Autobiographical Essay # IV

Krystal Robinson
Professor Boland
English 329
10 February 2009
Autobiographical Essay # IV
I will never forget the year 1966. I was eight years old living in East Saint Louis, Illinois. During that era, one of the most prominent traveling evangelists was A. A. Allen. He would travel around the nation setting up tent meetings in local cities. In 1966, he set up a tent meeting in St. Louis, Missouri. St. Louis, a large American city, is situated not far from my little town in Illinois—actually; it’s located just across the Mississippi River. In 1966, my mother and I attended A. A. Allen’s tent meeting in St. Louis. The place was packed with people of every race who had come to receive something from God—even a miracle. I remember instruments on the platform and people singing worship songs to the Lord. I sat next to my mother, but it seems as though she may have left her seat to go elsewhere. I say this because when I experienced my first episode of fear, relative to language being spoken, it was at Allen’s tent meeting, and I don’t recall her being next to me, although I know she was somewhere in the tent..
This moment of fear scared the living daylights out of me. This is what I recall happening that night: Allen had called a prayer line for people who wanted to be saved, healed, set free, or whatever their prayer needs were. A lady went into the line for prayer. I don’t know in particular what her problem was. Apparently, she had a demon living inside her body. I can resoundingly hear Allen verbally commanding the demon to come out of the lady. He said to the demon, “Are you going to come out?” This is the language response that scared me: The demon audibly spoke with an answer to Allen. It said in a very loud voice, “No.” Again, Allen asked it if it was going to come out. Again, the demon spoke adamantly, “No.” Allen asked it a third time, “Are you going to coming out?” At this point, the demon spoke and said, “Yes, but I’ll find me somebody else,” to enter into, that is. Allen told everyone in the meeting to place their hands on a bible. This is when I don’t recall my mother being near me because I know she carried a bible and she would have placed my tiny hands on it as instructed by the evangelist. I was a young child at that time, but even then I thought the bible was representation of who God is—a protector from the wicked one.
I didn’t recognize the potency of my fear of this event until I was in my teen years. I kept reflecting back on that night, and remembering that I didn’t place my little hands on a bible. Did the demon enter into my body, I would ask my self? Or had God, being all merciful, covered me from this wicked force entering into my young body, although I had not placed my hands on the bible. At this time in my life, I believe the latter. God really is merciful, extending his mercy to all—the young as well as the old. This event remains significant because through it I learned what I know. Demons are real, but they have no control over God’s people, and I really do believe that I belong to him.