Monthly Archives: July 2011

San Francisco: God Loves You, But… (Part 4)

“What you’re seeing is the governing demonic principality over the University of California, Berkeley. It’s a religious one and one of the gatekeepers mentioned by Jesus in Matthew 16:18. Now, look down,” he said, pointing to students walking along the sidewalks below us.

I watched various students crisscrossing the Campanile Esplanade on their way to classes. At first, they looked normal to me, wearing typical college apparel. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Then, my spiritual eyes kicked in and what appeared normal in the natural realm was not so normal in the spiritual one.

Have you ever seen pictures of a flying dinosaur known as a pterodactyl? It has a long, slender head with a mouth filled with sharp teeth, scaly-like body, web-like wings and talons for feet. This sort of resembles the creatures I saw, sitting on the shoulders of almost every student walking below me. Each creature was the size of a large crow and had wolf hair on its body, and a slender rat’s tail. The beings constantly whispered into the ears of students while holding a wing over the students’ other ears. At times, the creatures defecated and vomited on the students so that each person dripped with slop and sewage. It was ghastly and I yearned to warn the students.

“Follow those two over there,” said the angel, pointing toward two guys.

Somehow, I was able to focus on the two students. They talked to each other as they walked along, just basic talk about their classes. Then, they walked into a free speech area where a street evangelist was preaching the gospel of the kingdom of God. Both stopped and listened. As they were standing there, I watched the pterodactyl-like creatures use their beaks to snatch the seeds of the gospel out of the twosome’s hearts with swift surgeon-like precision. After a few minutes, the two students walked away, none the better for their experiences.

Again, I wanted to shout and warn everyone. Someone needed to do it. Why not me?

The angel touched my shoulder again with his hand and I turned toward him. “Now, it’s time for your spiritual ears to be opened.” He reached up and touched both of my ears with his hands.

Wouldn’t you think it would be quiet in the spiritual realm over the University of California, Berkeley? It’s not. There is constant clamor, reverberating throughout the whole atmosphere, most of which comes from the ruling principality. But what really shocked me is that the demonic principality’s words mirrored the liberal attitudes on the campus. From the deans down to the professors, and then, to the students. The religious principality constantly spewed out proclamations like:

White Americans are racists… All wars are immoral and wrong… Homosexuality is not a sin… Pro-choice is a woman’s right… Same-sex marriage is morally acceptable…Traditional Christianity is irrelevant, mean, hateful, judgmental and dogmatic…Jesus never said anything about homosexuality…Jesus is the Way which is open to other ways, such as Hare Krishna, Buddha and Mohammad…God is a God of love and not judgment… Satan and demons are fictional beings…The Bible contains  no more authority than the Koran, Buddhist sutras, Veda and other spiritual writings…Creating social justice is the main emphasis of the gospel…Global warming is a Christian stewardship concern…

I stood there with my mouth open, drool running down my chin. “Hey, many of these statements I agree with,” I muttered aloud, not realizing I had done so.

“And that’s why you are deceived.”

“Deceived? Me?”

“Yes, you and most liberal Christians who believe such garbage.”

“But, but – ”

“Not only are you deceived, but your faith is dead when it agrees with Satan’s agenda. He’s always a liar, even when his words sound righteous. Your faith, in order to have life, must be based on what the Lord has stated in Scripture and is presently saying to His church.”

I kept quiet as his words ripped my theology apart.

Then, he pointed down again. “Look.”

There just below us, was a student resembling a fluorescent light bulb walking across the esplanade. She lit up the whole area around her as she hurried on her way. But unlike the others, she did not have a creature sitting on her shoulder and instead, one hovered around her head like a helicopter, trying to alight on her. For some unseen reason, the creature could not land. Frustration etched across its face.

“Listen,” said the angel.

My ears adjusted themselves to only listening to the girl. Her footsteps and the movement of her arms came through loud and clear, but there was something else. “Dee, dee, bah, bah, hooka mah hundae,” she whispered over and over.

She was speaking in tongues!

“Your message to Christians on college campuses is very simple,” said the angel. “It’s the same one Paul gave to the believers in Ephesus when he said, ‘Take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God, with all prayer and petition pray at all times in the Spirit, and with this in view, be on the alert with all perseverance and petition for all the saints.”

Then he added, “In case you have forgotten, these scriptures are Ephesians 6: 17-18.”

It bugged me that he knew I had not read my Bible for years. What else did he know?

The above scene is from my novel, Deceived, Dead and Delivered, which will be released in 2012.  

(Continued in Part 5) 

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San Francisco: God Loves You, But… (Part 3)

Why does God often send an outsider to an area to help deliver the oppressed people?

God said to Abraham, “Know for certain that your descendants will be strangers in a land that is not theirs, where they will be enslaved and oppressed for four hundred years. (Genesis 15:13)

Three hundred and fifty years into the prophetic words of Genesis 15:12, a baby boy was born to a Levite couple living in Egypt. The couple already had a three year old son (Aaron) and an older daughter (Miriam), but this child was unique. He was the chosen one, the one who would be the deliverer of the Hebrews out of the iron furnace, Egypt.

How did God prepare His chosen deliverer?

Because of the harsh edicts of Pharaoh who wanted to kill all male Hebrew babies, the baby boy was put into a water tight basket and set adrift in reeds along the Nile River. The baby boy’s sister, Miriam, stood nearby, watching on.

Pharaoh’s daughter then walked by the reeds, checked out the basket and fell in love with the Hebrew baby. Miriam showed up and asked if Pharaoh’s daughter needed a nurse for the baby. Pharaoh’s daughter agreed and paid the baby’s Levite mother to nurse her own baby. Interestingly enough, it was Pharaoh’s daughter who named the child Moses, not his Hebrew parents

Can you imagine the conversation that  must have happened when Pharaoh’s daughter brought Moses into the palace? Her father wanted to kill Hebrew male babies and his daughter had one in her possession. There had to be a few arguments over Moses, but in the end, Pharaoh’s daughter raised Moses as an Egyptian. He was taught by the best teachers, learned the ways of Egypt and became a powerful minister of state.

Three hundred and ninety years into the prophetic words of Genesis 15:12, Moses felt like visiting the Hebrew slaves. He intervened in a fight between a slave and an Egyptian, and then killed the Egyptian.

And Moses supposed that his brethren understood that God was granting them deliverance through him, but they did not understand. (Acts 7:25)

Because of killing the Egyptian and the misunderstanding of the Hebrews, Moses fled to the desert where he tended sheep for forty years and worked for his father-in-law.

Not quite four hundred and thirty years into the prophetic words of Genesis 15:12, Moses had his burning bush experience with the Angel of the Lord. God revealed His name, I Am, told Moses to return to Egypt and gave him specific signs for the Hebrews. Moses argued about his inability to speak and God eventually agreed to allow his brother, Aaron, to do some speaking for Moses.

The Lord also gave Moses a future event:

“…Is there not your brother Aaron the Levite? I know that he speaks fluently. And moreover, behold, he is coming out to meet you; when he sees you, he will be glad in his heart. (Exodus 4:14)

While Moses was heading back to Egypt, God spoke to Aaron:

…Go to meet Moses in the wilderness.” So he went and met him at the mountain of God and kissed him. (Exodus 4:27)

Both Moses and Aaron were prophets. And as these two scriptures reveal, both men heard the voice of the Lord. So, why did the Hebrews even need a prophet like Moses to deliver them? After all, Aaron was a prophet and, as a part of the prophet’s calling, he was also a deliverer.

First, let’s look at Aaron who was born and raised as a slave in Egypt. His normal mental state had to be based on fear. Fear of reprisals. Fear of death. Fear of starvation. Fear for his loved ones. Fear. Fear. Fear. It had to govern every part of his life, even part of his prophet’s calling.

For instance, what did Aaron do when Moses delayed coming down from the mountain and the people asked for a new god to lead them? He caved in to the people’s fears and carved a golden calf. This Egyptian god-like idol must have represented authority and power to Aaron which he thought had empowered his slave masters. But no matter what his actual reason was, it was based on fear and not faith in the I Am.

Moses did not have Aaron’s fear problems. He was raised by the Egyptians who were the slave masters. He understood the Egyptian gods and knew they were powerless and dumb. Then, after Moses’ eyes were opened to his calling and had killed the Egyptian man, he probably felt fear for the first time. So, he fled to Egypt.

For forty years, Moses spent his time in a nomadic existence, far from a life of daily fear. It was during this period, he learned the ways of the Lord and came to have an intimate knowledge of God and His goodness.

For you have not received a spirit of slavery to fear again, but you have received a spirit of adoption, as sons by which we cry out, “Abba! Father!” 

But also, for those forty years, Moses was not under the religious principality, which governed Egypt and which used the spirit of slavery to rule over the Hebrews. Like David, Moses would have had to fight some bears and lions along the way, but he did not have to face and be shaped by a Goliath everyday like Aaron and the other Hebrews did.

When he was finally ready and prepared to face his Goliath, the religious principality over Egypt, God sent him as a deliverer to the Hebrews.

Yet remember this: it took a long time to prepare Moses for his calling of deliverer.

San Francisco can expect numerous outsiders who have no reputations, short resumes and long preparation times in deserts to show up as deliverers for the city. Their arrival is not a reflection on the San Francisco saints who have suffered under the spirit of depravity for years, but rather it is God’s plan for the city.

(Continued in Part 4)

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San Francisco: God Loves You, But… (Part 2)

At 9 p.m., my studying was completed. So, I stood up and walked into the kitchen for a drink of water. Turning on the recessed ceiling lights, I stopped dead in my tracks. A grotesque creature was sitting on a stool at the island counter. If the angel was the epitome of the Kingdom of Light, then this being was the dark side’s counterpart. Its gloomy eyes glared at me and its lips formed a sneer. Oozing sores plastered the being’s face and neck. A filthy robe covered its torso. The air was charged with a stench of decay.

“Listen up Chuck,” the creature said in a raspy voice.

Fear struck my chest like a baseball bat. I had trouble breathing. Confusion settled over me like a morning fog. Two and two did not add up at that moment.

“If you go to businessmen and tell them to leave churches and no longer give money to ministries and churches, some bad things will happen to your family. Your two sons will die in an auto accident and your wife will go insane. Do you hear me?”

I could not speak.

The creature drummed its dirty two-inch long fingernails on the granite counter. The beat reminded me of a funeral march.

“I said – do you hear me?” the creature hissed out the words.

I nodded.

“And I can do it. It will be easy, just as easy as it was for me to come into your home. No one can protect you from me! Not even God!”

The creature bared its brownish-yellowish teeth with a hideous grin as it stood up. “Don’t you ever forget what I told you – okay?”

The being walked over to the door leading out to the deck. Then without opening the door, he stepped through it, and left.

I collapsed on the floor and wept. My body convulsed in fear.

“Oh God! What have I done to my family?” I screamed.

Afterward, I pulled myself together and wandered into the family room, collapsing on the sofa. What is happening? I thought. Everything is hitting me at once. What can I do? My mind raced in circles searching for answers, but I found none. Finally, I fell asleep.

As I slept, a voice visited me. Was it a dream or a vision? It was like both, but different at the same time. I was awake, but asleep.

“Chuck,” the voice said.

Looking up, I saw myself standing in front of a stage in what looked like a large auditorium. It was black. None of the spot lights were turned on. The red velvet curtains were drawn apart. The voice seemed to be flowing out of the darkness blanketing the stage. I felt no fear, but in fact, was comforted by the voice.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Do you have some questions?”

“Yes.”

“Go ahead.”

“What was that being in my kitchen?”

“What do you think it was?”

“A demon.”

“Yes. That was a demon power sent to frighten you by the religious ruling spirit over America.”

“But how did that happen?” I asked. “I always pray for angelic protection over me.”

“Yes, you do,” the voice said. “For just a few moments, the angels who protect you backed off their posts. When they did that, the demon power slipped into your realm.”

It hit me like a hammer between the eyes. The Lord set me up and used me as ambush bait.

“But – ” I said, trying to put my thoughts into words.

The voice interrupted me. “You have been chosen to have insight into spiritual warfare so that you can teach others. Spiritual warfare is not played on a Game Boy. It is played out in real life scenarios where lives and destinies are at stake.”

The voice paused for a moment and then added, “Satan and his army want to kill Christians and their families, and destroy their destinies on the earth.”

I cringed. “But what can I do to protect my family?”

“What does scripture say?”

Once again, the voice bounced my question back to me.

I thought for a moment before answering. “Cast my cares on the Lord for He cares for me.”

“Yes. And don’t forget that Jesus rebuked demons. He refused to allow them to speak because they are all liars. You can do the same in Jesus’ name.”

I was silent, not wanting to ask my next question.

“Can Satan and his forces really hurt my children or Dusty?” I finally asked.

“Yes. Your rebellion and sin can open the gates for Satan’s army to come into your family’s lives. But by the same token, a causeless curse will not alight on you or your family. So, walk with God and avoid sin.” The voice was silent for a moment. “Any more questions?

“What about my problems with Dusty?”

“She is not the problem – you are. Dusty is like most women in that she desires to see her husband as a sold-out man of God, not a half-hearted pew-sitter. You obey God, follow His instructions, and she will be happy to walk by your side.”

With that answer, the voice left and I returned to my sleep.

The above scene is from my novel, Deceived, Dead and Delivered, which will be released in 2012.   

(Continued in Part 3)

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San Francisco: God Loves You, But… (Part 1)

When the vision ended, I sat there trying to make sense of what I had just seen.

That’s when the angel appeared.

He stared at me. “Let’s go.”

Shock hit me, my mouth hung open. “Huh?” I mumbled.

Without explanation, the angel reached over and grabbed my left hand. We took off at the speed of light. I looked down as Albert disappeared quickly into a black dot and heard a faint “wolf” fall out of his mouth.

The dome of the San Francisco City Hall appeared directly ahead of us. It looked like we would crash into it. But before I could scream, we passed through it and landed in the Supervisors’ meeting chamber on the second floor. A wooden bench somehow telescoped out of the wall, up near the ceiling, and we sat down.

Under us, I saw the eleven supervisors sitting in their leather swivel-chairs. Each had a laptop computer on the desk in front of them. They talked and carried on. It was the weekly San Francisco Supervisors’ meeting.

The angel turned toward me. His robe whispered softly as he pivoted around.

“Open your eyes and see,” he said with a quiet power filled with heavenly authority.

I looked down again. This time my spiritual eyes opened.

I saw a grotesque creature sitting on the right shoulder of each of the eleven supervisors. The chimpanzee-size beings had a mixture of what looked like reptile, dragon, and wolf-like body parts with stubby tails, talons for feet, scale-covered wings, web-like hands and misshapen faces which protruded into long snouts and were filled with sharp teeth. They resembled dingy, gray gargoyles.

Each creature held its right wing over their assigned supervisors’ eyes. Their right hands were curled into a megaphone shape so they could speak directly into the supervisors’ ears. Their left hands looped behind the supervisors’ heads and covered their left ears.

The creatures never rested. When they were not speaking into ears, they looked up, around and at each other, their heads constantly moved about, their eyes searching to and fro. They seemed to be driven by a deep dread, almost as if a cruel slave master’s power instilled a fear in them.

What is this? I thought. Why am I here?

“Today is show and tell day, preparing you for your first assignment next week,” said the angel.

“First assignment – next week?”

“Quiet! I’m the teacher. You’re the student. Understand?” he whispered a stinging rebuke at me.

His voice contained no anger. Love cushioned the blows, but yet, I felt the power behind the rebuke. I shuddered and nodded.

“Earlier today, you had a vision. In it, you saw yourself being used as a sword by the Lord Jesus against a brass gate. The brass gate you saw was a gate of Hell over this city. It must be attacked so the truth from heaven can be heard in San Francisco. You are His chosen weapon for the undertaking.”

He paused a beat before continuing.

“Your spiritual eyes have been dialed up two notches, but that’s more than enough for you to get an idea of what’s happening in the Supervisors’ meeting room,” he said. “As you can see, demons sit on the supervisors’ shoulders, blocking information that is contrary to Satan’s agenda. At the same time, evil ideas are constantly spoken into the supervisors’ ears.”

He pointed a finger at me. “Remember: our struggle is not against flesh and blood but against the hordes of Satan.”

I nodded.

Then, he pointed at the supervisors. “Look again.”

This time I saw words streaming through the ceiling on what looked like hologram ticker tapes carried on laser beams. These words flowed to the ears of the creatures, the supervisors and everyone in the room.

I read them; they said, “Alternative life style.” “Pro-choice.” “Gay pride.” “Toleration.” “Christians are bigots.” “Abortion is a woman’s right.” “Separation of church and state.”  “San Francisco Pride.”

As each new message arrived, the creatures spoke into the ears of supervisors. A source from above orchestrated everything.

The angel pointed up. “Look.”

As I obeyed, the ceiling and roof over us opened and I saw into the second heaven. My eyes took a few moments adjusting to the spirit realm. But then, I saw a creature sitting on a large brass throne, blocking a portal coming out of the third heaven. Light rays attempted to flow through the portal, but only a few rays were able to pass by the large creature.

The creature’s appearance alternated between looking like a beautiful angel dressed in white and that of a monster version of the dingy, gray gargoyles, sitting on the supervisors’ shoulders. Like the smaller demons, the creature never rested. It caused fear in the hierarchy of demons below it and seemed fearful of its own cruel masters above it.

The words I saw, streaming through the ceiling like hologram ticker tapes, emanated from this creature. I saw additional word streams coming out of the creature’s mouth, heading toward Sacramento, Hollywood, Washington, D. C., New York City, newspapers, television networks, movie studios, publishers, corporations and thousands of other places.

The angel interrupted my thoughts.

“What you are seeing is the spirit of depravity. It is a ruling principality over San Francisco and guards a gate of Hell over the city. So powerful is this spirit that its wickedness is spread throughout the nation.

“The reason the spirit switches back and forth between appearances is it is creating confusion by this maneuver in the minds of people, whereby good is called evil and evil good.”

He grabbed my left hand. “Hang on.”

We flew up over City Hall and stopped, suspended high above the dome’s peak. The angel waved his hand over the city.

“Next week, your assignment is to begin engaging the spirit of depravity in battle.”

He then spent a few minutes giving me instructions from the Lord God of Hosts.

The above is a scene from my soon to be published novel, Jonah.

(Continued in Part 2)

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Uncle Phil Fielder: A 4th of July Hero

The young nurse’s aide walked into the hospital room, turned off the blinking call light above Uncle Phil’s bed. “What do you need?” she asked.

“It’s hard for me to breathe because of my sore ribs,” he said in a raspy voice. “This is for the birds – something has to be done!”

“Well, let me talk to your nurse and see what we can do for you.”

She turned and walked out of the room, her steps echoing down the hallway.

Fifteen long minutes passed, but still no nurse arrived with Phil’s medication. He gasped for every breath. I stood up and headed out of the room, determined to get relief for him.

Five or six people dressed in pink and green outfits stood around the nurse’s station, talking to each other. When they saw me, their conversations ended.

“May I help you?” a nurse said.

“Yes, Phil Fielder in Room 170 is still waiting for his pain medication.”

“Oh my! The nurse must’ve forgotten to follow up on my request. I’ll go get her,” said the young aide.

She turned and hurried down the corridor toward the cafeteria.

I stood there absolutely frustrated by this careless turn of events. A dam burst within me.

“Do you know this seventy-seven year old man was a World War II hero? He flew on thirty-five bombing missions over Germany. On one of those flights, he saved the entire ten man crew with his bravery. This man is a hero, and he was younger than all of you when he did it,” I proclaimed.

Maybe, my intensity caught these people off guard, or possibly, it was a sincere regret for their lackluster patient care. Whatever the reason, they collectively mumbled, “Really? We didn’t know that.”

Walking away, I struggled to control my anger.

Don’t they realize senior citizens have helped to make America great and deserve to be treated with dignity and honor? I thought. Some of them have even earned the right to be called a hero.

Sixty years earlier, Phil was a handsome seventeen year old Iowan whose boyhood years were cut short by World War II. Four older brothers had enlisted soon after Pearl Harbor. He followed their lead by signing up on July 10, 1942.

He kissed his sweetheart goodbye and boarded a train to boot camp. After that was completed, he attended airplane mechanic’s school and specialist’s training for P-38 fighter planes.

But yet, like many young men, Phil wanted to be in the action, not sitting on the sidelines thousands of miles away from action. So, he volunteered for gunnery school. He was accepted and sent to Pueblo, Colorado. Upon graduation, he was assigned to a B-24 bomber crew as a flight engineer and a machine gunner.

In the midst of his hurry-up-and-wait army schedule, Phil found time to marry Helen Kimler on October 24, 1943. What little honeymoon they enjoyed was brief. But fortunately, she was able to travel with him to Pueblo, Colorado. The months quickly passed by for these kids until Phil was sent overseas. Helen then returned to Iowa, pregnant with their soon arriving child.

Phil’s ten-man crew was a part of the 15th Army Air Force and the 485th Bomber Group.  Their ages ranged from 19 to 23 years old. Captain Tom McDowell was a respected veteran at the ripe old age of twenty. Uncle Phil was the second youngest at 19 and the only married man in the crew.

Landing inVenosa, Italy, the B-24 crew flew their first mission on September 6, 1944. Thus, began their countdown towards a minimum of thirty-five bombing runs over enemy territory before they could be reassigned to less hazardous duty.

Thirty-five missions over Germany, Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia and Austria. Thirty-five flights bombing oil refineries, rail road yards, ammunition plants, ball bearing factories and whatever else. Thirty-five trips through anti-aircraft fire filled with deadly flak so heavy it appeared to be black clouds. Thirty-five times taking off knowing that one in three planes would not return that day. Thirty-five tests of courage far beyond what most normal men could ever bear. It’s no wonder these crews became life-long friends after enduring such peril together.

On one particular mission, Phil’s B-24 came under heavy anti-aircraft fire just after they dropped their bombs. A piece of metal flak tore a hole in the hydraulic reservoir tank causing oil to spray all over the cabin. If left unfixed, the bomb bay doors would remain open and the plane’s wheels would not be lowered into their landing positions. Valuable seconds ticked off. Something had to be done or the plane would have to be ditched, forcing them to use their parachutes. A dangerous last resort for B-24 crews over enemy territory.

“See if you can do something! And be quick about it!” Captain Tom shouted to Phil.

Looking around, Phil saw a small broom under the pilot’s seat. He broke the handle off and made his way toward the hydraulic tank with it in hand.

Under normal conditions, this was a precarious trek because there was no aisle to the rear parts of the plane. There was only an eight inch wide catwalk which spanned over the thin aluminum doors. But on that day, the bomb bay doors were wide open with high winds ripping up through them. Plus, the plane was at an altitude of twenty-eight thousand feet, with temperatures at forty degrees below zero. Everything, including the catwalk, was covered with slippery hydraulic oil.

Phil unhooked his front parachute pack and edged sideways out over the long oily catwalk, much like a high wire walker in a circus. He crossed the open bomb bay doors to the leaking tank. When he arrived there, he cut off a finger of his leather glove, shoved the broom handle into the lopped off piece and stuffed the jury-rigged wad into the tank’s gaping hole. The leak stopped.

When they arrived back at base, did a military band play for our hero? No. Did any reporters rush to write about his heroic act of courage? No. Were any medals given to him? No. Did he really expect any of this to happen? No.

Instead, Phil received the grateful thanks from the ones he considered the most important people in the war zone – his crew members.

Phil and his whole crew went on to complete their quota of thirty-five bombing missions in April, 1945, and was then reassigned back to the states. There he was reunited with Helen and finally introduced to his seven-month old son, Philip, Jr.

In the words of Stephen Ambrose, Uncle Phil was a perfect example of the “citizen-soldiers” who bravely fought in World War II and then returned to have productive lives.

Looking back, Uncle Phil summed up his actions by saying, “Somebody had to do it. It just turned out to be me.”

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