SUPERNATURAL ENCOUNTERS ... The Counselor/The Mentor ... WHY TELL?

   

SUPERNATURAL ENCOUNTERS ...

The Counselor/The Mentor  ... Why Tell?

SUPERNATURAL ENCOUNTERS ... The Counselor  ... WHY TELL?  

from Memoir by Marggie Rassler    Chapter 2      early 80's

      

      He shook my hand and then pulled the chair for me. He appeared pillar-tall in a well-pressed brown suit and tie. I glanced around. The office brown on brown. Walls wood-paneled, desk and chairs chocolate colored too.  Brown. Safe neutral color?  Just about anything goes with that.  I tried to collect the information around me, like numbers to figure out equations about this man. He smiled at me from behind the desk.

      "Mrs. Rassler. So glad you came."  He sat back on his chair and crossed his legs. I waited for answers to come about. Who was this pastor-counselor who wanted to see me?  And why?

      "I'm sure you're wondering why, after you spoke, I asked you here."  He draped his hands loosely on the arms of his chair.

      "I was impressed by your story, Mrs. Rassler. Can't wait to see ... I can't imagine what God's going to do with you."

       I shifted positions on my seat. He smiled again.

      "I think you need to keep telling this ... in different ways. Maybe write." He opened the bottom drawer of the desk and lifted a large group of folders to the top of his desk.

      "Meanwhile, Mrs. Rassler, I want you to have these."  He straightened the pile.

      I found my voice. What're they, Pastor?"

    "My study notes from my classes in seminary."  He searched my face and I searched his.

    "Mrs. Rassler, I think you're going to need this." He sat down again. I observe his hand rubbing his neck. He looked at the folders on the desk.

     "You see, these materials are all my studies on spiritual warfare."

     My turn to smile, the conversation had no shades of brown.

     "Yes, Pastor. So you believe in the demonic?"

    "You bet. I often remember what Luther said."  He put one hand on the block of folders. "He who sups with Satan better have a long spoon."

                  Chapter 3  The Mentor ... WHY TELL?             The year:  2006

      When he opened the door his giant smile embraced me. I stepped into his living room and sat across from him on the sofa. As usual, he waited for me to speak. As usual, I found comfort in his appearance. That distinguished peppered hair and beard seemed to fit him so well ...  I loved this biology professor, wearing his blue guayabera, who had taught himself  Spanish and Biblical Greek. The man, known at his church as The Prophet.

       I found myself sighing. My eyes dove into the eyes of love and peace. Home.

      "Gerry, I got some questions," I said. His laughter rang like cymbals. I grinned.

      "Mi hija Cubana, my daughter, ever since I've known you...." He laughed again. "No one ever had more questions than you." I studied his eyes. Soft, waiting....

      "Go ahead, Marggie." 

     "I've had ... different people encourage me. To put it down," I said. So much I wanted to share. My thoughts ... scrambled. His eyes remained fixed on mine.

     "They think you should write your story."

     "Yes!" He stroked his beard with his hand.

     "And you?" He paused and held his chin in his hand. I sighed again and sat up straight.

     "I'm afraid, Gerry. Real afraid."

      I heard his deep voice. "Marggie, whatever He asks you to do, do it. Is He asking?"

      I sought something in his eyes. I nodded. "I think so. But I'm afraid." I said.

      "Of what Marggie?"

     "Who's going to believe me? They're going to think I'm crazy."

     He came to sit by me on the sofa. His eyes still soft, gentle.

    "And will it matter ... a hundred years from now, will it matter ... when you're with Him?"

    I stared at him fighting tears. "Gerry, I would have to love Him a lot to do this. I don't think I do."

    He smiled. "Oh, daughter, He knows that. Ask Him. He'll give you what you need," he said.

    I took a Kleenex out and wiped my eyes. He waited for me to blow my nose. I laughed.

   "I don't know Gerri. How am I going to do this?"

   "If you can't do it for Him, now ... do it for the ones you love that need it."  

    "That need it?" I said.

    "Who do you love the most ... that you would want to know your story?"

      *****

        July 17, 2012 

      To My Grandchildren,

      My sweet grandchildren, if you’re reading this, Nana has gone to be with the Lord. I had stored so much in my heart to tell you…. Wished I could have shared it with you. But, you were too young. Don’t want for you to be without this knowledge. The story I’m about to tell you will seem unreal. Your mom and dad and your Uncle Eric, together with Papa will assure you that it is true. They lived through much of this.

     I love you my sweets. Will wait for you and welcome you by the Eastern Gate. Be sure you come. Your dad and mom will tell you how.

                                                             Till we meet again, all my love,                        

                                                                  Nana

SUPERNATURAL ENCOUNTERS ... CONFESSIONS ... Why Tell?

     
        

                     SUPERNATURAL ENCOUNTERS ... Confessions ... Why Tell?      

                  From Memoir  by Marggie Rassler     Chapter I   Confessions ... Why Tell?

                    

                   PART I  

      
          The tour of the mental hospital terminated. My friend, a counselor from the area where I lived, had invited  me to come with her.       

          "I need to know what to recommend when someone needs a safe place," she said. "Will you come too?"  I must have looked hesitant.

           "You know, you might need to do the same," she said.

           The man that took us around dressed in a dark grey suit, white shirt and a thin black tie that matched his pencil-slim shape. He looked at me and said, "When we invited your friend to tour our facilities, she informed us she was bringing someone with her." He crossed his arms loosely and smiled. "She said you have quite a story to tell. Would you mind telling it at a conference we're holding for clergy , doctors and counselors?"  I turned to my friend and squinted. Her eyes darted away from mine as she smiled like a cat already digesting the canary.

          

         The Conference         Early 1980's

              The big cafeteria  held a good size crowd, a hundred, maybe more. The walls, snow-white, tables and chairs, facilitated note taking. At first the place buzzed with chatter. Then, those attending sipped coffee quietly while different speakers came and went ... policemen speaking about teenage crimes and cults, doctors lecturing on medications, clergy communicating about the compassion needed to minister to the disturbed ... then, my turn.

              I stood to share my story and began with prayer. I needed help. I had done this same sharing many, many times before to multiple groups in different places ...  parents, college students, teen-agers, women's groups, churches, and a radio program. It never ceased being hard.

             The story unfolded like the other times before. I spoke of my hellish nightmare life of the year 1979. My pull toward the occult. My stepping into a world as real as the everyday world most people live in today. I spoke of encounters with evil beings that tortured me mentally, physically and spiritually till suicide seemed the only escape. I told of a God I had encountered through it all and His supernatural ways of stretching His arm to help me.

             I finished my talk and sensed the place around me with cemetery silence. One person started the clapping and then the rest rushed in. To my ears it communicated the sound of something stamped.  One more time my assignment finished.  

            She approached me first, in her black and white. The little nun with the huge smile.

           "God is going to use you," she said. "But you know that." She took my hand I thought to shake it, but just held it lightly. "He'll protect you," she said.
            A man came up right after. "Have you put this down?"
            "Down, on paper?" I shook my head.

            "I think you need to." I watched him scribble something fast on paper.

            "Come see me. Sometime. Got something for you."