The Madman

You know it's scary when you're reading the Bible and feel you have more in common with Legion in the land of the Geresenes than you do with, oh, let's say Mary or Martha or Lazarus. And wouldn't you love to be able to sit around their house? I mean, that's the place Jesus relaxed, visted, kicked off His sandles and hung out. Were they ever lucky.

The Madman reminds me of me. Here he rushes up and throws himself at the feet of Jesus. He does. The real guy inside there with all of those demons. He makes a desperate showing, a last-resort push to dash those demons once and for all.

So there lays the Madman, sprawled at the feet of the Savior, and the demons start their yakking.

Like me. When I'm trying to pray, trying my best to cast all my burdens on Him like He told me to do. And my demons start up.

"You know, I'm sick of church. Sick of the people that . . . blah, blah, blah."


"If I don't stick to a diet soon, I'm going to look like Roseanne Barr."

"I can't believe that kid did that to my perfect, unspotted, sinless daughter! Kids these days! And I'll bet that mother thinks it's *my* daughter's fault."

"That Brad Pitt is a hottie."

"Gwynnie's never going to make it past eighteen. And she'll probably end up pregnant."

"My house is a mess."

"I've got to stop smoking. I'll bet God would answer my prayers more if I didn't smoke."

The good thing about the story of the Madman is that it has a happy ending. He was sitting there in clean clothes and a right mind. So I'm hoping that'll be me someday.

In the meantime, I guess I'll keep throwing myself at Christ's feet, hoping maybe He'll cast out my demons one by one and maybe someday, I'll be able to pray like I should. To be honest, I think I'm still trying to cast out my own demons and I haven't quite figured out how to just let go.

grace.

lisa