
Chapter 17: OBedeOne
"O Lord," I muttered, my voice cracking and dry, writhing in pain, the fire from the shingles burning, searing my flesh, exposing every nerve to a pain so severe I thought it could not ever be worse.
I was wrong. My eye felt like the receiving end of a blowtorch. FIRE!
I kept looking in the mirror to see if my face was melting. It sure felt like it was.
And the itching...that damned itching! Maddening! I was losing my mind! I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, but I would not. Not while I was conscious.
Sometimes I would awake to find myself screaming, for in the dream world it was worse. It was war, and I was alone...practically powerless.
The enemy, demonic, satanic, tortured me, seemingly at will. All types of horrors I could never imagine attacked me from every front...relentlessly, with no relief in sight.
"My God!" I pleaded. Then would come the temptation to curse Him. "Never!" I protested.
But He can stop all of this in the twinkling of an eye.
Shut up! This is my fault! I thought. I...deserve this. I and I alone sinned...
What kind of God allows this kind of suffering?
Damn you! I thought. Get the f*ck away from me you bastard! In the name of Jesus I command you! I prayed.
The silky voice ceased, immediately.
"Th...thank you...Father," I whispered.
But the pain remained. Fire! I tried to stop myself from scratching, but I couldn't help myself. And yet, the scratching made it worse.
I suffered and endured, in silence.
I. Will. Not. Scream. I ground my teeth and steeled myself...for the upteenth time.
I. Will. Not!
I looked at the clock in my hospital room. Only five minutes had passed. Time had slowed down. It was as if time had partnered with this evil fire and itching.
Evil, the fire, sought to break me.
No! I thought. Never!
But time wasn't on my side. How can I fight time? I wondered. Time is just a concept, a measure. How can it slow down? That's...impossible.
Impossible or not, time did, indeed, slow down.
"O God!" I said, "please...forgive me. Again. I'm so sorry." I concluded, clutching the scapular of the archangel Michael I was wearing.
Of course, I knew God had forgiven me, but I still could not forgive myself. I was ridden with guilt, and fire was it's manifestation.
"Do you deny the power of the blood of Christ?" A Voice asked.
Wha? No! Of course not! I thought.
"Then you must believe you are forgiven." The Voice replied.
I do believe. I thought. Didn't I? Did I really believe?
"Self flaggelation will not help you. Your efforts to punish your self is wasted and will come to naught," the Voice said with Authority.
Hot tears streamed from my eyes as I felt a Love I could never fully describe envelope me.
Aye. Aye! I was forgiven! And that was that!
And still, the fire, the itching from hell returned, worse still.
"Thank you Father," I said, smiling, and then...laughing.
I'm going insane. Mad. I'm a lunatic. This is crazy. I'm crazy.
For some reason I found these thoughts hilarious, and I found myself laughing, hysterically. Histerically. There was a method to the mystery of this madness.
A higher purpose. Again...laughter.
"Ow!" I said, laughing. Even the pain, hurtful as it always is, was funny.
The ferocity of the fire burned hotter, and the itching still worse.
How is this possible? I wondered, stunned by the massive assault of pain.
What was the limit? The highest extent of this pain? Would I pass out?
That's it! Pain was distracting me. "Ha ha ha!" I laughed. This too, was very funny!
Now the pain was getting frustrated...angrier, hatefull...malevolent! I sensed...murder! I laughed!
Evil doesn't like to be laughed at, I thought, but it wasn't my thought.
"Death hates to be laughed at," the Voice said, tinged with an insiders knowledge of the deepest humore. "and so does evil."
I was beginning to realize this amazing and liberating Truth. Humore. That was my greatest weapon...my sword to be used to dispatch these demo0ns that were tormenting me.
It wasn't a frivolous humor, but a serious humore! A humore full of Life, and far more, 'cause Life can't be contained!
Life! Can't! Be! Contained! That's brilliant! I thought, in awe at this great revelation.
And still...the pain redoubled it's efforts!
I grimaced under this onslaught. "God!" I cried. I was on the verge of passing out, as everything started...fading...into darkness. A darkness so black...so all-consuming.
Hope began to fade...
Then an amzing thing happened. I don't know if I was awake or dreaming. A bright, intense light grew above me and took form. It was an Angel! An ArchAngel! Michael!
He was a giant, with strong, pure white wings protruding from his back. He was wearing a gleaming armor immaculately designed, and before him he wielded a massive broad sword, cutting through the dark beings attacking me!
He was so brilliantly bright he hurt my eyes to behold! And he emitted righteousness and the authority of God Himself!
Never had I witnessed such a ferocious intensity of Justice!
Those demons shrieked in terror, trying desperately to escape as Michael easily dispatched them. Finally, sleep, a sweet sleep gently enveloped me, and I felt a Peace I couldn't comprehend, let alone explain.
I awoke, hours later to fire, itching fire, and pain. But it had lost it's power over me. It had lost it's intensity. Hope! Burned within me, and this burning didn't bring pain, but rather...release, liberation, freedom.
For two weeks I waned towards death and waxed back to Life. The odds of death, I later was told by my doctor, was 50%, and higher for the loss of my eyesight in the eye riddled with shingles, but I beat the odds...Lived...and saw.
It brought to mind an old saying: "now I see," said the blind man, picking up a hammer, and saw.
The eternal pain had ended. It wasn't eternal, as I had thought.
I was...alive!
"Thank you, Lord," I said, a feeling of gratefullness at the greatfullness overwhelming me within' and without.
"You're the miracle man," my doc said, smiling, on the day of my discharge.
He knew. He believed in God. And his joy brought even more joy to me.
"It was touch and go there, for awhile," he said. "But you know, I never doubted you would come through this. Never quit fighting, Ben!"
"Thanks, Doc! I That's great advice! I give credit to God! Without Him...I wouldn't be here."
Doc smiled, and nodded.
The years flowed past, and the shingles returned two more times, but never as bad as the first.
Then it happened. I was talking to my youngest daughter, who was a Senior in high school.
We were parked in the Safeway parking lot, and I was trying to pass on some wisdom I had learned to her.
Something was wrong. I was getting increasingly difficult to talk, and my words couldn't keep up with my mind.
I began to stutter...a lot. My speech became slurred. The more I concentrated the worse it got.
I could see the concern on my daughters face. She knew something was wrong but she didn't know what.
Neither did I.
In mid sentence my voice caught, and a very weird moaning came out of my mouth as I tried to speak.
Everything went black, and I felt like I was suffocating. My body began to jerk around uncontrollably. Fear gripped me! No, terror! I had lost control of my body and my mind!
This is it, I thought. I'm dying, and I couldn't even say "help." I didn't even have time to say a prayer before I lost conciousness.
I felt bad for my daughter who would no doubt be upset.
...































