16. A Season of Deliverance I

© 2020 Daniel Yordy

September 1987 - December 1987

The Blueberry Family
I want to take the time to place many of those with whom I lived and worked and worshipped. I will start that with a new addition to the Raja home and to my, now ninth grade group of English students, Rachel Martin. Rachel was just about the sweetest, kindest, bubbliest, and most helpful girl I have known. Rachel had grown up at the Shiloh community. Her mother was First Nations, I think from a group in southwest BC. Her father was European. Her family was leaving Shiloh and the move, but Rachel wanted to continue in a community school, so she moved in with us, sharing Freda and Ruth’s room and adding bright joy to everyone’s life.

Here again is a map of the Blueberry Community, this time with who lived where. Families and individuals came and went, people moved from one house to another over the course of the years. For that reason, I am placing people where we remember they lived at the time Maureen arrived at Blueberry in August of 1988.

Let’s start with Judy Jones and her sister, Joanne Branham, both of whom were elders. They, with parts of their families, left Blueberry that first year and returned to the states. Sister Judy had been a good and cheerful friend to me all the time I had known her. Joanne Branham’s daughter, Cherri Kidd, remained at Blueberry with her son Christopher as well as her younger brother, Jason. Judy and Joanne’s mother also remained at Blueberry; we called her “Granny.” Judy’s oldest daughter, Jeannie stayed; she had married Paul Mandry from New Orleans, who also started college at the same time as I. Cherri Kidd was always the secretary of the school and for Sister Charity through the years I lived at Blueberry. Christopher was in my classroom for five years as well. You can see several of these names on the cabin map.

Let’s continue, then, in the area around the Raja cabin and work our way up the hill. Gary and Terri Rehmeier lived in the bottom of a larger, two-story cabin to our east, with their four children, Jesse, Wendy, Angela, and Steven. Gary was one of the elders; he had charge of the logging company, called North Star, which belonged to the Blueberry Community, and so he was out from the community much of the time. Some of the men worked full time under him and others part time. The logging company wages provided a good amount of income for us. Terri was a nurse and midwife; she would play a brief, but significant role in our life, in the birthing of our two older children, Kyle and Johanna. Cherri and Christopher lived in the upper floor, then, with an outside stairway access. Rachel Roes had a room with Cherri all the time I was in school. 

Many singles, whether college students or not, lived in the homes of most every family in the community. There were NO dormitories, thank God. Dormitories are just wrong. One of the psalmists said that God places the solitary in FAMILIES – not in dorms.

To our west were two cabins. Edna Smith lived in the one closer to the greenhouses. I think that Edie Dwyer shared one of the bedrooms in that house through these years. Both of them were elders. Sister Edna was a long-time English teacher in the public schools in west Texas, and then in the communities. These were older single women. Sister Edie covered the washhouse and food drying house.

In the other cabin were Steve and Michelle Ebright and their four children, Joy, Stephanie, Micah, and Johnathan. Steve often worked out under Brother Gary, he was a laid-back, easy going man. Michelle was a mainstay in the kitchen. I count her as an equal in my life to my older sister, Frieda; they were of a similar age. When I think of the worship of God in the church, it is Michelle’s face in the praise services that comes to my mind. Joy became one of my students who was most precious to me, one who filled her name simply and always.

Granny, of course, I have mentioned. I do not actually know her name, she was “Granny” to the whole community. She always had college girls sharing her home with her.

Charity Titus and Sue Sampson shared a cabin just to the west of the school building. Both were from California and elders of the community. Sister Charity was the oversight of both high school and college, whereas Sister Sue was the oversight of the primary school upstairs. She also taught courses in the college. As I said, Sister Charity was strongly arthritic, with twisted fingers. Sister Sue took care of her home needs, but everyone served to wheel Sister Charity back and forth from home to school to Tabernacle or wherever she needed to go. The Monday evening elder’s meetings were always held in their front room.

The cabin to the east of the Rehmeier’s, just south of the washhouse/shop and sandwiched against the Blueberry River, belonged to Don and Pat Deardorff and their children, Lorna, Amos, David, Anita, and Karen. Lorna was college age and went to the University of Alberta at Edmonton through this time to become a nurse. Amos, David, and Anita were each in my classroom and a major part of my life. Don and Pat were not elders, though they were leading adults in the community. Don was the math teacher in high school and college, a brilliant man and gifted teacher who laughed and joked all the time. The Deardorff table in the dining room rang out in hilarious laughter regularly, such that everyone would turn just to enjoy their laughter. Amos liked to play trumpet. I had a trumpet, so I sold my silver trumpet to Amos. I cannot picture Anita except either with a mischievous grin or just a big smile.

All the houses above the main road were situated on small flat spots going up an ever steeper slope. Alvin and Marie Roes lived in the cabin just above the washhouse with their daughter, Elizabeth. Alvin was an elder and covered the vast farming part of the community across a number of sections of land which Blueberry had acquired over the years. Cheryl Mailman lived with him; her son, David, was in my class. Ken Geis also stayed with them for a while. Ken was a part-time college student around my age and everyone’s friend, a jokester. 

Just above the Tabernacle was a little cabin which, when Maureen arrived in the fall of 1987, belonged to Eric & Lynn Foster. Eric was my age and started school at the same time as I, but after he married Lynn, who had been living at Shepherd’s Inn, he pulled away from school classes and devoted himself to the fieldwork as Brother Alvin’s second. Lynn was Maureen’s good friend through the years; we couples knew one another in goodness and in sadness.

Before continuing, I must mention two couples who married in these first two years, but had moved elsewhere before Maureen arrived. One was Rohn Ritchie, whom I had known at Graham River. Rohn was the community mechanic, working under Wes Shaw’s oversight. A brother and sister, Andrew and Mary, had moved to Blueberry from the states. Andrew was a blacksmith. Rohn and Mary married and then moved up to Whitehorse in the Yukon, to be part of the move fellowship there. Then, David Roes married a young lady who had lived at New Covenant while I was at Bowens Mill. I think they were in this little house for a bit, but they then moved on up to Alaska.

Straight north of the school was Martin and Rebekah Lincecum’s cabin. Martin was Nathel Clarke’s son; he worked full time with Gary Rehmeier in the logging business. Martin was a highly skilled big equipment operator. Rebekah was one of two sisters who had come to Blueberry from one of the Alaska fellowships. The other sister was Sarah Gregg, who lived in the Henshaw cabin. They were of college student age, but were never part of the college.

On up the hill were three cabins on about the same level. Up against the ridge to our west was the two-story house of Roger and Bertie Henshaw. These two were an older couple, leading adults in the community, though not elders. Roger had been a highly skilled machinist and was the community’s small-item maintenance man. Sister Bertie was the community book keeper all the time I was there. Actually, Sue Sampson was the “treasurer,” and Bertie worked under her. I spent a lot of community money buying building materials in Fort St. John. I knew that if I forgot the receipt, I would be in trouble with Sister Bertie. At the same time, Sue Sampson always “went to bat” for me in money requests to the eldership. With Roger and Bertie was another elderly lady, Sister Elsie, as well as many college students. Their upstairs was filled with young ladies. Their home was always an open door, with people in and out all the time. One did not knock, and Brother Roger greeted everyone coming in with great cheer.

I must also mention a family of siblings, the Hanna’s. The Hanna family had lived, first at the Peace Valley Farm, and when it closed, at Shiloh. The whole family had “left the move” and returned to the states. Their oldest daughter, Jennifer, however, had chosen to return to community and to school at Blueberry. Eventually, her whole family followed her back, but at this time, just her first two younger brothers, Eric and Fritz. Nathan would follow a bit later. These three all married daughters of Blueberry. I knew Jennifer as a fellow classmate, but I spent more time with Fritz, since he was often part of the construction team. I have no idea where any of these four lived until after Eric and Fritz were married.

Kay Wallace from Portland, Oregon, also lived somewhere with her two sons, Howard and Michael. I just can’t place where they were until Kay and Dave Smillie were married.

Then, facing each other on each side of the road going up the hill were Dave Smillie’s cabin and Randy and Martha Jordan’s. Dave Smillie’s wife, Norma, had passed away, I think of cancer, prior to my arrival at Blueberry. His home was filled with college students as well as Brian Dwyer, who had his bedroom in Brother Dave’s home the whole time I as at Blueberry. Dave was an elder, but I don’t remember that he carried responsibility for any particular area. Randy and Martha were not much older than I, they had three small children. Randy was a highly capable machinist, welder, mechanic, and metal worker. Randy and I did not actually work together, but our work often fitted together on the same projects. I remember passing Randy on numerous occasions and being lifted up out of sorrow into gladness just by his kind smile. Martha was the covering of the kitchen through these years, very capable. We ate really well at Blueberry.

On up, at the steepest part of the slope, on the west, Delores Topliff’s cabin was carved into the slope, but to the east, Paul and Jeannie’s cabin was perched at the top of the long grassy run down to the butcher shop and washhouse. Delores was an elder with her focus mostly inside the school; she always filled her home with college students. Paul and Jeannie were just starting their family.

At the top of the slope, above the Henshaw and Topliff cabins was John and Kris Austin’s large two-story house. Their children were Deborah, Rebecca, and Paul, each of whom I had in my classes in the school, and then three younger girls, Elizabeth, Abigail, and Karen. The Austin’s were a big part of my life and a big part of the community. You will find few people more poured out in service to God’s people than John Austin, with Kris as his match. John’s father, Paul Austin, had been the CEO of Coca-Cola, and thus his mother held significant amounts of money for John’s and his children’s inheritance. In John Austin's entire mind and world, that money belonged to the Blueberry family, with no thought otherwise. Nonetheless, before his mother would release some of that money, she required John to build a nice house for her grandchildren. So, yes, their house, though still a log cabin, was a bit nicer and larger than the other dwellings. Nonetheless, to John and Kris, that was just a good reason to fill their home with people. Wes Shaw had one of the rooms in the downstairs. Judy Patterson and Gail Young, both teachers in the primary grades, shared a room. There were lots of others as well. Like the Henshaw home, the Austin door was “wide open,” you never knocked. Their living room was everyone’s living room.

John was an elder, and his project, towards which he directed some of the money, was the beef cattle program, a main part of the work and income of the community. The larger chunk of money established the North Star logging company, which Brother John soon released to Gary Rehmeier, never once thinking of it as his. Of truth, I have never known two young men of higher regard than their sons, Paul Austin and Jesse Rehmeier. 

Then, last but not least, was the cabin of John and Nathel Clarke, situated on a bluff overlooking the Mandry cabin, and the grassy slope down, right inside the juncture of the two roads coming up the hill. John Clarke was one of the apostolic ministries of the move and he and Nathel spent probably half of each year traveling around the world to minister. When they were home, however, they moved only as two of the elders in the community. Brother John was an anointed minister, yes, but his greater anointing was in wisdom and counsel. The elders often yielded to his kind wisdom, although such was never required. 

Brother John had been a Pentecostal pastor in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. Sister Nathel Lincecum had been a part of the same group in California with Charity Titus and the Smillie’s’. I do not know the story, but she moved to Brother John’s church with her children, including Nadine, Martin, and Anne. Sister Nathel introduced Brother John to Sam Fife; the two were married before coming up to the Hidden Valley community in British Columbia. John Mark, Brother John’s younger son, had passed away of cancer before I arrived at Blueberry. His passing was an incredible loss to everyone in the community. I do not know anything of Brother John’s older children. Roger and Bertie had also been part of Brother John’s church in Idaho.

I don’t know how the Clarkes fitted everyone in, although their cabin had been added onto and was a bit larger than it shows on the map. Nonetheless, they made room for Don and Martha Howat and their three small children when they moved to Blueberry, as well as others. Rick and Shirly Annett also stayed with them for a time; Rick was one of the elders while he was there. I stayed friends with Rick and Shirley, even after they moved to Evergreen; we would share life together at Blair Valley. Don Howat was also an elder and the covering over the building needs in the community, and therefore my oversight and companion in the construction part of my life. Brother Don was just like Abel Ramirez, in that he always treated me as an equal. I would thrive in my construction experience through the years we worked together.

Someone, in reading this account, might think that there could not be so many wonderful people anywhere, that I must be exaggerating. I am not exaggerating; the Blueberry family was the finest group of people I have ever known. To have been part of their lives and they part of mine is an incredible gift of God.

The School Year Begins
The fall semester of 1987 began with a one-week block taught by Brother Buddy Cobb, who was the leading apostolic ministry of the move fellowship. He titled his teaching, “The Plan of God.” Brother Buddy was tremendously anointed of God, he wove Scriptures together constantly, and he was very convincing. Nonetheless, his whole “Plan of God” made no sense to me whatsoever. Brother Buddy taught in the Tabernacle so that those who could attend during the day would have room; and in the evening, the whole dining room was filled for his teaching. We had one paper for our grade; most of my fellow students just repeated what he said and got an A. I am convinced they had no idea what they had written in their papers. I can’t do that, however, so I got a B, which was a low grade for me. 

Nonetheless, this assignment marked a beginning in my life. I will not include a section on “the Bible and I” until the next chapter, but this moment is an important shift for me. Brother Buddy’s position was that God had proven His love to us, yes, but far bigger than anything such might mean, God EXPECTED us now to PROVE our love for Him, which could be only by perfect hearing and perfect obedience. And so God’s entire “plan” was a series of performance requirements from one group of people to the next, something everyone else had failed in, but which we were now called of God to do.

Inside of this grandiose “plan,” there was no motive or purpose or heart, no original desire of God for creation other then – “Do what I say right now.” I did not know it fully then, but when I read John Calvin’s Institutes of the Christian Religion, I was reading the exact same argument and the exact same strange and disorganized arrangement of innumerable verses, with the Old Testament equal with the New. I did, however, understand that Buddy Cobb was Calvinist, though I never dared suggest that, for I would have been told I was WRONG without thought.

As I considered how I must write my paper, I knew that I must begin with God as Father and God as Love. Thus I attempted to place Brother Buddy’s “plan” out from such a motive. In other words, God used this difficult assignment to plant in me the knowledge of the source and motive of God for creation.

But there were two other great dilemmas that arose for me in this week of teaching. First, these brethren in the northern communities had sold everything, and paid every personal price, in response to a word of the revelation of Jesus Christ through His Church, a word of LIFE. Brother Buddy clearly had no thought of such a thing in his teaching. At one point in an evening teaching, Sister Charity herself raised her hand to ask a question. I do not remember her exact words, and so I will put it this way. “Many of us have embraced and believed in a word of Life, where does that fit in what you are saying?”

Brother Buddy had a quick answer, “We’ll get to that later.” Only he never did.

But then he made a statement, “No ministry in this move has ever taught that the manifestation of the sons of God would be prior to the resurrection of our bodies.” The problem is that I remember. I knew he was not speaking the truth. So I went home that evening and pulled out the Hollywood Series booklets that I had transcribed. It did not take me long to find Brother Sam’s exact words saying what Brother Buddy was claiming had never been said. I was distraught, and so I took that booklet to Sister Charity in her office in the school the next day to show her this fact of history. But she stopped me immediately. Again, I don’t remember her exact words, but it was a very earnest impartation to me that we do NOT speak evil of a leader of God’s house, as God makes very clear in the Bible – Touch not Mine anointed and do My prophets no harm.

And so, just over two years after, this great contest God had started in me between rebellion and respect was now taken to a very practical next step. Here’s the deal. Doctrine is NEVER the issue; the issue is always the heart. The issue is always how you treat other Christians, especially those who are “over you” in the Lord, for that IS how you treat God Himself. Sister Charity’s words were the salvation of God to me; I closed my mouth.

My Fall Semester Courses
The school year of 1987-1988 was my jam-packed year. I took 25 credits of courses in the Fall and 28 in the Spring even while teaching a high school class every day. I had come to college to learn, and I fiercely loved doing so. Part of how I managed was how I ordered my time. Because of the needs of the college students, the community had our main service on Saturday evening. This left Sunday morning free for doing school work. I never did any thinking work after supper, only reading. So, while most of my fellow students took a break in the late afternoon, I did not. When I left my afternoon class, I sat down immediately and did most of any assignment. Then I would let it sit until the afternoon before it was due. At that point, I would look at it fresh,  revise and finish it, and go to bed early, even while my fellow students were up into the wee hours trying to get it done last minute. At the same time, I would save the biggest assignments for Sunday morning. From Friday supper on, I did not think about school work once, until I arrived at the school early Sunday morning with my cup of coffee and a clear mind. In that condition I could get a lot done in short order.

I am not sharing all of the courses I took, of course, but I am sharing a number of them that were of great importance to me, not just academically, but for my life. In both semesters of this year, I took New Testament Survey taught by Ernest Watkins, who lived at the Hilltop community. A lot of Bible went into me as I sat and absorbed Brother Ernest’s teaching. Then, I had three courses this semester with Sister Delores, English Composition, History of Education, and History of the English Language. Each of these three were of great importance to me and in each, Sister Delores excelled as a teacher. My big project for the history of the English language was a layout of the flow of words into English as a bulletin board. That bulletin board stayed for a couple of years, there to the left as you go out the back door; I still have all its faded pieces.

I want to introduce Peter Bell to you now. Peter Bell had moved to the Evergreen community with his family so that he might finish his degree at the Blueberry College. They never lived at Blueberry, but I visited with him and Barbara and their children at Evergreen many times. Peter had married Barbara Beebe of the Upsala community. I just watched a video of my grandson, Gabriel, not yet two, dancing in the Tabernacle at Upsala to her father, Ted Beebe, now in his nineties, playing the piano as dear Sister Dot Richie from Graham River, Rohn Richie’s mother, watched him adoringly. This is our heritage; it is the goodness of God.

Peter Bell was also an English major, and so he joined with Mike, Terry Miller, and myself in Sister Delores’s many classes. Peter loved linguistics as I do, and we could talk for hours in sheer delight over the nuances of language and how it works. Peter had a wonderful chuckle that added a sense of delight every time something interesting was said in class. Peter will play a large part in my story over the next many years.
The college course that changed everyone’s life and the life of many of the communities across the move, however, was Sister Jane Miller’s “two-week” block titled “Spiritual Warfare,” which we “took” in November of 1987. 

Sister Jane Miller
Sister Jane Miller’s college course was set up in the larger dining room in the same way that Brother Buddy’s course was set up. Theoretically, this was a “college course” and through the first week, Sister Jane did teach several hours each day. The core of her course was her own life story. 

In every other respect however, this was no “college course.” Let me explain the heart dynamics of this family of people I have described in this letter. We were a people who had sold everything, who had committed our lives to God and to one another at great cost for years. And we had done so because every person in that place thirsted after the living God, that we might know Him, and that we might be the revelation of His glory. This was no “Sunday-go-to-church” congregation of people. We knew the demonstration of the Spirit and power, we were determined to know God in all fullness.

From the moment Sister Jane started to teach that Monday morning, everything was different. All other work of the community had ceased. The school was closed. Only some of the sisters made our meals quietly in the kitchen, right in full hearing of Sister Jane. Every person in the community was crowded into that dining room with many also from Evergreen and Hilltop. We college students had the tables in front as we listened to the most anointed woman of God I have ever known.

Sister Jane Miller’s story is relevant to my life and to this history, thus I will share it briefly with you. 

Sister Jane had grown up in west Texas. While still a girl, once, when using the outhouse, she was frightened by a spider. That fear grew inside of her through her teenage years. Then, when she married Dick Miller and they had several young children together, in the difficulty of raising little children something snapped inside of her.

Jane Miller became what is called, “schizophrenic,” except she was far more than most, many very different personalities raged inside her person. Medical professionals at Tulane University in New Orleans attempted to treat her, but were not able to help. They advised Dick to divorce her and to marry again so his children would have a mother. They told him that Jane would spend the rest of her life in a padded cell.

What they did not know was that deep inside her heart, Jane Miller knew and loved Jesus. Outwardly she was only whatever demon was playing her at the moment, but inside she called upon Jesus to save her. In response, the Lord Jesus sent her Sam Fife. This was, I believe, 1965. Sam Fife had pastored a church in New Orleans that followed him into the move of the Spirit coming out from his receiving a revelation from God through George Warnock’s Feast of Tabernacles. And so Dick Miller brought his young wife to the gathering of that fellowship in New Orleans. I knew later some who were there, including Purcell Coalwell, who taped on a cassette recording the entire times of deliverance prayer.

With the elders of the New Orleans fellowship, Brother Sam cast the demons out from Jane Miller. This time took a few hours, all of which was recorded. Brother Sam required of each demon to speak before he sent it away, so that Jane could know that this voice inside of her was NOT her and was NOT God. Each one spoke back with a very different personality. The university doctors, when they listened to the tapes, heard each of the differing personalities they had dealt with.

Jane Miller was set completely free into a sound mind and the joy of Christ. The doctors at the university could not deny the miraculous change, and so they used the tapes in their teaching for a few years. 

But Jane faced again the same fears that had overwhelmed her as a young mother, and in her weakness, she fell back again into the horror of all those voices. Her husband, Dick, asked Brother Sam to please come again for his wife. Sam Fife agreed and prayed to set Jane free a second time. He told her this time, however, that he would not do so a third time. She herself would have to stand against all those voices.

And so Sister Jane did. And in standing fiercely inside the liberty of Christ against all the wailing voices of fear and accusation, Sister Jane became one of the most anointed ministries in the move. I had listened to her deliverance tapes as part of the “Basics” under Brother Jim Fant at the Ridge. Listening to her share the same story, now through an anointing that came closer to the open door that rested upon Sam Fife, carried a mighty impact into every single heart listening to her in the Blueberry Tabernacle. 
Sister Jane continued her teaching for several days; nothing else happened in the community. She taught about the realms of darkness, similar to what Sam Fife had taught, which we had also listened to at the Ridge. But now it was more personal and real, and through Sister Jane’s words, the Spirit of God was touching the deep heart’s cry of everyone hearing her, the cry to be FREE.

An Outpouring of Deliverance
After the teaching was over, Sister Jane was gathered in the Science room with all of us college students. The others of the Blueberry family were carrying out necessary tasks, long neglected. Nonetheless, some of the more “desperate” shall I say, non-students were also there with us. One of those was a sister, a wife of the community, who had been communicating privately with Sister Jane. It was late afternoon.

Sister Jane began to pray for this sister, with all of us gathered around, singing the praises of deliverance. She prayed for a couple of hours, while we continued to sing. The sister came completely free, filled to overflowing with joy and grace. Our deliverance practicum had begun.

The next morning, I came up onto the school porch at the same time as Sister Jane. As we walked into the school building, I said to her, “Sister Jane, you are going to pray for me before you leave because if you don’t, I will crawl into your pocket until you do.”

Some of the dividers had been moved back and we were now gathered in the central area of the school. A chair was set out for the one to be prayed for and we all gathered around to sing praises while Sister Jane prayed. Some of the other elders were there as well, sharing in the prayers of deliverance. There were many tremendous praise leaders in the Blueberry community, including among the students, and so the leading of praise simply passed from one to the next.

Meanwhile, I sat on a bench, partly watching, all constricted inside, waiting with desperate hope for my turn. You see, I did not understand anything, but, in spite of all the good things of God I had known and experienced, still the torment of fear from the overdose on LSD gripped my insides every day. As I sat there, I heard my Father speak to me words unbidden by me. First, He cast my mind across the dark years of my youth when I had used drugs and during which I imagined that I was not “saved.” “Son,” He said to me, “Even through those dark times, you were still My son.” This was the first time that idea came to me. It did not take me long to realize just how important that bit of understanding was.

Then, sometime in the afternoon, Sister Jane called me up to the chair. At the same time, she motioned to Brother Victor Raja to take the lead in prayer, while she stepped into the background. I did not like that, but there was nothing I could do. They prayed over me for deliverance, somewhere between one and two hours. When my time was over, although I felt great relief, I had not come clear. During the times of prayer, those who saw visions shared their visions with whomever was praying so that they could pray in the knowledge of the Spirit. Then, after each time of prayer, different ones shared those visions with all. One had seen a vision of a great black panther inside of me that was the ruling power over whatever lesser things held influence in my life.

You see, none of this was “theology.” My fear was real, and our cry for deliverance was real. As far as I am concerned all the theologians who know so much can take a hike. They know nothing at all. They are all those who go rushing by the wounded, blessing them in their passing, but never ever “demeaning” themselves by getting down into the pit with those who are suffering and waging war, together with God, until this dear one is FREE.

Those who say that a Christian “can’t have a demon,” are cruel beyond measure. Nonetheless, as I have come to know since, the only true weapon in our possession is Christ our life, that Christ is all first before anything not Christ could ever vanish away.

The next morning, I had to drive into Fort St. John to make some construction purchases, a trip that was unavoidable. I went by myself; before I left, the whole family was gathering into the Tabernacle. Again, everything was shut down and the entire Blueberry family, with others from Evergreen and Hilltop were joined together in this outpouring of deliverance.

I was NOT free. And all the way into town God contended with me more explicitly and personally than He had ever done before. “Will you surrender all that you are to Me, My son.” I knew, then, that deliverance was no “panacea,” there could be no escape from a face to face, heart with heart confrontation of God with me. I was in complete agony until that moment when, on the return trip to Blueberry, I said quietly, “Yes, Lord.” The agony lifted and the peace of God flowed all through my heart.

It was still early evening when I returned home to Blueberry. As soon as I could, I was back in the Tabernacle where the mighty prayers and songs of deliverance were continuing in full flow as they had been all day. Everyone gathered around the one being prayed for, one of the elders. Most of the elders sat in the chair for their own time of deliverance, at one time or another, even as they shared in the prayers for deliverance for others. This time, I was fully free inside the joy and wonder of God among His people. 

Picture, if you would, the dining room at Blueberry, a carpeted floor, with the tables rolled away and some chairs arranged across the back of the room. In the front center, about where the podium usually was, there was a chair, and the one being prayed for sitting in that chair. Around the chair were gathered Sister Jane, Sister Charity, Sister Barbara James who was staying at one of the other communities at the time, as well as some of the other Blueberry elders. Sister Jane led the prayer, while the others stood with her. All around them was the entire family, young and old, all on their feet, all of us singing the praises of God inside a mighty flow of the Spirit of God. Those who saw visions were typically in the background in silent prayer, but would come to share their vision with Sister Charity who would then share with Sister Jane the wisdom that the Spirit of God was giving.

We sang and prayed from 7 to 9 PM, until the sister stood from the chair, filled with overflowing JOY. 

Then the door into the Tabernacle opened and a man whom we did not know stepped in. With him was his daughter, a young woman named Delynn, in her late twenties, painfully skinny. Upon her face and from head to foot was the specter of death. Her dad had been in communication with Sister Jane, and when he learned that God was visiting His people in power, he put his daughter with him on the plane and they had flown from Philadelphia to Fort St. John that day, arriving at Blueberry, finally, at 9 PM. 

Sister Jane gently greeted them and directed them to sit down in chairs near the front. She wanted Delynn to rest in the praises of God before she prayed for her. Then, Sister Jane turned to Granny and Sister Elsie, the two little old ladies in our family, not to pray for their “deliverance” for such a thing would have been disrespectful. Rather, we gathered around these two in order to honor them with the blessings of God.

Around 10 PM, after visiting personally for a bit with Delynn, Sister Jane drew her into the chair in the center. As she did, something happened inside the heart of every single one of us in that room. Delynn was under the power of a dark spirit of anorexia, but in that moment, the determination of God gripped our hearts. We would see her FREE, and we would pay whatever price to do so. All that we could give, however, were our voices, and so we sang WITH ALL OUR MIGHT. Some had been singing all day.

Every individual in that family drew close, from the littlest to the eldest. I had my eyes on my students, and, I saw even them calling upon Jesus and commanding demons to come out. If the hearts of two seventh-grade boys in particular were so caught in the outpoured love of God, you can be sure everyone else was even more so. At a certain point, during the time of prayer and praise, Sister Jane motioned to us to be quiet. Then, she turned towards Delynn and commanded the demons to speak. She did this to show Delynn that these voices were NOT her. 

One thing demons hate is being exposed. They choose always to remain secret and hidden, so that their masters imagine that the demon’s voice is nothing more than their own thoughts. But something else terrifies demons far more than being exposed, and that is the Blood of Christ in the mouth of believers in Jesus. It was clear to everyone, including Delynn, that it was NOT her speaking, but a demon. The demon said that he gained power over Delynn through the music she had listened to. At the present time, I would suggest that to be only partly correct.

Just before midnight, Delynn came completely free. She stood to her feet, pale, but radiant with joy. All of us had lost our voices by then. But the JOY that filled the heart of everyone was palpable and thick. Sister Jane lifted her arm and slowly swept it around to honor the family of God and as she did so, such a glory came upon us as I have never known before or since, the Shekinah glory of God.

This was November, when the daylight is short and the night long. Before the sun rose in the morning the Tabernacle was packed full again, with more coming from Evergreen and Hilltop and a whole bunch from Headwaters. The dining room was filled with people, there was no more room for any chairs. Because so many thirsted after the living God and longed for the power to be FREE, a decision was made to have two different chairs going at once with the family split evenly in great circles around, singing the mighty praises of God. 

And so the prayers of deliverance continued. In the early afternoon, I needed to step outside to use the outhouse behind the school. When I came back in, everyone had gathered into one circle because the need of one individual was so great that Sister Jane wanted everyone focused on her. The press prevented me from at first seeing for whom they were praying. When I finally saw, I was SHOCKED to my core.

Let me explain. I am NOT an easy believer. I always REQURE evidence, either valid historical evidence or hands-on scientific evidence or what God ACTUALLY says in the Bible. When I am certain of the evidence, I give myself wholly to what is true, but not before. Concerning “demons,” in spite of the mighty experiences over the prior several days, I was still very much a skeptic.

There on the floor, writhing in agony, was the sweetest and dearest young girl I have known in my life, one of my students, who had brought such joy to everyone. Only it was not her. Behind what sort of looked like her face was an aboriginal mask, an ancient, twisted, and dark thing. In that moment I knew that I was not looking at this dear girl. I knew her; this was not her. Then, when our prayers had finished their work and she was herself again, she was, if that could be possible, more ebulliently sweeter and joyous than she had been before. 

Something clicked inside my heart-mind connection, and I knew, from then until now, that demons are real inside the human experience, as familiar to every individual person as our own breath and thoughts, bringing torment, fear, and confusion to all their masters who imagine that, by playing with their pet demons, they might gain some advantage. 

Continuing On
The mighty deliverance times with Sister Jane continued day after day. More and more people, each one of whom I knew personally and loved, came free into the glorious liberty of Christ. Complaining and muttering vanished from our midst. The earnest determination to know the living God only increased. Even after Sister Jane went on to other communities, with this new and mighty outpouring of the Spirit of God touching people’s lives and establishing community families everywhere inside the love and joy of Christ, the same Spirit of deliverance prayer and praise continued on with the Blueberry family, month after month, for years.

I want to bring in another impactive course taught by Sister Charity, and that was “Family Life,” which she taught as a three-week block that December. I can only say again just how much wealth I received into myself from Sister Charity’s wonderful teaching. There was a high point for me in this course, a personal moment of God’s goodness to me.

As part of studying “family life,” Sister Charity assigned each of us to write a paper on our remembrance of how our parents had raised us. As usual, as soon as class was out at three in the afternoon, I sat down to write my paper. As I was writing, out from my mind, how my parents had raised me, I wrote these words, with no thought of what they actually meant.

“I know that my dad loved me and gave himself wholly for me.”

I finished my paper before supper. At first I hardly noticed, but slowly, bit by bit, a lightness arose in me, a joy unspeakable and full of glory. By the time I walked over to the Tabernacle for supper, I was walking in the clouds, filled with a peace like I had never known before. I was amazed and astonished, but it was not until I was eating my supper that the realization hit me of what had happened that afternoon.

As I wrote those words, I was forgiving my father.

This is hard for me to understand. My father never once did even the slightest thing to warrant the bitterness I imagined that I held against him. He was the kindest and most generous of fathers. As I have raised my own children, I struggled with the same impossibility he knew, that he could not share of his own personal life with us, and I understood. Yet not once did anything but love and honor ever come towards me out past my father’s own inner difficulty. My bitterness was nothing more than my own twisted, hurting, and confused rebellion.

A few months later, I had a vivid dream. In my dream, my father came to me, spoke forgiveness to me, and held me close to the comforting of his heart. When I shared that with Sister Charity, she made sure I knew that it was just a “vision” of what was true, and not actually my own father coming to me in the heavens for real. I accepted her understanding, though I secretly did not believe it. Neither do I believe it now. I accept that it really was my own dad, imparting what had always been his heart to me.

I will continue this “Season of Deliverance” in the next letter. Because there is so much more I want to share inside this one year of time, this has become a two-part chapter.