I was born in an old, inner city neighborhood, just outside downtown Chicago, where I lived until I was eight years old. In those days none of the residents of that area had any real money to brag about, as is not the case today. And so I guess you can say that I made a rather humble entrance into the world, that being in the first year of the baby boom which immediately followed World War II. Consequently the streets were full of kids when I was growing up. My neighborhood was one largely dominated by Italian-Americans. Though there was no shortage of children on any given block then, there was one boy in particular that I loved being with more than all of the rest. His name was Charlie LaCoco. I guess you can say that he was my first and closest friend. I lived near to the west end of 24th place, between Wentworth and Princeton, and Charlie lived on the east end of the street, but on the same side as me. Almost all of the buildings on the block were three flats. They were what both Charlie and I called home. However it was the way in which his building and my own were situated that led to one of my earliest and most unpleasant memories.
At the time I was only about four years of age, but surely no older than five. In a small bungalow, about midway down the street, there lived an old woman and her husband. No doubt they had come over from the old country, as did all in our community who were elderly. Their house was one that I could not help but pass whenever I would go to call on Charlie. Almost always, when the weather was favorable, the two could be found sitting on their front porch. I was afraid to death to pass that house when they were outside. And considering my tender age I feel that the reason for my fear was well-founded. For as I would approach the old woman’s house, never did she fail to start down the stairs. Then pointing her finger at me, she would tell me in her broken English manner of speech that she would catch me some day and make soup out of me.
I’m sure that one’s initial response in hearing this would be to have a bit of a laugh, thinking that the old lady was just having some fun. But even then I was aware of how older folk would joke with little kids in this way. However it was usually when they knew them well, and then there would always follow a smile or some laughter. At least the first couple of times this occurred I remember waiting for the smile to come, or maybe a few pleasant words signifying that it was all in fun. A smile never came. Nor were there any further words ever spoken. She would only turn slowly back toward the house with the same evil expression that she left her porch with, and start up the stairs again. She’d then take a seat beside her husband who only watched on with a rather blank stare. The little bungalow was set back from the sidewalk a short distance, so that normally she didn’t advance right up to where I was. But on one or two occasions, being bold, she came up to the sidewalk, forcing me to hurry into the street in order to pass her house. This was a woman who was not out to innocently have a bit of fun with small children because she loved them. This was a disturbed human being, possibly even engaged in the black arts, as many were who came over from Italy in those days. And let me tell you, that when a four year old boy is threatened by an old wrinkled, wretched looking woman, wearing the same black and shabby, full-length dress each day, and appearing like a witch from a children’s fairy tale, he will believe whatever he’s told. I actually felt that if she ever got her hands on me, that I would become dinner. I was petrified.
I am not one who puts much trust in modern day psychiatry. Although a lot of it seems to just be common sense. For instance, I feel sure that the experiences of our formative years, depending on their impact, will shape the person we grow to be. I see this to be a solid truth. I have reason to believe that the encounters that I had with the old woman on 24th place played a big part in implanting fears in me that remain today, fear that comes by way of the lie, through the art of deception. Of course I long ago did away with the notion that people may be heating me up on their kitchen stove one day. You see, the lies change as we grow and mature, but the liar remains the same. And so I can become very afraid at times, when I know that my enemy is knocking on the door, with a well planned strategy to deceive and unnerve me. The temptation is to open the door quickly and get on with it. But I must be still. I must not react. For he is prepared and I may not be quite suited for what he has conjured up. I must calm myself. I must not let myself be drawn out to him. It could be devastating. The effects may last for days. I need to meet him at the moment that I choose, and not at the time set by him. It is wise first to strengthen myself in my God, to become robed in His Spirit, and to decide tactics and a strategy of my own. Then I will sense when he has grown frustrated and discouraged, his strength beginning to leave him. Now I am the one filled with power and might and wisdom. I open the door to meet my enemy. He proves to be no match for the one whom the Lord has prepared. There are times however when I hear the awful knock, and I do not resist my first inclination, which is always to step outside. Though I am afraid, I want nothing more than to get it under way and over with. Almost always I am brought to my knees by devilish lies and human fears. Now subject to torments, I’ll remain so until the arrival of the Saviour, who none beneath the highest heavens can ever hope to war against.
It was some months ago that I was driving down Lake Shore Drive while on my job and I acted hastily against the demon who knows me well, though not as well as my God and Maker. I stood in need of being rescued from the lies which he had bound me up with. The Captain of my soul came to me quickly that day. And these were His words: “Joe, oh Joe; remember the old woman on 24th pl.? It’s only her all over again.“ He went on to tell me how that all of the lies that the dark ones have ever fed me were simply the old woman again. She was the one who long ago was used of them to lay a foundation for what they would later build upon. These were their orders from the one whom they serve. My eyes became more opened that day. I learned a little something more of just how the powers of darkness operate. After I had finished my next delivery in the downtown area of Chicago, I read the signature of the man who accepted the package. Upon reading his name it confirmed to me that surely it was the Lord who had spoken just a short while earlier. He had signed his name, “Eddie Paul.” This was a name that I hadn’t heard in many years. Eddie Paul was a young boy about five years older than myself, who if my memory serves me right, lived only a couple of buildings before the old woman’s house. When I read the man’s signature I was amazed that this name was now appearing before me. Eddie Paul, you see, was a boy who was the very antithesis of the old woman. Possibly even more than being with my friend Charlie did I love just being in the presence of Eddie Paul. Most of the boys on the block who were of Eddie’s age were at least a bit on the troublesome side, but Eddie was a genuinely good kid. Often he’d call me up to where he’d sit out on his front steps and he would talk with me awhile. Most of the time he would tell me stories. They were usually based on the popular fairy tales of that era, but with a lot of his own imagination thrown in. Eddie Paul was never anything but good, kind, and encouraging to me, not to mention entertaining. Whenever I was with him I’d feel like I could easily spend the entire day just listening to what he had to say. For beyond being a good storyteller, he seemed to have wisdom, and a knowledge of things that other kids his age lacked. I remember always hating to leave his house to go home.
As in disbelief I continued looking at his name on the delivery ticket. Then the Lord spoke again. He was reminding me of how love and kindness, of how goodness and light, always rule over fear, darkness, lies, and Satan’s entire domain. He was saying that when the evils of Satan and his lawless forces seem to rise up before me, and cause me to fear, that I should consider the Eddie Pauls of this world. He was telling me of the many such as Eddie who are with me, and not against me, who support me in prayer, as I do them. He was bringing to mind His warring angels, who know who I am, who stand beside me to defend me and deliver me. And all this was to say nothing of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. When they are for us, wrote the great apostle of God, who can be against us?
What is our problem then? Why is it that the enemies of heaven seem to so easily defeat us at times? It is because the devil, and all who rally together under his banner, are good bluffs. They are like mad dogs, but without teeth. In fact, that is pretty much how I remember the old woman. If she had any teeth, they must have been only a few, and surely not healthy enough to really take a bite into solid food. No wonder it was soup that was on her mind. Satan is a lot like she was. He knows the milk Christian from the meat Christian. He’d have quite an easy time with those who can only take in milk if God’s protective hand wasn’t upon His babes. But His elder sons, who being more mature feed on meat, always give the old serpent a rough go of it. And why? Because we all know that gums by themselves cannot do much of a job with meat. And gums is all that he has. For one day, on a mount called Calvary, all of his teeth were pulled; three days later he was declawed; and sometime after he was forced to surrender the keys of hell to the King of kings. No keys, no claws, no teeth. But here’s what he does have. He is an excellent con; a very believable bluff; and the greatest of all liars. Consequently, if he should succeed in persuading us, though they be but gums, they sure can hurt. And so, for the time, Jehovah gives him room still. This is to test us, so the Lord can show us where we stand, and if we have learned anything as of late. I cannot count the times that I was left not only defeated, but downcast, discouraged, and heavy hearted, after discovering I was not the person I thought. However the main thing is to never give up. This the Lord finds honorable. It is better to go home to be with the Father while in the process of still looking for the victory, than to return to Him without the towel used for wiping away the blood, the sweat, and the tears, since it had been thrown into the ring, possibly long ago.
Once I worked in a Christian rehabilitation center. It was a program for believers with addictions, only for adult males. For seven years I held bible studies with the men, men who over the course of my stay there I grew to love like my own brothers. And this in fact was what they were. These were sons of God and soldiers of the Most High, but who once were mislead, lied to, and deceived, until they were at their wit’s end. Many of them saw me as one wise and strong, as somebody to pattern themselves after. But they did not know of the many times when I had thrown my sword to the ground, and with tears streaming went running for the bosom of the Father. Never did I tell them of it, lest they would only wonder of what chance there could be for them. And concerned for them as I was, I was afraid of stripping away the small hope that many had, by highlighting all my defeats. But it was not for me to judge myself before these men anyway. Only the Almighty knows this vessel of His, and how I have fared in encounters with demons. Before Him alone I have stood or I have fallen. And I believe He has caused me to stand. But even inside the greatest of warriors there yet remains the young and tender boy, who from time to time is found weeping by God when he feels the battle has grown too difficult for so long.
There is a Day however that every man and woman of faith looks ahead to. It is called “the Day of the Lord.” I can only imagine that its high point will be when Christ our King sets down upon this world with an innumerable heavenly army following behind. It will be then that He will subdue all the nations and bring them under His rule, a rule long envisioned and dreamt of by all who love the Son of man, and the righteousness of God. Now is the great victory of our God and Saviour. I firmly believe that though the Day of the Lord will belong solely to the Lord, it will also be every believer’s Day, all who have followed Him. It will be the Day in which all of our humiliating encounters, discouraging defeats, and darkest hours, will be swallowed up in one great victory. Not so much our victory as His, but we are all of one Body together. And from this time on, whether it be faith or whether it be love, whether it be life or whether it be light, whether it be power or whether it be victory, they shall never elude us again.
J. Pecoraro
