would have said because I don't think it's
covered, knives that is, in the Bible.  No, in case you are
interested, I wasn't suicidal nor had anyone in my family
committed suicide nor did I know anyone who committed suicide.
So what was the big deal with knives?

     I was praying with a lady one day when she told me that,
whenever she entered the kitchen alone, she put her fingers into
her mouth between her teeth and bit down on them.  Why?  Because
she was afraid she would get a knife out and do herself harm.  The
Lord healed her of that, you'll be happy to know, and the
interesting thing is, we never once even prayed about this
particular thing; it just went away with whatever else was the
problem.  Isn't the Lord wonderful?  He fixes things without even
specifically focusing on certain matters.  At any rate, back to my
story.

     In my case, every time, well, nearly every time, I picked up
a sharp knife, butter knives never crossed my mind when using
them, I had a funny feeling about them.  What sort of feeling?
Well, I don't know.  I mean, I never really focused on it for very
long but something about sharp knives seem to tweak my thoughts.
My first thought seemed to be related to doing myself harm.
Sometimes it was the possibility, I might do someone else harm.
Now, the question becomes, where did this, or these, thoughts come
from and why?  Let me try and suggest some answers.

     First, I was crazy.  I mean, after all, I did play around
with drugs so it was possible I got something screwed on backwards
during one of my nine LSD trips or when I was nineteen miles high
on speed.

     Secondly, in some Christian circles, I might have been demon
possessed or, at the very least, with these sort of thoughts, I
could be demonically oppressed.  Other than these two things,
there wasn't much else, at the time, to pen these odd thoughts on.

     Let me tell you a story.  I was pretty much a Baptist all my
life, although I was born again while we were in an Evangelical
Free Church, but I think "Once a Baptist; always a Baptist," comes
into play when considering my life.  I mean, I am Charismatic now,
speak in tongues freely, do intercessory prayer, spiritual
warfare, talk directly to demons in prayer sessions with people if
it is necessary, and I believe all of the gifts of the Holy Spirit
are viable for the Church in today's New Testament Body of
Believers.  Yet, I have Charismatics accuse me of still being a
Baptist when we discuss the bible.  This has nothing to do with my
story other than the fact, what I am about to tell you I heard
from a Baptist preacher with whom I was employed once upon a
time.  The story goes this way.

     This preacher was at a church camp for kids.  A mother, whose
son happened to be there working that week, happened to mention to
somebody, that her son, he was ten years old, could not sleep at
night.  He could not fall to sleep easily and he was awakened all
the time.  I believe, if I remember correctly, he had to sleep
with the light on, too.

     This story was repeated to others until several people became
involved in discussing this situation so a small meeting was
called.  Mostly the preachers and pastors and missionaries, who
were at the camp, came to the meeting.  They decided, somehow and
for some reason, this ten year old boy was being demonically
oppressed.  So, they called the boy into their small meeting.  He
wore a baseball cap, carried a ball glove because they had been
playing baseball out on the field, and they told him they wanted
to pray over him.  He said "Ok," and these Baptist preachers
prayed and basically told the demon had no authority over the boy
and to get lost.  The mother later reported her son never had any
more sleeping problems.

     I am telling this story to show that demons are real and they
often become involved in the lives of Christians and even children
without our knowledge.  How?  Well, sin works pretty well at
attracting demons.  It is pretty unlikely, in my story, however,
that this 10 year old boy was involved in some heinous sin that
cause his insomnia.  So what is left?

     Trauma is a good substitute for committed sin.  Let's say you
are a very good swimmer but one day, something happens in the pool
and you swallow a gallon of pool water.  I'm exaggerating a little
there but take it from me, a little dab of pool water up the old
snout does wonders to create a fear level that's off the scale.
So, anyhow, there you are, thrashing around and you think, "I'm
going to die."  Well, there's only one problem with this idea of
death and that is, you are two feet from the side of the pool and
you reach out and pull your head above water.  It is a good
thing, too, because all that water down the spout makes you puke
your lunch up over the side of the pool on to the sidewalk.  At
least you're not dead at the bottom of the pool but for a split
second there, dad gummit, you sure enough were convinced you were
a goner.  The question is:  Where did that thought come from that
you were going to die?  Yourself?  Maybe.  What if it came from
somebody else?  Think about it.

     A very successful business man is seated at his brightly
gleaming oak desk, the limon scented polish still in the air, and
doing paper work in his lavish office.  He has just hung up the
phone and picks up a folder he wants to examine.  Suddenly, he
thinks, "You are worthless.  You'll never amount to anything."
The odd thing is, the man is a millionaire many times over, owns
his own twelve story building, and couldn't be any more
successful even if he won the Ed Macman Clearinghouse Give Away.
Where did that thought come from that he was worthless and would
never amount to anything?  Maybe he just made it up on his own?
Really?  A 42 year old millionaire just suddenly thinks he is
worthless and won't ever amount to a thing?  That's even hard for
me to believe but it could have happened like that.  It could have
been something else, too, I'll bet.

     So, you aren't convinced?  Let's try another one.

     A man is minding his own business and walking to his car
after work.  He is pulling his keys out in preparation for
unlocking his vehicle so he can get home, eat, and watch Monday
night football.  Oh, I forgot to mention that he lives in the
United States.  People outside the USA will have to rearrange the
story to fit their culture.  So, here he is, as I say, minding his
own business and heading for his car.

     A woman, a very beautiful woman, a very young beautiful
woman, an insufficiently dressed very young beautiful woman, and a
woman who is not only beautiful but has other qualities which are
generally noticed by men, is standing by his car.  Her car is
parked right next to his and she is standing there looking at the
back tire which is flat.  So what does this guy do?  Right!  He
offers to assist in changing her tire.  She is extremely thankful
and sets off some emotional and mental fireworks this guy hasn't
felt since he was 16 years old.  In fact, he figured that part of
his life was dead and gone.  What do you suppose he thinks about
on the way home?  As he is congratulating himself for being a good
Samaritan, he thinks, "She really liked you."

     "Well, who doesn't," he thinks; "that goes without saying."

His mind, or what he perceives as his mind, replays the entire
panorama over again and he discovers he can easily remember each
and every detail; absolutely every detail.  By now he is totally
convinced she liked him.

     "What a woman," his mind thinks.

He's been happily married, of course, for 23 years.  The kids are
all teenagers but life at home isn't what it used to be;
especially with his wife.

     A very graphic image flashes in his mind of the woman he just
saw.  I mean, he could smell the lovely feminine perfume she was
wearing.  He could also remember a lot of other things like what
he saw when he was down on the ground on his knees, and trying to
loosen the lug nuts when she asked him a question, and he looked
up to meet her gaze.  It was everything he saw on the way up that
he remembered so well.  "Why do beautiful women have to wear
skirts so short, you can see their panties when you are at the
wrong angle? Maybe they do it on purpose?" he considers the
possibility.  Her voice, too, for that matter, was musical and
when she laughed at his jokes, her voice sounded like tinkling
bells.  So, in a nonchalant way, he decides that maybe he will try
and fine her listed on the company roster the next day.  Just to
see who she is, of course.  What was her name?  Freela?  Yep, that
was it, Freela.  "Can't be more than one Freela working for this
small company," he thinks.  "I wonder what sort of a woman would
have the name like Freela?"  The light changes and he's a little
slow pulling away.

     An eleven year old boy is playing with friends in the front
yard.  His mother is standing in the grass talking to a man with
whom his father works.  "I think Willie is going to live,
Noreen," he says confidently.

     "I don't," he hears his mother say.

     The young 11 year old boy runs across the yard, leaps up to
the tree stump left over from the mulberry tree his father had
cut down the summer before, catapults himself into the air as
high as he can.  He touched lightly down on the ground but
suddenly, he can't breathe.  This has never happened before and he
panics.  "Your father will never make it.  He is going to die."
He doesn't literally hear the words but he feels something
terribly abnormal in the middle of his chest.  A moment passes and
his ability to breathe returns and he goes back to playing and
half listening to his mother and the man arguing about if his
father is going to live or die.  His father dies a week later.

     What happened to that little boy?  Did he feel or hear  or
perceive something?  Did he make it up?  I know this one is true
because I was that little boy.

* Demonic Talk

     I want to start out by assuring you that not everything you
think, or hear, in your thoughts is demonic.  "boy, that's a
relief."  However, anything traumatic creates an atmosphere
whereby events can be misinterpreted without demonic help.  If
such occurs, however, it easily opens a way for unclean spirits to
offer suggestions.

     Demons talk.  They normally talk at emotional low points,
traumatic experiences, frightening events, tragic circumstances,
when the heart is broken, overwhelming sadness, suffering intense
pain, during severe sicknesses or illnesses, intense stressful
incidents or generally whenever the mind is sidetracked by
something out of our control.  Why?  It is easier to fool people
at these times.  I mean, if you were sitting on your couch in the
living room and watching Jimmy Stuart in your favorite western and
a demon walked in with a baseball bat and clubbed you to the floor
and then hit and kicked and spit on you, what would you do?  You'd
spring to your feet fighting mad and start swinging and would
probably get the baseball bat away from him and belt him into next
week.  But demons don't do that.  So what is it you think they do?

     You are tired and exhausted from a hard days work.  You can
barely keep your eyes open but you love the Leave It To Beaver
reruns so you are trying to watch it.  A demon comes in and says,
"That woman you saw today was sexy."  Now you are wide awake
because the images the demon brings with him are slapped into your
mind and you see everything and some things you realize you really
wish you could see which weren't visible.  Guilt floods your mind
and suddenly you recall what Jesus said, "But I say to you, That
whoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed
adultery with her already in his heart," (Matthew 5:28).
You don't even remember ever memorizing that verse. In fact, you
know it was never taught in Sunday school when you were five years
old.  So where did that verse come from?  Maybe your pastor used
it in a sermon.  Sure, that must be it.  So how did it spring to
mind now?  the voice, which quoted the bible verse, sounded
amazingly like your own.  Well, what do demons know.  They aren't
Bible scholars or anything, after all, but you get the message.
You silently pray and confess your sin of thinking such terrible
thoughts.  Unfortunately, the images won't go away nor will the
unholy desire.

     You jabbed the television off and head out to the kitchen.
There you fix a large ham and cheese sandwich.  Going to bed on a
full stomach always helps you go to sleep so you gobble it right
down and wash it down with a big glass of milk.  Off to bed you
go.

     Laying in bed, you listen to your wife's rhythmic breathing,
she went to bed an hour before you, which is something she always
does, and it always makes you mad, although you have never figured
out why.  Laying on your back, you try and relax your body but
your mind is wide awake.  The woman you saw springs to life right
there before your very eyes.  The only problem is, she is attired
in loose fitting, translucent, pale green lingerie.  You grown but
the picture stays.  Your mind begins playing tricks on you Moments
later, the tension rises to a level you haven't felt for a mighty
long time and you find yourself feeling even more guilty after
gratifying your lustful desires.  Guilt floods your mind and you
kneel by the bed and repent; promising never to do it again.  You
fall asleep thinking, "I am 45 years old.  What's wrong with me."
Less than a week later, you have dialed up dozens of porno sites
on the web and you feel terrible.  After awhile even the guilt
fades.

     Most people would think this story is normal.  I mean, the
man is a normal man and he has God given tendencies which the
story implies isn't being satisfied at home.  Is it normal?  Does
he have no control over his thoughts or is there something else
helping him?
Continued in next message.