Witness To The Death of a Soul

 

In my life, there have only been a few times that I have considered someone my actual enemy. As I think back over my life, I am pretty sure that it has only been a couple of

 

 

times that I’ve prayed that the Lord would bring someone to justice. David often wrote in the Psalms prayers that his enemies would stumble, fall, and fail. But to me, it always seem unmerciful to pray these kinds of prayers, so I just generally stayed away from them. Lately, with Chef, I’ve been more inclined to pray this sort of prayer, but last night, I realized all over again, it is Chef’s master that is my enemy, not Chef himself.

 

Something had been happening in the two days leading up to me deciding to leave, and I could feel in my spirit that I was at a crossroads. I had spent some time one on one with Chef, and let’s face it, I know him pretty well. I could see a twinkle of the old Chef in there occasionally, but it was always brief, and quickly gone. Then, through a random series of events that I never should have even known about, I found out that he had gotten our old house back, moved his girlfriend in with him, and was back on the drug that started this all out in the first place.

 

I went to see him one last time last night, because I wanted to feel closure. I wanted to say what he would never allow me to say before, always angrily running away. I told him that I could see him plainly now. I could see all the lies, manipulations, perversions of the last year. Even events from the last twenty years had come into focus for me, and while I was happy during that time, all the signs had been there that he would progress to this. I just hadn’t wanted to believe I couldn’t save him. Pride is an ugly thing, and I was full of it. This whole mess has broken that pride in me, and I’m very much a broken pot made of clay. I can save nothing and no one, not even myself. Only God saves those who want Him to, and I have no share in that glory whatsoever.

 

I have witnessed the slow, agonizing death of a soul, and it has been the scariest, most horrifying death I’ve ever witnessed.  As he stood there in the home we had put together, his eyes were sunken and eerily dull, and I felt the dark spirit’s presence that had become familiar to me in the last year. Only this time, I was looking him straight in the eyes, and the grief I felt was enormous because Chef had chosen to serve this demon who hated him so much. Death was surrounding Chef, following him from room to room like a shadow passing along the walls;  I was witnessing his spirit struggle to stay away from the light of the Lord that lives in this unworthy vessel. Lies poured out his mouth, excuses, reasons, and then wrath and rage bellowed out, all in a voice that I didn’t recognize. And not once did I feel afraid or confused. I could see my enemy, and it wasn’t Chef, and it wasn’t his girlfriend. It was the King of Lies, and Chef had chosen to serve him, reaping the rewards that only a king who hates his subjects would bestow.

 

People always think that it isn’t over until you’re dead. In fact, Chef would say that to me a lot. Time isn’t our friend, and always putting off decisions about your God and your choices until tomorrow is a fool’s game. It can, in fact, be over before you’re dead, as God has hardened many a heart who thought they would put Him off until later, wanting to live their lives in an ungodly way, but reap the benefits of eternal life.

 

 

 

Romans 1:16-32

 

American Standard Version (ASV)