I don't have time to read the full thing because we're about to hit the
road. The first few paragraphs are very promising though.
Jindal, you will no doubt remember, is that goofy hick-punjab
<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rg5GWI7UKtQ> from Louisiana who is on
the short-list of McCain's Veep choices.
/New Oxford Journal /charged me $1.50 for the article and I can only
view it online for 48 hours, so here's the cut-and-pasted version:
*BEATING A DEMON*
*Physical Dimensions of Spiritual Warfare*
*December 1994**By Bobby Jindal*
/Updated bio (2008): Bobby Jindal converted to Catholicism from Hinduism
as a teenager. In 1992, he graduated from Brown University,where the
following events took place. Afterwards, he received a master's degree
in politics from New College, Oxford as a Rhodes Scholar. After serving
two terms in the United States House of Representatives (R-Louisiana) he
is now Governor of Louisiana. Some of the names in this article, but
none of the details, have been altered by the author. /
Though she had not said anything, I knew something was wrong. Susan and
I had developed an intimate friendship; indeed, our relationship
mystified observers, who insisted on finding a romantic component where
none existed. I called her after the University Christian Fellowship
(UCF) meeting -- UCF is an Inter-Varsity Christian group composed of
undergraduate and graduate students. Though the interdenominational
group's weekly program of songs and prayers had produced the usual
emotional high among most members, Susan had left the meeting in a very
sullen mood. I asked her to join a group of us who were attending a
Christian
/a cappella/ concert to be held on campus that same evening.
Despite our intimacy, Susan and I had not spent much time together this
past year. We had succumbed to pressure from our friends and decided we
should not be so emotionally interdependent without a deeper commitment.
To be honest, my fears of a relationship and the constraints of
commitment had kept us apart; our friends' objections merely provided a
convenient excuse. Still, I felt comfortable asking her to come to the
concert, and she accepted the invitation. Though Susan appeared
composed throughout the concert, her sudden departure in the middle of
a song convinced me otherwise and affirmed my earlier suspicions.
There was no doubt in my mind that I had to leave my friends and follow
her outside. I was not exactly sure what I would do or say, but I knew I
had to run after her. I found that she had not gone far, but was sobbing
uncontrollably outside the auditorium. Since we had been very careful to
avoid any form of physical contact in our friendship, I was not sure how
to respond. My inaction and her sobs produced a very awkward situation.
Fortunately, a female friend who followed us out was able to comfort
Susan with hugs and soothing words of reassurance; her quick action was
in stark contrast to my paralysis. Once Susan had regained her
composure and fell silent, I knew I had to intervene. The female friend
meant well, but did not know Susan well enough to provide the advice
Susan was sure to seek.
Not even knowing the cause of this raucous scene, I asked Susan if she
would like to talk, and volunteered to walk her home. Wanting to avoid
any additional embarrassing scenes, I thought it best to remain in
silence while we walked. I dared not cause another emotional outpouring
until we were safely behind closed doors. When we finally reached her
dorm room, I promptly sat Susan on a bed and placed myself in a chair
located several feet across the room. This physical arrangement was
hardly conducive to the love and support I was supposed to be providing,
but I was too scared and unsure of myself to get any closer.
Taking a very businesslike approach, I queried Susan as to the cause of
her distress. At first the words were slow to come and the few that she
uttered made little sense. Gradually the words formed sentences and the
sentences arranged themselves into a coherent story. A jumble of events
was transformed into a logical sequence with a common theme of cause
and effect. She had noticed a lump on her scalp, had visited the
university health clinic, and had a biopsy performed. "Biopsy!" One
thought replaced all others -- "benign or malignant?" The results had
indicated skin /cancer./ Cancer, in any form, is a disease with a very
powerful ability to capture our attention and unleash great waves of
fear within us all. The word itself, and the hopelessness it conjures
up, causes us instinctively to whisper condolences; our minds
automatically turn to the horrors of chemotherapy. Radiation, hair
loss, and death all seemed very real. No wonder poor Susan was devastated.
I quickly collected my thoughts and returned my attention to Susan. Not
only had the prognosis scared her, but she had found little or no
comfort among her friends. They considered skin cancer a minor
affliction, something that affects those whose vanity causes them to tan
in the sun too long. The only friend who expressed concern was worried
about the possibility of contagious cancerous cells. Her friends, many
of them pre-meds aspiring to be compassionate and skilled physicians one
day, noted that a simple operation would remove the tumor, and then
simply laughed the entire matter away. She had felt foolish about her
worries and joined their laughter; however, her smile merely masked her
inner worries and fears. It was these repressed fears that had led to
her emotional outburst earlier that night.
As I listened to Susan recount these events, I wondered how we had grown
so far apart. There were now other guys in her life and many friends I
had barely met. I had insisted on emotional distance to allow us to
develop independence, but that was ridiculous. Susan was my best friend
and I hardly knew what was happening in her life. I soon found myself
breaking my silence; until this point, I had hardly needed to prompt
Susan to speak and had not even provided soothing remarks. Now, I
suddenly started comforting her and validating her feelings. Of course
I would be there for her. Of course I understood her fears and worries.
Of course I would reach out and touch her?
The interaction of Susan's revelations and my assurances had produced
another outpouring of emotion, hysteria, and tears. Against my will, I
found myself reaching out and holding her hand. I promised to stand by
her forever, to be the rock against which she could lean, to accompany
her to the doctor's office and the operating room. I never stopped to
think of the significance of my valiant pledges; I assumed any good
friend would react similarly in the same situation. How could any
decent person turn away a desperate woman in such need?
The tears vanished as suddenly as they appeared several times
throughout the night. Susan was even stable long enough for me to buy
her milk to ease the gastric pains caused by her anxiety. She was
literally worrying herself sick. I realized my words of comfort were
only temporary measures and were not enough to provide her with
long-term support. However, I did not go far enough. Instead of
directing Susan to depend on a source far more dependable and stronger
than myself -- i.e., our Christian faith, her own inner strength, or
even a professional care provider -- I continued trying to solve her
problems myself.
During Susan's next wave of tears, I found myself putting my arm around
her to provide both physical and emotional support. We were soon
sitting on the bed next to each other, and I told her a fairy tale.
Instead of tackling all of her problems at once, we took each individual
concern -- e.g., upcoming finals -- and magically solved it. Her
problems began to seem insignificant and our ability to overcome
adversity soon assumed heroic proportions. We were soon laughing, and
despair was definitely vanquished, at least for the night. We were both
startled to find my arm around her shoulder, but she asked that I
continue to hold her for just a few moments longer. I happily complied
and we embraced her problems away; along with my soothing words, the
simple gesture of a hug was enough to bring peace to Susan's heart for
one night.
Susan had finally found a friend willing to believe and understand her
worries; she no longer had to pretend that cancer did not frighten her.
She was terrified, and I understood. I was able to mix the almost
contradictory states of empathy and aloofness; Susan needed me to share
her fears and yet still be strong enough to comfort her. I was her
partner in misery and yet also served as her knight in shining armor.
The peace and our renewed closeness were not to last long. Susan and I
had consciously maintained a fairly distant friendship over the year and
the night's openness was a glaring exception. Scared of her own feelings
and dependence on me, Susan made it a point to avoid me the next few
days and answered my queries about her well-being succinctly and
coldly. Our relationship stayed in this détente mode for an entire
month. During this time, Susan's doctors were preparing her for the
operation. The relatively simple procedure would not involve many days
in the hospital and had a very high chance of success.
Susan and I may have never confronted each other had it not been,
ironically, for our pride. We continued meeting for meals and engaged in
superficial conversation, focused on the weather, sports, and any other
topic except for cancer and our friendship. The catalyst for our
confrontation was a silly misunderstanding over a dinner. Susan did not
show up at the cafeteria at our agreed upon time and made little effort
to warn me of the scheduling conflict that caused her absence. This
inconvenience, minor under normal circumstances, proved to be the
starting point of an intense struggle of wills. We fought to prove who
could be the most stubborn and arrogant; the result was a tie, with both
of us losing.
Waiting for an apology, I refused to talk with Susan for a week. She
decided I was being silly and refused to admit any error on her part.
Somehow, we finally searched deep and found the maturity to discuss our
differences. The strain of our open hostility during the week and quiet
indifference during the month had beaten down both of our wills. We
could hold our breath no longer.
We quickly settled the matter about the dinner and then turned our
attention to the real cause of the tension between us. For the first
time in a month, one of us mentioned the night of the concert, the night
I first heard of Susan's affliction. This talk was very different in
character from our last serious discussion; whereas before I had
provided support and comfort for a helpless Susan, this was truly a
battle of wills between two strong and independent individuals. We
discussed issues as varied as our true feelings for each other and
Susan's upcoming operation.
Then Susan confessed that she was disturbed by recent nightmares. I
accepted this as a normal reaction to a very difficult semester. One of
Susan's closest friends from home, her Bible study leader there, had
committed suicide shortly before Susan found the lump. Adding insult to
injury, she learned of his death through a newspaper article, since her
family and friends were too scared to tell her. The operation alone
would have been overwhelming for any emotionally healthy individual.
Given the loss of a dear friend from home, the tension with one's best
friend at school, and the pressures of a very demanding academic
schedule, it is a miracle that Susan remained sane; nightmares hardly
seemed a cause for alarm.
Then Susan started saying words like "visions" instead of nightmares,
and I began to get worried and scared. I had always known that Susan was
a charismatic Christian, but had thought little of what such labels
meant. She had told me of speaking in tongues during certain prayers and
even seeing visions in her dreams as a child, but I had never pushed her
to talk about such things. I figured that what I did not know could not
hurt me. How wrong I was!
Susan started describing various odors (which others would later ascribe
to the sulfur that supposedly accompanies the devil), sounds, and
appearances that both she and her roommate had witnessed. They had
even called maintenance, which had found the odors but not the cause.
Her roommate, neither charismatic nor Christian, had seen, heard, and
smelled the same things, but had not known how to interpret the events.
I was about to hear Susan's understanding of her visions and the
accompanying disturbances.
A senior in UCF and a leader of my Bible study group had once asked me
if I believed in angels, spirits, and other such apparitions. I had
recently heard a priest confidently proclaim that the Bible's words on
such phenomena were never meant to be interpreted literally; he had
historical evidence that incidents involving spirits were merely
metaphors for tangible events. Being a new Catholic and very eager to
avoid the subject, I had accepted the priest's views without question.
After I related my doubts, the senior proceeded to describe recent
incidents involving mutual acquaintances -- e.g., a woman who claimed
demons inflicted physical scars on her arms. I remained polite, but
incredulous. The issue of spirits did not affect me, and I was thus
content to leave its resolution to others. I had no opinions or feelings
on the subject.
But Susan was forcing me to take a stand on the entire issue of spirits
and charismatic Christians. Having given the subject little thought, I
was hardly ready to present an informed opinion. Susan was my closest
friend and I would have tried to believe her had she claimed Martians
had kidnapped her; friends are supposed to believe in each other even
when nobody else does. Despite my verbal reassurances and lack of
condemnations, Susan knew me well enough to see that I was having
problems accepting her visions and spirits. I was doing everything I
could to convey my support and sympathy; however, I was definitely in
unfamiliar territory and was overwhelmed by the strength of her
convictions. I wavered between my loyalty to Susan and the apparent
irrationality of her claims.
I left the room we were in for a moment, on some flimsy pretense, made
the sign of the cross in desperation, and pleaded with God for divine
assistance. Seconds after I re-entered the room, Susan angrily lashed
out at me, telling me she never wanted to talk with me again since I did
not love her, and ran out in tears. I tried following her, to no avail.
I did not understand what I had done. All I could think was, "Gee,
thanks God. So much for prayer." I realized that Susan had never fully
presented her interpretation of the recent events in her life, and I had
not had the chance to accept or reject her claims. The entire
conversation remained very nebulous in my mind, and many of Susan's
reactions made little sense. I had a vague sense that her anger and
tears involved both my inability to care for her and also my inability
to understand her recent experiences.
I was stunned, and so was hardly prepared for what was to follow the
next day. While Susan's older sister flew in to provide comfort during
this trying time, Susan visited the doctor for one last set of tests.
UCF had organized a prayer meeting that night for Susan's upcoming
operation and the intense emotional trials she had endured. I called
Susan, in an attempt to make peace, but was greeted with cold
indifference. As she was hanging up, I asked if she wanted my presence
at the prayer meeting. She declined the offer, but suddenly changed her
mind just before the line was disconnected. I, along with several other
students, gathered in a classroom, despite the hectic finals schedule,
to offer our prayers and support for Susan. Since she was a very active
member and Bible study leader in UCF, many upperclassmen were in
attendance. These students, the most active and experienced Protestant
leaders on campus, came from different churches with different creeds.
The meeting started, as did any other UCF gathering, with group songs
and a few prayers. We sat in a circle on the floor so we could face one
another. Susan refused to acknowledge my presence when I entered. Though
I was accustomed to feeling an emotional high during these meetings, I
felt the initial songs were a bit dry. Given the circumstances, the
group had lost much of its normal enthusiasm. Susan's sister then asked
for a period of meditative prayer, the entire group would fall silent
while individuals would pray aloud "as the Spirit led them." This is a
common practice in both Bible studies and group meetings within UCF. My
inexperience as a new Christian and my reserved nature prevented me from
speaking during these times; rather, I prayed silently.
After a period of group prayer, a student made a movement to end the
meeting. Suddenly, Susan emitted some strange guttural sounds and fell
to the floor. She started thrashing about, as if in some sort of
seizure. Susan's sister must have recognized what was happening, for she
ordered us to gather around and place our hands on Susan's prostrate
body. I refused to budge from my position and froze in horror. I will
never forget the first comprehensible sound that came from Susan; she
screamed my name with such an urgency that the chill still travels down
my spine whenever I recall this moment.
Confused as to the events occurring before my very eyes, I responded to
the desperation and cry for help so evident in Susan's voice. I wanted
to rescue my friend from these horrible people who were holding her down
and ridiculing her dignity. I tentatively approached the group and
placed the edge of my fingertip on her shoulder, as if afraid of
becoming infected with the disease that was ravaging her body. I had yet
to realize that the affliction was ravaging her soul.
In a voice I had never heard before or since, Susan accused me: "Bobby,
you cannot even love Susan." Before I even noticed the sound of her
voice, I thought it funny that Susan would refer to herself in the third
person. Then the full impact of the words hit me. Forgetting the frantic
students around me and even poor Susan lying on the floor, I thought of
our conversation the day before. The real argument had been whether I
was capable of loving Susan. I needed the answer to be yes, more for my
sake than ours. I have always been a closed and relatively unemotional
person and needed to know that my best friend felt that I at least could
love her, due to some very strong remarks made two years before by my
former girlfriend (hardly an objective source), I was beginning to
doubt that I had the capacity for feeling.
Knowing that I was doing Susan no good, I quickly retreated to the
opposite side of the room. Susan proceeded to denounce every individual
in the room, often citing very private and confidential information she
could not possibly have known on her own. It was information capable of
hurting individuals -- attacking people, as she did, by revealing their
hidden feelings, fears, and worries. The night was just beginning!
The students, led by Susan's sister and Louise, a member of a
charismatic church, engaged in loud and desperate prayers while holding
Susan with one hand. Kneeling on the ground, my friends were chanting,
"Satan, I command you to leave this woman." Others exhorted all "demons
to leave in the name of Christ." It is no exaggeration to note the tears
and sweat among those assembled. Susan lashed out at the assembled
students with verbal assaults.
Though I attempted to maintain a stoic attitude and an expressionless
face, my inner fear must have been apparent to all present. I was the
only one present who remained silent and apart from the group.
I repeated to myself that such things do not happen to normal people. I
had attended a charismatic church once, out of curiosity, but had
merely seen a congregation dance wildly, pray enthusiastically, and
speak in a language that sounded like gibberish. I wondered how the
horror unfolding before my eyes could make any sense. I desperately
wanted it all to end, but could not leave.
Then the fear and doubts began. Though I have experienced the normal
periods of questioning, I have never come so close to abandoning my
faith as I did that night. I could not pray to God. I tried as hard as I
could, but I couldn't. Out of desperation, I called upon the saints to
articulate my prayers and rescue me from this living nightmare. Though I
had never prayed with the saints before, I began to understand the
Church's teaching of the unity within the One Body. I pleaded with the
saints in Heaven to offer God the prayers I was unable to formulate.
Susan's sister sent someone to call a local minister experienced in
such matters. Some desperate part of my brain wondered if we should also
call the campus priest. I wanted the full authority of the Church to
confront this demon, or whatever was causing this horrible scene. I
wanted the priest to bring the Eucharist and watch the spirits fall
before the power of Christ's Real Presence. But I was scared. I wondered
what would happen if the Eucharist did nothing and the priest was
helpless. What if the consecrated Bread was just bread? What if the
Church had no power over the cause of Susan's bizarre behavior? I was
unable to pray and too frightened to test my Church's spiritual strength.
I, like many other students feeling the effects of the night, was
swaying from exhaustion. I was mentally, emotionally, physically, and
spiritually drained of everything I possessed. I was ready to give up. I
rubbed my hands over my face and through my hair in an attempt to stir
hidden reserves of energy. Though her eyes had been closed the entire
time and I was kneeling several feet away, Susan must have sensed my
actions. Addressing me for the second and last time, Susan told me to
leave because I was tired.
Whenever I concentrated long enough to begin prayer, I felt some type of
physical force distracting me. It was as if something was pushing down
on my chest, making it very hard for me to breathe. Being a biology
major at the time, I greeted this feeling with skepticism and rational
explanations. I checked my pulse for signs of nervousness and wondered
what could cause such a sensation. Shortness of breath is a common
symptom that can mean very little or may signal the onslaught of a fatal
stroke. Though I could find no cause for my chest pains, I was very
scared of what was happening to me and Susan. I began to think that the
demon would only attack me if I tried to pray or fight back; thus, I
resigned myself to leaving it alone in an attempt to find peace for myself.
I gave up all attempts at prayer and admitted conditional defeat. The
effort succeeded and I felt relief immediately. There were no more
mysterious forces and I was able to watch the proceedings with the
security of an outsider, beyond the immediate reality of the frenzied
action I was witnessing. It may have been I was trying too hard to pray
and be there for Susan; however, the sense of fear and dread felt like
more than mere anxiety at the time.
Maybe she sensed our weariness; whether by plan or coincidence, Susan
chose the perfect opportunity to attempt an escape. She suddenly leapt
up and ran for the door, despite the many hands holding her down. This
burst of action served to revive the tired group of students and they
soon had her restrained once again, this time half kneeling and half
standing. Alice, a student leader in Campus Crusade for Christ, entered
the room for the first time, brandishing a crucifix. Running out of
options, UCF had turned to a rival campus Christian group for spiritual
tactics. The preacher had denied our request for assistance and
recommended that we not confront the demon; his suggestion was a little
late. I still wonder if the good preacher was too settled to be roused
from bed, or if this supposed expert doubted his own ability to confront
whatever harassed Susan.
Alice's presence countered Susan's recent burst of energy, and Alice's
confidence inspired us all. Surely Crusade's experienced leader would be
able to rescue us and reaffirm our faith in Christ, the Bible, and
everything good. Even I felt confident enough to approach God once
again; Susan's lunge for the door awakened and invigorated me.
Strangely, I found myself repeating the Hail Mary until it became a
chant. Being a recent convert to Catholicism, I had yet to accept the
Catholic doctrines concerning Mary and considered any form of Marian
devotion to be idolatry. Though I had never before prayed a Hail Mary in
my life, I suddenly found myself incapable of any other form of prayer.
Somehow, Mary's intercessions allowed me to find peace during that long
night; I knew that I had survived the worst and that I would exit with
my faith intact. It terrified me to recall how close I came to turning
away from Christ out of fear.
The crucifix had a calming effect on Susan, and her sister was soon
brave enough to bring a Bible to her face. At first, Susan responded to
biblical passages with curses and profanities. Mixed in with her vile
attacks were short and desperate pleas for help. In the same breath that
she attacked Christ, the Bible's authenticity, and everyone assembled in
prayer, Susan would suddenly urge us to rescue her. It appeared as if we
were observing a tremendous battle between the Susan we knew and loved
and some strange evil force. But the momentum had shifted and we now
sensed that victory was at hand.
While Alice and Louise held Susan, her sister continued holding the
Bible to her face. Almost taunting the evil spirit that had almost
beaten us minutes before, the students dared Susan to read biblical
passages. She choked on certain passages and could not finish the
sentence "Jesus is Lord." Over and over, she repeated "Jesus is
L..L..LL," often ending in profanities. In between her futile attempts,
Susan pleaded with us to continue trying and often smiled between the
grimaces that accompanied her readings of Scripture. Just as suddenly as
she went into the trance, Susan suddenly reappeared and claimed "Jesus
is Lord."
With an almost comical smile, Susan then looked up as if awakening from
a deep sleep and asked, "Has something happened?" She did not remember
any of the past few hours and was startled to find her friends breaking
out in cheers and laughter, overwhelmed by sudden joy and relief.
My expression must have betrayed my former fears; Stacy, a freshman I
hardly knew, asked about my welfare. I was startled that anyone would be
offering me assistance when Susan should have been the focus of
attention. I eventually left the room in a stupor. As I was leaving in a
crowd, Susan's sister, who had met me once years before, called my name
and asked that I "commit my nightlife to prayer." I hardly understood
what she meant and was startled that others continued to single me out
for attention. I nodded and looked gently at Susan, who thanked me for
coming.
Though I waited for a friend to avoid being alone during the walk home,
the rest of the night proceeded without incident. My nightly prayers,
despite my apprehensions, came to me easily and I no longer had any
problems approaching God; indeed, I left that night with a reaffirmed
faith in God's power over any force in or out of this world. If the
night's events had not seemed so real, I would have thought my earlier
fears silly.
Susan stayed in the house of a missionary with experience in spiritual
warfare in foreign countries. Her sister thought it best she stay out of
her own room. Susan's roommate, the daughter of a Hmong faith healer,
had decorated the room with supposedly pagan influences. Other theories
explaining the night's events soon surfaced. Susan's mother had once
worshipped and offered a sacrifice at a pagan altar in the Far East for
her husband's health, though he had been healed, she had been warned not
to repeat such practices, but had returned to that same altar in the Far
East upon hearing of Susan's illness. The UCF staff member dismissed
Susan's affliction as a psychological disorder, precipitated by the
semester's stress, and advised her to seek professional help. Susan, who
had experienced visions and other related phenomena as a child, thought
her intense flirting with guys and straying away from God had led to
this punishment.
When the operation occurred, the surgeons found no traces of cancerous
cells. Susan claimed she had felt healed after the group prayer and can
remember the sensation of being "purified"; she saw her physical and
spiritual afflictions as being related. The physician's improbable
explanation that the biopsy may have removed all the cancerous tissue is
no less far-fetched.
Susan still struggles with the theological implications of her
experience. Though she recalls nothing of what happened that night, the
tidbits she hears from others terrify her. Can a Christian be
"possessed"? What precipitated her attack and will it happen again?
Susan has talked with ministers, charismatic pastors, and others. It
took months before we could reestablish our friendship and she was able
to trust me. Though I do not have the answers she desperately seeks, I
have provided comfort and support whenever Susan has fears or doubts.
With holy water and blessed crucifixes, I have even given her physical
protection from the demons that have only once reappeared, and then for
a mere moment. We have resolved the tension in our relationship and I am
developing the ability to selflessly care for others.
I now realize that Susan's initial outburst during the concert was a
cry for help. Even more terrifying than the threat of cancer and surgery
were her nightly visions. However, Susan and I retreated behind the
barriers we had built between us before she had the chance to seek my
help. Given my response, it may have been just as well that I had not
known about the true cause of her anxiety. I had attempted to solve her
problems alone and had not once mentioned the power of prayer or the
necessity of relying on God. I cannot imagine the disastrous
consequences if I had attempted to confront Susan's visions with my
own strength.
The members and leadership of UCF have never publicly discussed what we
witnessed and experienced that night, rationalizing that it may deter
new Christians. Most of us were too scared to discuss it even among
ourselves. Ironically, Alice, a lapsed Catholic and a practicing
Evangelical, had deployed a crucifix blessed by the Pope and given to
her by a friend. That night marked the beginning of her and Louise's
investigation into the Church; while serving as presidents of UCF and
Campus Crusade for Christ, both left their leadership roles to be
confirmed into the Catholic Church. Stacy, the freshman concerned about
my welfare, became a close friend and another convert to the Church.
Perhaps most amazing of all, Susan, despite her vicious attacks against
the Church while in her trance and despite her sister's staunch
opposition, has also become an active member of the Catholic Church.
I left that classroom with a powerful belief in Mary's intercessions and
with many questions about spiritual warfare; I also learned a lasting
lesson in humility and the limits of human understanding. Was the
purpose of that night served when so many individuals were inducted
into the Church? Did I witness spiritual warfare? I do not have the
answers, but I do believe in the reality of spirits, angels, and other
related phenomena that I can neither touch nor see.