The Legacy of Adam

This is an ingenious way to deal with demons, courtesy of my friend Northwest Prophetic. The original post (with comments) can be found here. 


I had a revelation recently about how important it can be that we – Adam’s heirs – are inheritors of Adam’s calling, Adam’s authority.

One night, a group of prophetic intercessors had gathered together in our home, and were praying about a minor stronghold in our hometown. There was a high bridge downtown, a favorite among the despondent members of our community; it became known as “Suicide Bridge.” For years, it had been known by that name, and used for that purpose.

Recently, several of us had noticed that when we crossed that bridge, thoughts of suicide, temptation to jump, came upon us: we who were healthy, satisfied, happy individuals. These clearly were not our thoughts: they came from outside of us, from something associated with death, and associated with that location.

As we prayed together, we understood that there had been enough suicides, enough wrongful deaths in that place, that the enemy had capitalized on all the death, and assigned a demon to the bridge, to become a stronghold, whose responsibility, it seemed, was to maximize the enemy’s investment in the form of suicides from the bridge.

Most of the intercessors gathered together that night had learned that the “right way” to deal with things like this was to discern the name of the demon, and then to use that name, with the authority of the name of Jesus, to break the creature’s right to live there and to work there.

But we didn’t know the creature’s name.

As we were looking for the name, God spoke up: “You are heir to Adam.” Hunh? What? “You have inherited Adam’s authority to name living creatures.”

And the light went on!

We named the demon, “Bob,” and then we broke “Bob’s” authority and assignment in that place, and kicked him out. The “urge to jump” was gone the next morning, and within a week, the city “just happened” to raise all the railings on the bridge to eight feet high. There have been no more suicides that I know of off of that bridge. More importantly, there is no “urge” to end it all when passing by that place.

Hmm. That was interesting. I suspect we may be onto something.

Another time, we were involved in a wonderful and glorious session of healing and deliverance, in a wonderful, family-based environment. Most of the words of knowledge that directed our ministry came through pre-teenagers that night. Everything was going well, our friend was finding real freedom, until we came upon one demonic stronghold that would not let go.

After we fussed and fumed for a bit, God said it again. “You are heir to Adam.” We named the beastie “Squiggly” (as that was the dominant characteristic: he squirmed and slipped out of our “grasp” as we prayed). We assigned him the name, seriously: we took up the authority we’d inherited from Adam, we stripped it of whatever (unknown) name it had gone by, and we gave it a new name: its name was now Squiggly. Then we commanded it by that name, and the demon submitted quickly and left peacefully.

Based on our revelation, supported by our experience and by the Biblical description of Adam’s calling, I believe that we as heirs of Adam have the right to Adam’s commission: “Whatever Adam called each living creature, that was its name.” If you can’t find the thing’s name, then give it a name, and use that name to get rid of it.

Finally, I observe that there is, in practical terms, a substantial difference between referring to a spirit, and naming a spirit. Talking about “that squiggly demon” is not at all the same thing as naming the thing “Squiggly,” assigning it the name, exercising Adam’s authority. If I am just talking about a spirit, a demon, then I am not exercising the authority I’ve inherited from Adam; I’m merely talking (to it, to God, about it…) as a man. But to name something is to both claim and exercise authority over it, authority that you actually have, authority that you’ve inherited. Step into the authority you’ve inherited from Adam: wield the authority you’ve been given.

I’m interested to hear if others have found this weapon, and what experiences they’ve had when wielding it.

Wait a minute...did you call Him Papa?

"So what part of Ohio are you from?"

As she looked at me in dumbfounded silence, I noticed the long, jagged incision on the side of her neck that had been closed with staples. I thought, "That’s gonna leave one hell of a scar."

Tina sat with her legs crossed on the gurney staring at me, trying to figure out how I knew where she was from.

"I’m from Canton….but how did you know I was from Ohio?"

 My partner let the cat out of the bag. "He looked at the hospital face sheet".

He was right. The face sheet doesn't just tell us when you’re born, but what state you were born in. It wasn't a word of knowledge. But it was a good ice-breaker. It made her think that someone cared about her to figure out where she was born before they talked to her. We talked a little about Canton and the fact that she’d never visited the NFL hall of fame. As we wheeled her to the elevator, my partner asked about the gash on her neck. She was more than willing to share the gory details.

She wasn't proud of it. She explained her suicide attempt matter-of-factly. It didn't seem as though she wanted sympathy. She ran out of money. She had no friends. She had no food. And she saw no hope for tomorrow being any better. So she decided to end her life.

"I’m not very good at anatomy, so I screwed it up. I know you need to cut your wrist the long way, but I didn't hit anything. I took a scissors and cut open the skin over that big artery in my neck…I forget what it’s called."

"The carotid", I said.

"Yeah, that one. Well, I went for it, but I couldn't find it. So there I was, in the bathtub, bleeding. And after a while, I knew I screwed it up and I wasn't gonna die. So I called 911."

"I’ll bet the paramedics were freaked out when they got a look at your neck", my partner said.

I've seen a lot of suicide attempts, but the way she opened up her neck was the worst attempt I can remember. The incision was about 5 inches long and  was crudely stapled back together. I could see something poking out sideways that looked like a piece of bone trapped under the skin.

On the way to the ambulance, she continued her story. There was no one who cared about her. Like me, she was the black sheep of a large family. Her 8 brothers and sisters thought she was a lost cause. She never lived up to their expectations. There was no one she could ask for help.

Except her landlord.

She was welcomed by her landlord when she moved to her apartment. He had a close-knit family and they treated her with respect. When she woke up in the hospital, she realized that her cats were left alone in her apartment. It was a bloody mess and there was no one around to take care of the cats. Worse yet, was the fear that her landlord would kick her out of her apartment when he discovered what she’d done.

Much to her surprise, when she spoke with him, he only wanted to know that she was safe and asked what he could do to make it easier for her to come back home.

"Come back home? I thought he was going to make me leave. But he was so kind and understanding," she said as tears filled her eyes.

"You’re part of his family, you know. He’s adopting you into his clan."

I've met people like her landlord. They’re the sweetest people on earth. They love to nurture the wounded back to health. They encourage and support people in trouble. And God had strategically place him in her life at the right time, to give her hope.

I told her that I had recently begun to share some of the uglier parts of my past with my friends. Things that haunted me for years. I told her about this blog and what’s been happening on Facebook. And about the dreams of healing. She was interested.

"You know, I used to be an atheist," I said.

"I am an atheist", she replied.

I told her I wasn't surprised. I told her how I met God and how He appeared to me in a dream and told me He wanted me to pray for my patients and He would heal them. I shared some testimonies and told her my Papa was such a good Father.

"Wait a minute…did you call him ‘Papa’?"

"Yeah. That’s what He told me to do. He said I should call Him Papa or Daddy."

"Years ago, when I believed in God, I used to call Him Papa. I never met anyone else who called him that," she said.

I told her that God was nothing like the cruel, hateful God that a lot of people talk about. He’s loving, warm, friendly, compassionate and full of goodness. He’s better than the best dad you could ever imagine.

She began to weep uncontrollably. It was obvious that the words I spoke about God were the things she hoped were true, if there really was a God. She needed a God who would love and accept her just the way she was. When you suffer rejection over and over, the last thing you want to hear is that God thinks you're a colossal failure.

She asked if it was okay for her to sit sideways on the gurney. She had degenerative joint disease in her back and neck which made it hard for her to turn her head. I told her she could sit however she wanted.

"You know…if you want to get rid of that degenerative joint disease, I can pray for you and God will heal it."

"I’d like that", she said.

I placed my hand on her neck and commanded pain, inflammation and evil spirits to leave. I asked Papa to touch her and let her know that He's real. I asked what she felt.

"I feel really cold where your hands are."

"That’s God healing you," I said. "Here, feel my hands. They aren't cold, they’re warm. So it can’t be me."

She felt my hands and smiled when she felt their warmth and knew it couldn't have come from me.

"Can He heal this?" she said, pointing to her neck.

"He might. All I can do is pray."

I placed my hand over the incision on her neck and asked Papa to touch her again. I asked Him to remove her painful memories, her feelings of rejection, and to heal the skin and make it brand new. Her eyes looked intently into mine. I normally close my eyes when I pray with a patient, but this time I kept them open. She was staring into my eyes. I could sense her desperation. She wanted to know if this paramedic really believed what he was saying, or if he was just another religious nut. I kept my eyes focused on hers and continued speaking life to her.

We talked about many other things on the way. She devoured every word I said about ‘Papa’and cried a lot more. But they were tears of joy. We took her out of the ambulance when we arrived at the mental health unit. There was a line of people at the registration desk, so she waited outside with my partner and I went inside to get her registered. I  wrote my report while I waited in line then got her checked in. I went outside when the charge nurse arrived to walk her to the treatment area.

She hopped off the gurney and gave my partner and I both a hug then  turned and disappeared inside with the nurse.

My partner looked at me. "If we have to get held over past the end of shift - I don’t mind transporting people like her."

I couldn't have agreed more.

Covered By The Blood

As Shante slept soundly, an invisible voice whispered her name in the darkness.

"Shante...."

She awoke and scanned the room, looking for the one who called her name, but found no one. Looking a second time she realized her husband was missing.

Slipping on a robe, she made her way to the bathroom, located on the other end of the house. She opened the door.

Her husband lay naked in the bathtub. His arm bled profusely from a deep incision across his brachial artery.  Both wrists were cut. His blood flowed freely, turning the bath into a crimson pool of death.

Shante knew what to do. This wasn't the first time. She called 911 and tried to wake him.

The men in uniform made quick work of getting him out of the tub and on the way to the hospital. After a unit of  blood and 3 liters of saline in the ED, his pressure was still around 60/30. They had another problem. The hospital had no ICU beds open.

We arrived to transport him to the nearest hospital with an ICU bed. His nurse filled me in. They applied a pressure dressing to the open brachial artery and checked it before we arrived. It was still bleeding. His blood pressures had been horrible in spite of fluid resuscitation, although they'd only given him one unit of blood. He was a rare type and they had no more available.

He was restless and in pain. His physique was that of a bodybuilder. For a man pushing 60 years old, he looked like he was in good shape.

On the outside.

The inside was a different story.

I'm always saddened by suicide attempts, but some are worse than others. It's not unusual for a 17 year old girl to take a handful of pills after breaking up with her boyfriend. She's hurting. She wants attention and she knows how to get it. These gestures are pretty harmless and most people outgrow them.

But when you have grown children and grandchildren, you're supposed to have most of this stuff figured out. I can't think of anything sadder than a man who's been walking the earth for over 50 years who's still in bondage to his demons. Especially when he's a Christian.

Didn't Jesus came to free us from all of this? How is it that so many people come to the cross and receive salvation, but live the rest of their lives tormented by thoughts of ending their life?

I talked to his wife and asked if I might pray with him. She said he'd appreciate prayer then told me about how she found him in the bathtub. She was sound asleep at around 2:30, when a mysterious voice called her name in the night. There was no one around. We concluded it must have been an angel. I told her that God has been healing a lot of  my patients and that He's been teaching me about healing mental illness. I didn't make any promises, but told her I'd do what I could to help him.

We loaded him in the ambulance. His son got in and sat next to me. I can't imagine what a 30 year old man would  be thinking as he watched his father try to end his life.

"I have a question, sir...."

"What is it?"

"Can I pray with you?"

"Sure."

I prayed for peace to reign in his heart and commanded evil spirits to leave. "Holy Spirit, bring your presence to rest upon him and give him joy, unspeakable. Papa, show him your amazing love and mercy."

He finished the prayer with me..."In Jesus name."

We arrived and whisked him to the waiting ICU nurses and got him settled in. His wife was waiting in the room for us. I put my arm around her shoulder. She gave me a squeeze and said, "Thank you."