chapter 8
War and Peace
“Hi, Daddy,” Alex said weakly. “I’m being attacked.”
Time is a quiet miracle worker, healing, bestowing wisdom, and providing perspective.
Time was doing its work, making routine that which was once traumatic. Hospital trips were no longer distressing. Alex struggled along, making great progress on some fronts. Beth cared for the children. I went back to work and began rebuilding my business. Our family gradually found its rhythm, and periodically we enjoyed rest along the way. But permanent peace in this life is not to be found. That’s what the next world will look like, not this one. Spiritual warfare is occurring at all times. Isn’t that why the Bible speaks of the necessity of spiritual armor? We may be oblivious to it, but that doesn’t change the reality of Ephesians 6:12. There are forces at work that attempt to destroy everything God wants to do among us—and there is the “still, small voice” calling us to prayer, to vigilance, to standing against the enemy.
I wasn’t thinking about any of that sitting in church on a warm Sunday morning in August 2005. In those days, I was confident our biggest battles were behind us. It was gratifying to know that things had calmed down—that most of the real surprises had already happened. Our life was reasonably normal, at least our kind of normal. Alex was back in the hospital with a lung infection, but the doctors told us it was manageable.
A smile down at Aaron reminded me that he was just a year younger than Alex had been when the accident occurred. Suddenly, an odd sensation pierced my mind. A thought burst into my consciousness, as clear as if Pastor Brown had spoken it from the pulpit: Alex is going to be healed. I tried to block it out, but like the phone that won’t stop ringing until you answer it, I couldn’t: Alex is going to be healed.
Alex being healed was hardly a new idea. I’d heard that earnest conviction from friends on countless occasions. “God is going to completely heal Alex,” they would say. “I just know it’s true. I can feel it!”
The first to say it, of course, had been Dave the paramedic, and then Beth herself, on the day of the accident. Many months of doctors, nurses, ambulances, mucous blockages, and ventilators hadn’t dampened Beth’s belief. She was certain the miracle was coming. Many of her friends had taken up the refrain. God is going to heal Alex. It’s coming, just believe it!
I certainly liked that message and had no trouble accepting it, after a certain fashion. From the very beginning, God had been stretching our faith. It could be argued that His blessing Alex, taking him to Heaven, sending ministering angels, and the rest were clearly part of a trend that would culminate in the grand finale of the full healing of our son—if you were given to that way of thinking. As a matter of fact, even if you didn’t believe in God, you had to believe in Alex. His courage, determination, and tenacious spirit were the raw materials of a victory of mind over body. However, we did believe in God, and we knew that all things are possible in Christ.
I heard from God in my own way. I spent time with Him daily, studied His Word, and prayed constantly. But I wasn’t one of those people who hear prophetic messages from God’s lips to my ear . . . until that August day in church, sitting beside Aaron. That’s when I finally got the memo.
One minute I was closely following the pastor’s words, and the next I was hearing:
He will be fully healed.
I shrugged it off and went back to listening to the pastor, but it kept coming:
He will be fully healed.
The message was so persistent, I knew it wasn’t coming from me. But I was not eager to embrace the idea of “hearing voices.” It wasn’t something I’d ever experienced. Could I accept, in faith, that this was God speaking? It was a huge commitment—the kind of commitment that will break your heart if fully yet falsely embraced. It was the kind of idea that convinces people you’re out of your mind if you walk around telling everyone. It was okay for my wife and her friends, but I had a scientific mind-set, in keeping with my occupation. This just wasn’t me.
But the Giver of that message was determined to hammer it home. Those five words took on a power of their own, assaulting the fortress of my intellect. It was time to come to terms with what so many had already embraced. God was ready for me to know that He was going to heal Alex. Was I ready to receive it?
Was I supposed to feel joy? I can’t say I did. This development was too strange, too frightening. Alex is going to be healed. It was Beth’s brand of faith, not the careful, analytical type I preferred. It was great for her, not for me. But suddenly, there I was, walking with her in the twilight zone of faith.
Is God bound by my intellectual understanding? What was keeping me from embracing a wonderful truth—fear, unbelief, pride? Then, in a moment, the mercy and greatness of God overwhelmed my tiny intellect, and He gave me the faith to believe. I simply knew God was speaking truth to me: Alex is going to be healed. I accepted the message, believed it, and received it, and when I did, a new message was impressed on my heart.
Go forward and pray.
God was literally instructing me to walk to the front of the sanctuary and ask for prayer. I touched Aaron’s arm and whispered, “Would you come forward with me for prayer?”
He gave me a look and said, “No way, Daddy! They’ll crush us.”
I grinned. Aaron knew this church pretty well by now. They get very excited, very enthusiastic about the opportunity to pray with you. If you’re a little boy, that stampede is a bit frightening.
God wanted prayer; Aaron wanted to avoid being squashed.
It seemed important for Aaron to be with me. I thought about it a minute. “Aaron,” I whispered, “if you’ll go up front for prayer with me, I’ll take you to Dairy Queen after the service.”
That offer (bribe!) proved too enticing to a young boy, even one confronted with being flattened by God’s people. So we were all set when the pastor asked, “Would anyone like to approach the altar for prayer?” And up we stood.
Dave was one of the prayer leaders in our church. He would wait in the front of the sanctuary, greet those who came forward, and accompany them in lifting up their requests. As he took my hand, I told him, “God is going to heal Alex.”
He replied, “I know he is,” as if this were old news. “Is that what you want to pray about?”
I said, “He just told me.”
We began talking to God, and people began flowing toward us and joining in. At some point there came a shout from about eight layers of people back. “Have you prayed against the devil?” Little did I know that this question would soon become key to Alex’s life.
“I told you they’d crush us,” said Aaron after it was over. But there was a big smile on his face.
I laughed. “Let’s go. I owe you a trip to Dairy Queen.”
As I stood at the counter, the man taking our order kept looking intently at us. It was becoming awkward, so finally I met his gaze with a curious demeanor.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked, the serious look remaining on his face.
I hate it when people say that. Smiling politely, I only proved him correct. He kept on with the guessing game, which of course makes things even more uncomfortable.
“Come on. You’re sure my face doesn’t ring a bell?”
“I’m sorry; we’ve had a lot going on. You’re going to have to help me out.”
He said, “My name is Chris. I was at the accident scene, next to your car . . . with your son. I prayed for him to be all right.”
“That’s incredible! You were there?”
+ + +
The accident is something I don’t think about often. It’s just not something you experience every day—being with someone when you think he’s passed away.
The Sunday morning of the accident, my family and I were working in our front yard. All of a sudden we heard brakes skidding and a sound I’ll never forget. I told the girls to call 911 and took off running toward the accident. When I got in the backseat with Alex, his head was hanging down and he couldn’t get air. I desperately wanted to help him, but I knew enough not to touch him. I just kept talking to Alex and telling him to hang on, help was coming. And then I saw him take his last breath. I watched his body shudder and almost relax, if that’s the right word.
I walked away from that scene believing that Alex had died. I went back to my wife and kids and said, “We need to pray for this family and that boy because in a couple of days I think we’re going to read his name in the paper.” From what I saw, I just felt he was passing . . . he was going to Heaven.
Chris Leasure, eyewitness to the accident who got into the car with Alex before Dan Tullis arrived
+ + +
“Yes, I was.”
I looked at him, amazed at the greatness of God. Dairy Queen on Sunday was not a planned stop. Without the direction of God, I might never have met Chris. From a human perspective, life is random, and sometimes random turns out well. But I know God put Chris directly in my path that Sunday.
Chris looked down at Aaron, with eyes a little wet. “Is . . . is this him?”
“No,” I said gently. “This is his younger brother Aaron. Alex is in the hospital with an infection in his lungs. But he’s doing better.” I reached out and took his hand. “He’s doing better because people like you have been there to pray for him. Thank you, Chris. Thanks for praying that day. God answered you.”
God never seems to be quite finished astounding us with wonder and amazement.
Defense
After spending a little time at home that afternoon, I headed to the hospital. Alex and I would spend the night together. The events of that day played over in my mind: God’s telling me that Alex would be healed; being directed to seek the church’s prayer; the surge of power and faith I felt as everyone laid hands on us and lifted us before the throne of God; then, in the wake of that prayer experience, immediately crossing paths with a key prayer warrior from the beginning of the journey. What an amazing day! I couldn’t wait to tell Alex all about it.
My spirits were high as I rounded the corner with a smile and entered Alex’s room. The moment I saw him, however, my spirit froze. Alex seemed desperate to see me. I’d never seen him like this.
“How’s my boy?” I asked, searching his worried face.
“Hi, Daddy,” Alex said weakly. “I’m being attacked.”
The smile vanished from my face.
“What?” I asked. “What do you mean, Son?”
Alex looked pale, drained, frightened. “The devil—he’s attacking me. He’s saying terrible things. I want to make him go away.”
I felt a knot form in the pit of my stomach. Alex had never said anything like this before.
“Oh, Alex, Daddy is right here. And God is with us too. Everything is going to be all right.”
Trembling, teary, and clearly in pain, Alex looked into my eyes and said, “I can’t say His name, Daddy.”
“Whose name, Alex?”
My mind raced to understand what he could mean. He had already said the devil’s name. And then it dawned on me.
“Jesus? You’re having trouble saying the name of Jesus?”
With frantic eyes, Alex said yes. A sense of panic rose in my chest. This was new territory for me. I wanted to help. I’d do anything and everything to help my son, but I didn’t know what to do.
“Alex,” I said, “would you like to pray with someone special? What about Jay?”
Jay was a friend of ours, a man of prayer, and a man of wisdom on spiritual matters. He really knew how to pray.
“Yes, Daddy, call Jay.”
Jay was quick to pick up the line.
“Jay, it’s Kevin. Listen, I’ve got a situation with Alex. He’s being attacked by the devil, and he can’t call out to Jesus. Would you pray with him?”
“Of course, let’s pray.”
I held the phone to Alex’s ear, and in moments an amazing transformation took place before my eyes. The tension slowly loosened and melted away. The color gradually seeped into his cheeks. The fright in his eyes mostly melted away. As I thanked Jay and hung up the phone, Alex smiled. He looked at me and said, “I can say His name now. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus!”
I laughed, held his hand, and we said Jesus’ name together several times. No name has ever sounded more beautiful. We relaxed, joked around, and made small talk for fifteen minutes, but then things took another ominous turn. The fright had returned to Alex’s eyes.
“Alex, are you all right? Is it the same thing as before?”
He signaled yes.
“Do you want Daddy to call Jay again?”
“No, Daddy. I want just us to do it.”
“Well, then, that’s what we’ll do, Alex. Let’s you and me start praying, okay?”
+ + +
Alex asked me if I was mad at him for being tempted by Satan, and I told him that the devil only messes with people who are a threat to him. Alex is one giant threat to the evil one, and we need to continually pray for him.
PrayforAlex.com post by Kevin Malarkey on August 9, 2005
+ + +
For about an hour, the two of us petitioned God, talked quietly together for an interval, prayed a bit more, then talked some more. By a quarter after ten that night, Alex was all right again, and we slept peacefully together at the hospital.
The following morning, the phone began to ring.
“Hello, Kevin, this is Jay. I have a question. Was there another satanic attack against Alex?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” I said. “How did you know?”
He said, “Did it end at 10:15?”
“That’s exactly when it was over,” I answered. “Tell me what’s going on. How did you know all this?”
“After Alex and I prayed over the phone,” he said, “I felt that I needed to keep praying. I was down on the floor, on my face, talking to the Lord. I was lifting up Alex and praying against Satan for at least an hour. In my spirit, I looked up and saw the feet of God before me. I looked up farther and saw that God was seated on the throne, holding a scepter. Then I heard His voice say, ‘It is finished.’ At that point I stopped praying and went to bed. It was 10:15.”
Later I thought through all the events of that day, from church in the morning to the intensity of the spiritual warfare I encountered in my son’s hospital room. What if I had ignored that still, small voice telling me that Alex would be healed and that I should go to the altar and call the church to pray on this matter? What if our friend Mary Lou hadn’t suggested we pray against Satan? As a result, we had the power of the church’s prayer working for us when the satanic attack came. When Jay, Alex, and I all prayed for that hour, God finally said, “It is finished.” And it was—for that day, anyway.
What if I had just slept late that day? What if any of us had simply ignored the urgings inside us? What if our minds had been elsewhere or we had refused to acknowledge what was clearly God’s voice? Would it have gone worse for my son? I don’t know the answer to this question, but that day persuaded me how important it is to listen and obey when God calls.
Going Off Road
Even when we arrived home, our needs were lovingly met, day by day, and there’s no better example than the way they helped us strengthen our “fortress”—our home base.
Getting Alex in or out of the house was problematic. There were four steps to the front door and three to the garage. Moving Alex about, as light as he was, involved lifting both him and his chair about three feet off the ground.
A ramp was the obvious solution, but we couldn’t figure out where to put it or how to design it in accordance with our home’s layout. We were also a little uncomfortable with giving in to a permanently installed ramp—it felt like surrender, a resignation that God would never heal Alex. We said okay to the ramp, but we called it a “bike ramp.” After all, there was no doubt that our kids would use it that way.
That’s where our friend Wayne came in.
Wayne had a creative vision. He figured out an angle from the house to the driveway, just to the left of a large tree. For safe use with the wheelchair, the ramp would have to decline one inch per foot. The total drop, we knew, would come out to thirty-nine inches. When we measured, the length of Wayne’s proposed ramp was exactly thirty-nine feet—just as if God had intervened in the original building of our house thirty years ago to make a perfect place for it. I think He probably did.
Alex could get in and out now without the heavy lifting. The next thing we needed was to be able to get him down to the lower level of our house. The problem was that our only access to that floor was by a spiral staircase. Since we have a walkout basement, it made sense to build a sidewalk that would connect to the ramp at the driveway.
We were able to have some fun with the sidewalk, because there are few limitations in how you can build it in a rural setting. We scrawled our kids’ names and the date in the wet cement. Then, as a final touch, Beth wrote, “With God all things are possible.”
We believe that, by the way. We believe that one day Alex will step right over that verse as he walks along the pavement.
Yet the problems continued. A friend of ours checked the plumbing and was appalled by what he found. The pipes were a mess, and there was no water filtration system. He wouldn’t fix the plumbing without a water-conditioning system, which would cost about five thousand dollars.
I sighed heavily at the thought of another huge expense. Apparently I hadn’t learned my lesson. The friend shoved a piece of paper into my hand. “Here, call this number and pick out the system you want,” he said. “Don’t worry about the price.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, I’ve prayed about this thing,” he said. “I feel that God is asking for my credit card on this expenditure. The full amount.” He expressed his confidence that God would supply the money by the time the credit card bill came due.
It was another beautiful gift, one that was entirely essential to our needs due to the decrepit condition of the plumbing in the house.
We met with the company and chose the most basic model. Our friend, however, would not accept that. He upgraded the order to the more expensive model, one with extra features. He was confident about what God wanted him to do. And sure enough, it turned out that a customer returned the exact model two days after purchase, unused, and we received the returned unit at a huge discount.
A few weeks later, I was sitting in a church service. Two of the three morning announcements concerned Alex. The first of these was a simple update on his progress and a request for people to keep praying for our family and ministering to us. The second was an in-depth story about our plumbing. It’s humbling to hear every challenge of your family life shared before a congregation. One of the best proofs of God’s existence is the love we see among His people.
The speaker said, “As you know, the Malarkeys are having a system installed for softening the water. A Columbus friend put $4,200 on his credit card and trusted God for the funding within thirty days. This past Friday the bill came due, and on Monday we had only collected $1,300. We didn’t announce this, but simply trusted God to supply the need.
“On Friday, the total we had collected was $5,200. The company was paid in full, and as for the balance—Kevin, if you’re present today, please see the pastor after the service. He has a check for your family in the amount of $1,000.”
Naturally, that money was another gift from God, used to pay bills and buy equipment that Alex needed. We also were finally able to get a power wheelchair that would allow Alex to drive himself around using a control he operated with his chin. Once we were able to get it, Alex gained a sense of autonomy in moving around without having to be dependent upon others. If he wanted to go to the next room, he could do it. If he wanted to move to the end of our driveway, he could.
As long as we were all careful, this new freedom was a wonderful thing for Alex.
Let’s Roll!
God met every one of our needs and so much more. One of the most basic needs, transportation for our family, however, continued to be a juggling act. The pattern of our family life and our unique challenges made going to church difficult, at best. As much as we desired to be able to go places as a family, we simply couldn’t.
When another Easter Sunday came and we were unable to go to church as a family, I was very discouraged. Easter is my favorite day on the calendar, but we had no way to transport Alex to church. His power wheelchair, great as it is, requires a van with sufficient space and special equipment to secure it while driving.
As I sat at home on Easter feeling unhappy, the phone rang. Beth picked it up and I heard her say, “Hi, Suzanne.”
Suzanne, a speech therapist, had done a swallow test for Alex several months earlier. At that point, it had been a year since Alex had eaten on his own. The doctors had told us he would never be able to do so again, due to his inability to swallow. So this was another goal, another area for God to speak in and to drown out the doctors’ declarations of the impossible.
Alex, Beth, and I made an elaborate list of the first fifty things Alex would eat when he could, the first of them being Mr. Sullivan’s gravy. He was a friend who had made a dish for us with wonderful gravy. I put a dab of it on Alex’s tongue and then wiped it away. It was a swallow test, one he passed, and it made Suzanne a hero in our family.
As Beth continued to speak with Suzanne, tears began to flow down her cheeks. What was going on? Beth was crying about a swallow test? After Beth hung up, she explained.
Suzanne had told her pastor at Christ Our King Church, Robin Ricks, that she knew a family who needed a van. That very morning, before the Easter service started, Pastor Ricks had stood on the platform and said, “Friends, the Lord spoke to me this morning while I was praying. Would you like to hear what He has laid upon my heart? It’s about a little boy whom I’ve never met. His name is Alex Malarkey, and he was severely injured in an automobile accident. This boy loves the Lord, but he can’t go to church without the kind of van that will accommodate his wheelchair. He has other places he needs to go too.
“As I prayed this morning, I saw a picture in my mind of Alex looking out the window of a van, on his way to worship God. I also felt a strong impression that, even though I drove here this morning, I would not look out the windshield of my own car again until I promised to see that the money is raised for that little boy and his family to have a van. It’s very clear to me what God wants us to do this morning as an act of obedience. Let’s buy that family the van it needs.”
+ + +
I often tell others about how Christ Our King Church raised the money for a van in less than thirty minutes on Easter Sunday. They did not even know the boy or realize that the accident had occurred right in front of their church.
Dr. William Malarkey, Kevin’s father
+ + +
He explained that this special collection would not preempt the church’s regular offering—that would be at the normal time, and folks would give their tithes and offerings as usual. Donations for Alex would be separate. The giving for the van started, and within five minutes, a group of fewer than four hundred people had raised eighteen thousand dollars. Not a single one of them had met Alex . . . as far as I knew.
Examples of sacrificial giving were everywhere in evidence that day. One young man, fifteen-year-old Eric, had been working for friends of his parents but hadn’t yet received his wages. After hearing what Pastor Ricks said, he found the woman he had worked for in the lobby of the church and asked her to write the check, making the entire amount payable to the van fund. There were many other stories of giving from the heart. When that money arrived, we were absolutely stunned, and we’re still thanking God.
Reenlisting
It was fun to look out the window and see the new van parked in our driveway. What an amazing gift from God, through His people. Beth and I were eager to meet the pastor who had said he had heard from God on our behalf. Accepting our invitation for a visit, he came to the house. Over the course of getting to know each other, I asked a typical question: “Where’s your church located?”
“It’s at the intersection of Route 47 and Route 9.”
+ + +
When I first met Alex, I realized that he was a young kid who had a strong sense of who God is. It was really evident that his faith was strong. I never remember feeling bad for him. As I was communicating with Alex, I could just sense the presence of God with him in his smiles, in his questions—and, boy, did he have a lot of questions.
Pastor Robin Ricks, Christ Our King Church
+ + +
My heart skipped a beat. “That’s where the accident was, Pastor.”
His eyes were large. Maybe he thought this was an awkward development, something that might bring us pain. But it wasn’t, of course. We don’t curse that location, but see it as a place where God’s destiny took an amazing turn in our lives—one filled with pain and uphill struggles, but one destined to glorify His name and ultimately bless our family.
Pastor Ricks spoke to Alex for some time, and the two of them hit it off. I was fascinated, and (to be honest) just a little bit awed by the way the two of them talked about the unseen world—the realm of angels and demons and spiritual warfare. It was clear that these two were kindred spirits, who had both notched some experience in that world.
We felt an amazing bond with this man. Before he left, he asked if he could pray with us. That’s the normal way to finish a pastoral visit. But there was nothing normal about this prayer. Pastor Ricks spoke to God with an incredible intimacy, reflecting the relationship he clearly had with the Lord. His words reflected authority and humility at the same time. It was one of the most amazing moments of spiritual communion with God that I’ve ever experienced.
We were delighted to have a new friend in Christ, especially someone who could stand beside us in the trenches of spiritual warfare. We didn’t see Pastor Ricks again until two years later, when we visited Christ Our King Church for a Saturday afternoon children’s activity. The moment we walked into the church, we felt the presence of God’s Spirit in a palpable way. Immediately we wanted to be a part of it, and before we left that afternoon, I looked at Beth and said, “Are we going to . . . ?”
“Yes!” she said quickly, with a big smile.
The next morning we attended worship at Christ Our King Church and have been regular attendees ever since. We’ve stayed close to our “old” church family—those wonderful folks will be our friends for life—but God was moving us onward, reenlisting us in a new unit, if you will. Over time, God puts us in different settings with different groups of people. I think the dynamic of Christ Our King Church was exactly what He knew would minister to us at this point in our lives, when we had so many needs. And of course, we hope we can minister to these people in return.
+ + +
In 2008, near Christmas, a team from Christ Our King Church came over to install new flooring in Alex’s bedroom. Sometime during the day, one of the workers approached me and said, “You don’t know me, but we go way back . . . about four years.”
My mind raced a little trying to place him.
“Have we met before?”
He held out his hand. “Dan Tullis,” he said as he shook mine and nodded. “Well, yes, but you might not remember. It was on the day of your accident. We hadn’t been home from church that long when we heard this deafening crash. I ran to the intersection, just a couple hundred feet from our house. When I got there, I climbed into the backseat with Alex. I prayed over him and tried to comfort him, even though I didn’t know if he was alive. I stayed there until the paramedics arrived. He wasn’t breathing, that I could tell.”
“And here you are, four years later, working on my house and telling me this. And did you say that you were a member of Christ Our King at the time?”
“Yes. When our church family helped buy the van, I had no idea who it went to until you came to church a couple of years later.”
“So we’ve been going to the same church for a while now, but you never approached me with this story?”
“This just seemed like the right time, I guess!”
“Dan, thank you so much for your ministry to Alex.”
“You bet, brother.”
I had now met two people sent by God to the scene of the accident to pray for Alex in the most amazing, “serendipitous” ways. I serve an awesome God!
Heavenly Languages
When it’s time for him to sleep, we often place a sheet over Alex’s face. He likes to sleep in total darkness. One evening after Alex had been asleep for quite a while, strange noises came from under the sheet. Looking up from what I was reading, I laughed. Was this Alex’s way of saying, “Could you open the curtain for me, please?” Pulling the sheet back, I was surprised to see that Alex was still sleeping, yet the unfamiliar sounds continued. Was this some new way of snoring? I began to listen closer. There was a pattern, a cadence to the sounds he was making, like a garbled dream or mumblings from another language.
He was in no discernible stress, so I didn’t wake him. The murmurings continued. About ten minutes later Alex opened his eyes wide.
“Daddy, I was just talking to God in Heaven.”
“Were you really, Alex?” I asked. “That’s pretty cool, because we could hear you speaking—it sounded strange!”
“You could hear me?” he asked with surprise.
“Yes. It sounded like words from a language I don’t know.”
A few minutes later, he drifted off to sleep again, and the strange sounds resumed. Aaron, who was seven, walked into the room. One look at Alex and he began laughing. Then he realized that Alex was asleep.
Alex was awake again a few minutes later with Aaron sitting next to him.
“What were you doing?” Aaron asked, a little unsure.
“I was talking to God in Heaven,” he said. “It’s in another language.”
Not long ago, Alex made another surprise announcement: “There’s a spirit here, in the bedroom, but I can’t tell what kind of spirit it is.”
Since his otherworldly experiences had begun, Alex had always known an angel from a demon. But this time was different.
“Well, what does it look like?” I asked.
“Like you,” he answered.
This caught me off guard, so I laughed. “Got to be an angel, then,” I said, smiling.
But Alex wasn’t laughing. His brow was wrinkled.
“Why don’t you use your Heaven language and ask?” Aaron suggested.
Alex thought for a moment, then turned to Aaron and said, “Do you promise not to laugh?”
Aaron gave a very solemn promise. I shook my head in wonder at this conversation between a nine- and an eleven-year-old.
“Would you cover my face?” Alex asked.
Soon after Aaron placed the sheet back over his face, the language from Alex’s earlier sleeping experience was audible once again. He continued speaking in his “Heaven language,” as Aaron had called it, and then he fell silent. After a moment, Alex’s normal voice asked us to pull back the sheet.
“It was an angel,” Alex said. “He came here to comfort me. He touched my head.”
Ongoing Angels
We’ve had these little adventures from time to time, but the presence of angels has been a consistent reality. From the time of the accident, Alex says, the angels have graced our home. Up to the time he was about eight—the period of Alex’s most serious physical struggle—there was a particular group of angels that would surround his bed in our master bedroom.
Alex knew them all by name, and he would carry on conversations with them. John, Vent, and Ryan were names he mentioned. A typical reaction, of course, is to observe that a little boy on a ventilator, who has a baby brother named Ryan, is going to give those names to his imaginary friends. We know that children create imaginary friends to help them cope with new and difficult situations. Passing tedious hours in a wheelchair without the use of anything below his neck would surely inspire a child’s imagination as a coping mechanism. Couldn’t this explain these bizarre angel adventures, as well as the suspiciously familiar names? I wrestled with these doubts for a long time.
In the end, if what we see, hear, or read strains credibility, we must choose whether to believe it. It’s not my job to convince you. But in fairness, I’ll make this point about the veracity of Alex’s claims. Just as when you see a tree swaying mightily in the wind, you know there is a powerful force behind the movement, so the look that comes across Alex’s face when he sees angels reveals that he is in powerful yet unseen company.
Margaret, our friend who was in the hospital room when we first became aware of Alex’s heavenly visitors, wrote the following words on our Web site after that first amazing experience: “I wish everyone reading these words could see Alex’s face. He was truly radiant!”
Radiant, like the face of Stephen, whose face was as bright as an angel’s when the Holy Spirit came over him (Acts 6:15). The paths of many people have crossed our own during these months and years—as many as one hundred people have been present during the kinds of experiences I’ve described. I haven’t met a single one who has doubted that Alex was speaking the truth or suspected that he was delusional.
One day when our friend Laryn was at our house playing checkers, I asked, “Laryn, you’ve heard Alex describe his visits to the heavenly realm. What is your honest opinion . . . about what Alex reports?”
“Kevin, I have no earthly idea what that boy is talking about. But the deepest place in my heart that is aware of God screams when Alex’s lips move.”
That’s quite a statement, but I know precisely what he’s talking about: Alex’s experience has an infectious component to it. You feel what he’s talking about.
It’s hard to say, “You had to be there” and to expect that to suffice. I can only hope God’s Spirit communicates through our words in this book so that you can picture yourself in the room with my son.
We’ve come to believe there are angels around our family at all times. The Bible hints at “guardian angels.” For example, we read, “For he will order his angels to protect you wherever you go” (Psalm 91:11). And Jesus once said about children, “Beware that you don’t look down on any of these little ones. For I tell you that in heaven their angels are always in the presence of my heavenly Father” (Matthew 18:10). An angel protected Daniel from the lions (Daniel 6:21-22), and when Peter was miraculously released from prison, his friends heard his voice at the door and said, “It must be his angel” (Acts 12:15). It’s clear in the Bible that angels often minister, serve, and protect people, but we can’t be certain whether there is a lifelong guardian angel for every believer.
We observed a pattern in the ministry of angels to our family. When Alex’s life is calm, the angels are silent and discreet, if not altogether absent; when Alex struggles, their activity increases. During his first year home, when we went back and forth to the hospital so often, there was almost daily talk of angels. That pattern actually undermines the idea that angels are the figment of a bored child’s imagination—our angels arrive with the problems and excitement. Every single time Alex was in the hospital, I heard about them. When he is at home and doing well, weeks may pass with no mention of them.
I know that we have more courage and less anxiety when we feel the assurance that angels are watching over us. We feel strong in the Lord.
But there are other visitors, too—and those aren’t as friendly.
From Alex
Demons
We are not fighting against flesh-and-blood enemies, but against evil rulers and authorities of the unseen world, against mighty powers in this dark world, and against evil spirits in the heavenly places.
Ephesians 6:12
One day I wanted to tell my daddy something important. I told him that he had to promise me he wouldn’t be sad. This is not a sad thing, but a happy thing, I said.
After he said okay, I told him that there are two days I look forward to more than any others in my life.
The first is the day I die. You see, I really can’t wait to get home. It’s not that I want to die right now; I’m not sad.
It’s not that I’m sick of all this and want to leave. It’s just that Heaven is my home. I want to go back to it.
The second is the day when the devil goes to the lake of fire. I can’t wait for him to be gone for good.
I remember the devil telling me a lie in the car accident: “Your daddy is dead, and it’s your fault!” He is the father of lies, and I am so glad I know now that he is a liar.
Sometimes I have visitors I don’t want to have—my daddy knows the sound of my voice when this is happening, and he comes to pray with me.
But I don’t always need him to come, since he taught me how to pray. The demons leave when they hear the name of Jesus. Daddy told me about what Jesus taught his followers: “I have given you authority over all the power of the enemy” (Luke 10:19).
So I say, “Devil—or demons—in Jesus’ name, leave my room and leave this house. By the blood of Jesus, I command you to go. Leave me alone.”
Once my brother Aaron ended my prayer with, “Bye-bye, Snake Boy!”
Sometimes my daddy doesn’t know if the evil spirits have left the room—but I always know! There is peace again.
My daddy asks me what it is like to be around a demon. Well, it’s evil, scary, and ugly! They accuse me of things, bring me doubt, make me feel sad, and tell me I will never be healed and that God won’t protect me.
I know these things sound bad, but I also know something much better: “The Spirit who lives in [us] is greater than the spirit who lives in the world” (1 John 4:4). My God is true and faithful and loving. He’s perfect!
Everyone is curious about the devil, what he looks like. I don’t want to talk about this! The devil is scary! But I can tell you a few things.
The devil is the ugliest thing imaginable. He has three heads. All the heads are the same and have hair on top made of fire. He’s got beaming red eyes with flames for pupils, and his nose is nasty and torn up. Each of the heads speaks different lies at the same time. He speaks to me in English, but his voice is screechy like a witch and changes into different sounds.
The devil’s mouth is funny looking, with only a few moldy teeth. And I’ve never noticed any ears.
His body has a human form, with two bony arms and two bony legs. He has no flesh on his body, only some moldy stuff. His robes are torn and dirty.
I don’t know about the color of the skin or robes—it’s all just too scary to concentrate on these things!
My daddy asked me if the devil takes on different forms when I see him. No. He is always the same freaky devil.
The devil usually comes alone. Sometimes I can see him, but usually I just feel him—that’s more than enough! It’s hard to find the right words for all of this—the devil is truly indescribable.
Demons are often green. They have hair made of fire, and their skin and robes are just like the devil’s, too. The eyes are the same, and demons have long fingernails. Sometimes they’re alone, but they’re more likely than the devil to attack in groups.
I don’t count them or look too closely because it’s so scary. When it’s angels, I know them and their names, but one demon is just like another to me.
What do they do? They walk around telling people lies.
There’s a spiritual war that never stops—angels against demons.
Sometimes I haven’t been able to visit Heaven because there was too much warfare going on.