One Sunday my younger brother went to his church with my mother. Around twelve thirty, the door to my sanctuary opened, and he said, “You are way out there. Something is not right with you. You are in that Bible way too much.” He was furious at me. I was stunned. What had I done? I picked up the Bible he had been told by God to buy me and replied, “Tell me where it says in this Word that you can have too much of Jesus!” That was the beginning of me taking a stand for what I believed in, even if that meant standing against everyone—even my family.

            As I would get into my Bible, there would be times that I would feel all hot and flushed when I would read a particular scripture. I began to understand that this meant Jesus was talking to me. One scripture that really got to me was: “Let the little children come to Me, and do not forbid them; for of such is the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 19:14).

Slowly, I sat and meditated on the two words “of such.”  I kept rolling them over in my heart. I knew deep inside that Jesus was telling me I could enter into the kingdom of heaven while I lived here if I just believed and accepted it as a little child would.

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In the eighties, I was an avid watcher of Beauty and the Beast, starring Ron Perlman and Linda Hamilton. Now I was careful not to watch a lot of anything that I thought was not appropriate for me. Not wanting to offend the Lord, I thought, Well, if Jesus won’t sit beside me and watch something, then I really shouldn’t be watching it either. Reruns of this show were on, and I thought they were harmless. Anyway, what caught my attention was how Vincent would be sitting at a table writing in a log of some kind as the show ended.

For days, I couldn’t seem to get the picture of Vincent and his writing out of my mind. I was compelled to buy a little book at the Dollar Tree and begin writing my own thoughts on paper. I felt like I was doing something I was supposed to do.

I heard Ruth Graham (Billy Graham’s wife) say she kept a journal of all of the prayers she prayed. She said when God was slow in answering some prayers, she would look back in her journal and see prayers he had answered. This gave her the encouragement she needed in times of impatience. This reinforced the knowledge that an answer was on the way. Well, if it was good enough for Vincent and for Ruth Graham, it was good enough for Molly.

I was sitting on my couch journaling, and a poem started coming on my heart, so I just penned it down. When I was done, what I saw was positively amazing. It was a complete poem! The only thing I ever used to like to write was my name as I was signing for my prescriptions. It had come out so fast that I really didn’t comprehend the meaning, so I stopped and methodically read every line, and when I got to the end, I gasped as I read the words I had written down:

“Would you have died for me?”

I felt as if a knife cut through my heart, and blood was pouring out all over me. I believed Jesus was asking me unequivocally, through that poem, if I would die for him. I sat still for a moment and pondered the question. I mean, come on—if God asked you to do something and you knew he was real, what would you do? Unwaveringly, my answer to him was, “Yes.” What else was down inside of me besides that poem? I quickly filled up my first journal and then headed for the Dollar Tree to buy another one.

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I had been diligent about studying, praying, seeking, and listening. I would sit all evening and memorize scriptures, depositing them in my spirit man. One evening something touched my heart to stop doing what I was engaged in at the time, and I was led to just sit still and recount my life from the very first memory I could ever remember. The process took what seemed to have been several hours, and when I had finished, I said to Jesus, “No one would ever believe this.”

I was open and truthful with myself for the very first time in my life, leaving no holds barred. I thought I had always been an honest woman, but this was something different. I realized I had been a big, loud-mouthed woman who sang, “I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar.”

Something had started to change in me over the last several years. I didn’t always have to have the first word, the final word, and every word in-between. A transformation was taking place inside of me that was not of my doing but was definitely of my liking. Peace replaced torment. I was sleeping better than I had in years without being comatose. I started feeling happier even though I was living with my relatives and had no clue what was in my future. I knew I had something to say, but to whom would I say it, and how would I say it? I had always said a lot that meant nothing, but I was now feeling I had something more to say to others. I also felt that what I had to say would be life-changing for others, enabling them to overcome pain, hurt, angst and undo suffering.

Several days later, I received a package in the mail from Kenneth Copeland Ministries. Contained within were two tapes. I did not—I repeat, did not,—order those tapes. I wondered how in the world I received them. I assumed I was supposed to have them, so I put on my headphones and went walking. I was hearing things I had never heard before in my life. He kept repeating something about powers, principalities, rulers of darkness, and evil and wicked spirits in the heavenly realms (Ephesians 6:12).

I stopped the tape. I rewound it. I listened again. I did that several times, and yes, he was definitely saying what I thought he was, but I had no idea what it meant, and I couldn’t wait to get back to the house to look it up. To my amazement, I found the exact scripture in the Bible referred to on the tape. I sat and thought a moment or two about it and realized I was being told about the devil. What now—is he real too?

It was late one evening days later, and I stood in the middle of my room and pointed my finger into the air at where I thought Satan might be. If Jesus was out there, then maybe Satan was too. I talked to him like I talked to Jesus, except I was fuming mad at him. No one was home, and I shouted at him, daring him to come and get me. I continued on my rampage, telling him I hated him for what he had done to me.

“You stole my life!” I went on, “Come and get me, and give me all you’ve got. With all the might in me, I yelled, “I hate you for what you did to Jesus! Bring it on.” I was firm and authoritative, and from that moment on, all hell was unleashed on me.

I snuggled up on my couch after my little tirade and dozed right off to sleep. I had been asleep for what seemed to be several hours when, all of a sudden, I was hovering in the back of the room at the top of the dividing wall that separated my nail shop from the work area. It was pitch dark all around except for a little light in the corner. I could think, and I knew exactly who I was, but I became aware that I was not in my body. I vividly thought, What is going on? Where am I? Am I at the top of this partition? How did I get here? What is my family going to think? Am I dead? Dara! She will be so upset over my death and won’t be able to go on. She doesn’t need this.

Then in an instant I was sailing through space. Stars were sailing past me at the speed of light as I was being hurled faster and faster forward, heading for an unknown destination. Was I in my body? I realized I wasn’t. Something was dreadfully wrong. Then a thought popped into my head: Yell for archangel Michael. “Archangel Michael—Michael, please help me!”

Simultaneously, I heard and felt a loud swish, and then I was kneeling before a giant angel. At once I felt safe. There was a blinding light all around, and all I could make out was this humongous angel. I uttered with very short breaths, “Thank you. I just praise you; thank you for saving me.”

He said, “Do not worship me. I am a servant of the Lord also. The next time you are in trouble, call for Jesus.” His voice was commanding, firm and unwavering in its deliverance and clearly, I was being called onto the carpet.

I said, “I’m sorry. I will. I will. I promise.”

I felt a loud thump, and I awoke the next morning not fully comprehending what had happened. I felt weak and was not able to get motivated. I started to move around so I could go get a cup of coffee. I knew what had happened the night before was real, but I also knew I dare not tell anyone.

The fingernail customer of mine who was a research chemist sat before me the next day, and I felt led to tell her what had happened the night before. She said, “Well, Molly, don’t you know what happened?”

I replied, “No.”

She said, “The hard thump was you reentering your body.”

She stood at the back door of the shop as she was leaving and said, “You need to put your spiritual ears on.”

Well, what on earth were those? Where do you buy them? All I could imagine was that she was standing there with great big ears on. What was she telling me? What were spiritual ears? You mean that angels are really real too? The angel I saw did not look like any angel I had seen on greeting cards or as a figurine—you know, cute, fluffy babies with little wings. This angel was huge, had blonde hair, a big belt around his waist, and had a blue outfit on. Why was he stern with me? I mean, come on—I didn’t know I was going to be flying in the air, scared to death and in trouble. The reason I called for archangel Michael was because it was the first thing that popped into my head. I didn’t want to bother Jesus; I thought Jesus was too busy for stuff like that anyway. After all, in my mind, he had already done the big thing by dying for me. What did I know about calling on Jesus when I was in trouble? I hadn’t expected to leave my body!

This situation opened up a whole new realm to me I didn’t even know existed. I hadn’t really even stopped to consider a spiritual realm before. First, the healing takes place in my body by my quoting scriptures; then, my high school sweetheart appears to me again. Then Jesus appears to me, and if that alone weren’t enough, archangel Michael appears to me! What was going to happen next?

The supernatural things that were happening to me were astounding and drove me even closer to Jesus. I continued getting up in the middle of the night as I was led, to sit, pray, and talk to God about my life, my family, and my regrets about things I had done, what I hadn’t done, and what I could have done—the list goes on. Sometimes I would spend several hours talking, crying, and repenting. I would cry so hard at times I didn’t think I was going to stop. His Word promised he would wash my sins away as far as the east is from the west, so I was going to make certain that I repented for them all. I also did not want to kneel before the Lord, who I knew now was real, look him in the eyes, and have to go through the horrible crimes I had committed again. I really didn’t think I could bear the disappointment I would see. If archangel Michael was real, then I knew Satan was real and there was undeniable spiritual warfare I was going to have to deal with. Satan was not going to have Dara and try to destroy her life the way he had tried to destroy mine. I would fight him to the death over her and defend Jesus, even if it meant my own demise.

I learned on those tapes to take authority over the devil. Every morning, I would get up around 5:15 a.m. to begin my day. First, I would hit the floor and start praying before drinking any coffee, knowing this was more serious than before. I would plead the blood of Christ over my family, my daughter, and myself. Then I would take authority over every demon in every realm. Satan was going to have a fight on his hands with me and was not going to destroy my life anymore, and he wasn’t going to get Dara.

Every single day, this went on along with everything else I was learning. I was beginning to feel I was becoming equipped to fight something I couldn’t see that had been coming at me all of my life. I had already begun to teach Dara what I was learning. I hadn’t known anything growing up about what it meant to follow Christ; that was not going to happen to Dara. I did not care what it took, and I did not care how tired she might have gotten of hearing me always talk about God. I simply did not care. I knew what I had been through; I knew what life without him had cost me, and it wasn’t going to be like that for her.