**Since it’s been two weeks since this was posted, and we are nearing the end of the story, re-read this chapter in preparation for next week! You’ll be glad you did!
I sat in the middle of the Cafetorium as student after student filed in. The noise rose steadily as each new group talked about what they had watched on TV, homework assignments, or beating each other at the latest video game.
So, I waited. Whew. I tried to make my body stop trembling. I knew I had to be here—I was being led to do this. I didn’t know what was going to happen, only that this shaking—this force that came on me in the prayer—was leading me here today. People are going to think I’m crazy. What am I going to say? I looked at the clock. The bell was going to ring in a few minutes. It’s now or never.
I took a deep breath and willed myself to stop shaking. Jesus, help me say what you want me to say. I pushed my chair back and then stood on it.
“Can I have your attention, please?” No luck. I got louder. “Can I have your attention, please?”
One of the teachers on duty that morning said, “Patrick, you need to sit down.”
“This is about Sarah. It will only take a minute, I promise. Please,” I grinned at her.
She shook her head and looked around for the principal. “Okay, hurry up.”
“Who in here knew Sarah?” Nearly every hand went up.
“Sarah was one of my best friends growing up, but we got busy last year and kind of drifted apart. But I want to tell you what she told me before she died.” The room quieted to a low buzz.
“Sarah was cutting herself, as most of you know, and died from it. But what you don’t know is that she said the teachers and administrators here knew she was hurting herself. Not only that, but they ...watched, and they helped.” The crowd erupted.
“Patrick,” said the teacher who had allowed me to speak.
The teens yelled.
“They helped!”
“What do you mean?”
“Did they cut her too?”
The questions came like bullets.
The principal had just entered the room for his routine before-school check. “Patrick, you need to get down right now. Quiet, everyone. No one here or anyone else hurt Sarah. She was unstable. Now, everyone, get back to your seats.”
“It’s true. We’ve been lied to.” I pointed at the adults. “They’re not here to help us, especially Mrs. Leviathan. She. Had. My. Dad. Killed.”
The students exploded in shouts and disbelief. The school security guard and two other teachers rushed toward me, stumbling over backpacks on the floor. The football players made a wall around me, holding them off. “Let him talk. You’re not touching him!”
A female voice from the doorway pierced the chaos.
“Patrick, you need to stop. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“It’s her—Mrs. Leviathan,” one of the students said.
“Let them go,” Angela Leviathan said to the football players as she slithered forward. “Release the teachers and the guards.” She then focused on me. “Patrick.” Her voice mesmerized and controlled the air. “No one hurt Sarah or your father. Those were freak accidents.” She came closer. “You shouldn’t make accusations you can’t prove.”
I ignored her, even as an invisible force pushed on my head and another unseen power tried to pull me off my chair. I bent in ways that weren’t possible as invisible beings pulled my body in different directions.
I shouted from my precarious position, half on the chair and half in the air. Could I have some help here, Lord? “Who here has practiced witchcraft, or wicca, or SRA? Or that game where you call up demons? You have to renounce it! It’s the only way we can take back our school.”
There was silence. “Renounce it!”
Students’ mouths fell open. They stood paralyzed, watching me fight unseen opponents, pulling me to the floor.
“Say this with me: ‘We at Green Cove High School renounce witchcraft, wicca, that game, and the occult in Jesus’s name.’ Say it!” I shouted from my crumpled position on the chair.
Individual students began to pray, then one after another stood up and said it as loudly as they could. A chorus of voices began to renounce their involvement in the occult. “We at Green Cove High School renounce witchcraft, wicca, ouija, and the occult in Jesus’s name,” they said.
“Patrick,” a voice seethed in my ear, “get off that chair—and shut your mouth.”
I thrust my hands up. “In the name of Jesus—.”
Adults from all sides of the room ran toward me. Suddenly I felt strength infuse my body. I flung off disembodied spirits and jumped onto the table—again, my friends became my barrier.
“Lord forgive us. Save our school. Save us.” My legs were jerked out from under me from each side of the table.
Teachers were trying to carry me out of the room.
A soft, melodious voice came from the table behind me, singing, “Jesus loves me, this I know—for the Bible tells me so.” Then other voices joined in. “Little ones to Him belong. They are weak, but He is strong.”
The air filled with praise, “Yes. Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me; the Bible tells me so.”
Suddenly, golden rays of sunlight surged into the room. A blinding flash chased the shadows out of the room, and the air sparkled. I was freed. Teen girls and teen boys began to cry and sniffle as they prayed. I saw chains, which I couldn’t see before, that had locked the school down. They fell from the ceiling, crumbling on their way to the floor. White cataracts fell out of the eyes of some students, like contact lenses, and earplugs flew out of the ears of others. I saw deeply infected wounds healed. One person with a scab over his heart was bleeding, and one had black ooze, which must have been sickness, spewing onto the floor, and then, as quickly as I’d seen these ailments, new skin appeared in their place. One teen, whom I knew had severe depression, had a black fog engulfing his head, and suddenly it was gone, and his face glowed like the sun.
Woah. This is a whole lot better than last night. This is awesome! I stood in awe of what God was doing, and then I heard Hannah speak.
“Mama, is it true?”
Angela, who looked pale as she sat in a pool of her own slobber, was rocking back and forth on the floor with her fingers in her ears.
Hannah knelt before her mother and moved her hair out of her face. “Is it true?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Do you want to stay like this, or do you want Jesus to change you? He is the only one who can.”
Angela looked into her daughter’s eyes, and then she looked away. “What are you talking about? There’s nothing wrong with me.”
Hannah placed her hand on her mother’s forearm, and Angela flinched as if she’d been burned. “Mama, you can be free if you want to be.”
She threw Hannah’s hands away from her. She got up off the floor and stumbled out of the room.
“Everyone,” the principal said, “gather up your belongings and go to class, please.” And then he turned to me with an odd expression on his face. “Patrick, why don’t you and I go talk in my office?”
“Yes, sir.” What am I going to tell my mom? I wasn’t sure how much trouble I was in, but I knew—it was worth it.
I knew it was worth it. ….Sometimes, the biggest battles we wage are worth the trouble. Obedience is better than sacrifice (1 Samuel 15:22), which means that all the Lord wants from us besides our love and trust in Him is that we do what He asks because He knows in advance what needs to be done and what we need. He doesn’t want us to give Him another type of sacrifice in replace of what He wants us to do. He needs us to willingly obey Him. Can you imagine this scenario happening in a school or in another public space? What kind of impact would it have on the community? Imagine people renouncing the witchcraft they’ve been in; how would their life change? If you’ve been involved with witchcraft on any level, including indulging in watching it on tv or in movies, then it’s essential that you repent and renounce it in Jesus’ name so the enemy doesn’t have a legal right to attack you, your body, your mind, and your family.
Join me next week to see what the effect of this battle in the cafetorium was!