Seeing Jesus

As a little girl, I saw Jesus often. I saw Him in dreams, in visions, in Bible stories, in my imagination.


I believe I saw Him within my spirit so clearly because my mom prayed Daniel 1:17 over me as a little baby. She said that the first moment she held me, she looked straight into my newborn baby blue eyes and said, "Jesus loves you, Ayrian. You belong to Him." Then she began to proclaim over me, "God has given you knowledge and skill in all literature and wisdom. God has given you understanding in visions and dreams." Daniel 1:17. That's the anointing she wanted for me.


I perceived Jesus' presence beside me so strongly from birth that when my parents began to ask me at five years of age, "Ayrian, do you want to ask Jesus into your heart?", I replied with a child's black-and-white understanding, "Why? He's already with me all the time!" It took Jesus Himself speaking to me for me to understand their concern. As I lay awake during naptime one day, Jesus whispered gently, "Ayrian, if you don't ask Me to come live in your heart, I can't stay." Instantly, I cried out, "Then come in, Jesus!" Never have I wanted to lose my intimacy with my Savior, my Friend.


As I grew older, I tried stepping out in audacious faith but I didn't understand all of God's ways. I knew He could heal, so why didn't He heal me when I asked, believed, stood on Scripture? Hurt and bitter over the way other kids would laugh when my bold confessions didn't come true, I began pouring my attention into other, safer Biblical principles, like honesty, morality, integrity, tithing, etc--all important, vital components of a life that glorifies God, but in the process, I cut off the supply line to bold, radical, do-the-impossible-God kind of faith. It was a move in self-protection. I just couldn't stand being humiliated by God in front of everyone again.


That's okay. God hadn't forgotten all the prayers my mom had prayed over me.


When I was 23, living in emotional isolation in Germany, an ocean away from my nurturing parents, I miscarried. I went into shock. I'd never been willing to deal with death or pain before. In fact, up until that point, I'd done everything I could to avoid connecting with situations that threatened to touch my emotional core. But Jesus knew what was wrong. He knew I'd shut up large sections of my heart. And there in my living room as I wept on my face before the Throne of God, Jesus showed up.


It was the first time in over a decade that I actually felt and received an emotional encounter with God. He showed me a vision and for the first time in 15 years, I believed. Not just Scripture, but God's personal words to me. God knew I didn't have the stamina or character to hold on for long. He fulfilled His word to me in a short 4 months.


Then a new battle arrived on the scene. My 2-year-old son began having meltdowns so badly that I couldn't even go grocery shopping with him and his newborn sister. He was out of control, and my formula-parenting (Biblical to be sure) wasn't working. I knew how good discipline was supposed to work--but it wasn't working!


I began reading spiritual warfare books and began taking authority over the oppression of the enemy. My son didn't get better. Instead, the battle suddenly got worse. Due to military shifts, I spent nights at home alone in our little German house surrounded by neighbors who didn't speak English. That night when I put the kids down to bed and slipped into my room to sleep, a werewolf spirit crept up the stairs right into my bedroom.


I was terrified. I couldn't even look at pictures of wolves in books, and I'd always whispered to myself, "Werewolves aren't real. They aren't real." But now I knew It was. I rebuked it, began like crazy quoting all the verses I knew. "God has not given me a spirit of fear. Greater is He who is in me than he who is in the world. You will keep me in perfect peace..." The thing's presence diminished but I shook with fear and shock. I couldn't stop shaking as I flipped on every light in our two-story house and began playing worship music to try somehow to bring back the peace.


Day came and I went about my regular duties, playing with my kids, and saying nothing of this to the man I'd married. That night, he went to work and instantly, the house flooded with the intensity of fear. It was real. It was palpable. I got the kids to sleep and then began crying out for God to deliver me. I slept with the lights on and music playing.


The third night was the same. On the fourth night, I knew my head knowledge of God's covering and my authority over the enemy wasn't enough. Even with the kids' dad downstairs, my heart was petrified. I wasn't strong enough. I let go of trying to pretend I could protect my kids. They weren't being harassed. God was keeping them safe, enabling them to sleep completely through each night. I was the one living in torment. I stumbled downstairs and curled up on the couch, without saying anything of my horrible internal battle. How could I? No one else could see the werewolf spirit seeking to devour me. And it would...unless God did something I couldn't do.


That's when Jesus stepped in. I saw Him as clearly as I could see the werewolf's demonic stance and glittering, hate-filled eyes. The thing just stood there, glaring at me, fangs salivating. And suddenly Jesus stepped between me and Evil.


I didn't see His face as I had so many times as a child. Instead, I saw His back. Robed in white, strong, tall, and full of authority, His presence radiated supernatural, God-power. Every ounce of fear fled. Peace engulfed me. And that demonic werewolf just turned tail and ran. Then Jesus turned to me and said, oh so gently, oh so lovingly, "I stand in the gap for you."


I stand in the gap. It's what I had wanted to do for my children to protect them. It's what a good Father does for His children. He steps in. He covers them. He protects them. And more than that, He woos them back into a dynamic relationship with Him.


My Friend had returned, though He'd never left. I was the one who had walked away from believing--truly believing--in a God who moves and acts personally on behalf of His beloved. Amazed, I went upstairs and slept soundly that night and each night after. Although my son's meltdowns continued, God began showing me that the health of our children is not due to formula parenting but to listening to the voice of God and ministering to them--spirit, soul, and body. But that's another story.


That night where Terror seemed to have won, Jesus crossed into my reality. I was in bondage to fear, and He set me free. I was in bondage to legalistic thinking, and He began a long process of breaking off formulaic, self-preserving beliefs. I had turned from child-like trust to intellectual reasoning, and Jesus broke the chains put upon supernatural encounters by Christians who brush off visions and dreams, saying: "It's just your imagination."


No. The spiritual realm is real. Demons are real. Angels are real. Visions are real. Dreams can be real too. And Jesus is Greater. He has never stopped speaking and acting and standing in the gap for our salvation. He never will.