The Secret Life of Wolf – Part Three
NOTE: You DON’T have read my books or know this character to read this post. And you DON’T have to read part one and two first. It is an important story that needs to be told. (But DO see the warning in the red box first.)
The Secret Life of Wolf Series
In this series, you will find out the first time I met Wolf (one of my characters in the Bloodline series), how meeting him in the way I did changed my entire writing career, and why Wolf holds the keys to my past and my future.
In today’s final episode …
Part Three: Wolf and the Secrets of my Childhood
How does Wolf go all the way back to secrets from my childhood? Why is Wolf so much more than a character in my novel? How does he connect to both a dark past and a destiny I never saw coming?
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WARNING: This post contains descriptions of direct demonic activity. If you get easily spooked by negative supernatural experiences then I recommend you skip this. I have always been careful who I talk to because I believe that passing on any kind of fear gives our enemy power. And he does not deserve any power.
The Story It’s Time to Tell
I can count on one hand the number of people I have told this story to, but I think the time to share it is now.
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“Are they worth it, Master?”
There it is. The very first line of Bloodline: Alliance and the very first time I met the character of Wolf in my book, who is actually a wolf.
I had not planned Wolf. I knew nothing about him, but I felt deep in my soul that he needed to be in my book. It was the moment God took over my book and began writing it with me. The subsequent Bloodline series became far bigger, far better, far deeper, and far more important than I ever could have imagined. God had something to say, and I was privileged to work with him to say it.
Wolf is a character who became more important than I ever understood. Without him, the story would not have worked. He was noble. He was good. He was wise. He was a calming place and an antidote to the turbulent emotions and confusion of the main character Shenna.
But all I knew when I first met Wolf was that it was a character God was inserting into my book. I obeyed but my big question was: “Does it have to be a wolf, God?”
“Yes.”
“Does he really have to be a wolf?”
“Yes.”
To understand why I really did not want a character that was a wolf, and to understand why God specifically chose a wolf and insisted on it, you need to go all the way back to when I was a little girl, about six or seven years old.
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Ever since I can remember, I have had nightmares. It didn’t occur to me growing up that the particular nightmares I had were very unusual for a little girl. Some children have nightmares of being chased or of friends being mean, or perhaps of something happening to their parents. Mine were not that “innocent”. I can still remember very clearly some of my nightmares and the terror of them, but none more clearly than the night I dreamt of the arena.
THE ARENA
In it, I was standing in a kind of stadium. Instead of grass, there was dust and dry dirt at my feet. All around me in the stands were distorted, aggressive faces. They had an expression that I now know was a kind of cruel bloodlust. The crowds of people had kind of long, or perhaps stretched, tall figures and long faces that were not quite human.
I was alone on that stadium floor, staring up at the crowds that stared down at me: the entertainment. The crowds of long-figured people started chanting, “Kill her. Kill her. Kill her.”
And then a door opened at the far end of the stadium, like a grill gate going up, and out came a whole pack of wolves. They were snarling and stalking and looking straight at me. I was terrified and sweating, but I could not move. The crowds grew louder. “Kill her. Kill her. Kill her.”
And the wolves came. Not fast. They were coming for me like a pack circling a deer. And when they finally reached me, they grabbed parts of me in their teeth and began to tear me apart. I watched as their teeth ripped my skin from me or tore a foot off, or gouged out parts of my body and ate me.
THE “GHOST” WOLF
I woke up in my small room to darkness, my breath fast in my body. I don’t remember a full moon, but forever after I was terrified of full moons, and so I believe it probably was a full moon that night. I had a warm blanket over me and I kicked it off, feeling terribly hot. My heart was thudding in my chest, loud in the stillness. Let me just make this clear at this point: I was very much, without a shadow of a doubt, awake by now.
My bed was up against the wall to my left, and my head faced the door on the other side of the room beyond my feet, barely two metres away. My window was behind me to my right. I know it was summer, for I was in my summer pyjamas and it was hot. The area I grew up in had intensely hot summers, sometimes up to forty degrees Celsius. As I lay there, trying to process the terrible dream I had just had, and staring at the door, I saw a window appear on the upper half of the door, as if the door had a glass pane at the top. And then the long, strangely distorted faces appeared in the door’s new window. Just a few, the only amount that could be seen through the square of glass. They started chanting, “Kill her. Kill her. Kill her.”
As I lay there, a glowing outline of a wolf came through the door; it just passed straight through. The wolf was solid, but it was all shadow with only the glowing outline. It came along the length of the room towards me, and I heard it breathing and I felt its breath near me. Let me just explain: we did not have a dog, and that door was closed. What came through was a ghostly wolf that was solid and yet all shadow. It came right up to me and it sniffed my face and then it moved down to my hand. I believe it meant to bite my hand, but it couldn’t get its teeth into me properly and instead it just kind of licked me. Not a friendly lick, a kind of taste. Then it turned and left to the sounds of, “Kill her. Kill her. Kill her.” It passed through the door as if it were nothing. The pane of glass remained a moment, but before I saw what happened to it, I dove under the blankets and pulled them up around my head.
I was terrified. And I mean terrified. Though it was a hot night, and I was sweltering, I lay under that blanket, struggling to breathe in the heat and suffocating air, my head under, all night. I did not go back to sleep.
THE ONGOING ATTACKS & TRAUMA
That night changed my life and not for the better. I became afraid of everything. I was especially terrified of the dark. I would lie under the blankets, head and all, every night, night after night, afraid of what was out there. This was not being afraid of the boogie monster. These monsters were real.
I developed multiple phobias of all kinds – heights, dark water, oceans, claustrophobic spaces and on and on. I was angry and lonely and scared and confused. I later became bitter, broken, distorted. I came to hate the full moon when things got worse, and of course I was deeply, deeply afraid of wolves. Even just a picture of one would be like an electric shock to my heart, sending it into a frenzy of beats. Sweat would start to pour from me.
It was not the last time that the supernatural came for me. It was only the beginning. It didn’t happen all the time, but it happened enough in my life to make me bitter and scared. I did not tell anyone. I didn’t know how to. And I didn’t understand it. I did not know about spiritual warfare back then. My father was a youth pastor at a local church and later became the pastor of another church in an area we moved to when I was in late primary school. I did not know it as a child that growing up he was speaking out about witchcraft in our local area and speaking against local witches.
I moved rooms later to share a converted garage space with my older sister. Many mornings I would wake in the half-darkness to find a shadow of a huge figure on my wall. It was half man, half goat, with horns. Many mornings he was there and then the sun would start to come up and the figure would suddenly jerk upright as if startled. It would be listening to something and then it would flee, as if terrified. I convinced myself it was afraid of the sunlight: that darkness was its strength and sunlight was safe. What I didn’t know and didn’t find out until later was that every morning around the break of dawn, my father would get up and pray for his family.
Years later, when I was working for a publishing firm of a Christian organisation, I was helping a leading expert to write a book exposing witchcraft. It was then I saw the figure of Pan, the half man, half goat with horns which they still worship, and started to make connections. I found out that full moons are very significant to them and their rituals and power, and I made that connection as well. And many times I have seen an image of a wolf and a full moon as a symbol of something wiccan.
There were so many, many attacks in so many forms all through my childhood, teenager years and into my post school year. It was never as specific and direct as that first one, but it was there. I did not understand it or what it meant or why it was happening to me. I had been a Christian since I was a young girl, desperately needing God but not really believing God to be more powerful than my enemy. I felt rather powerless. Christianity had no weapons to stop my enemy. Our church did not talk about modern day miracles, the power of the Holy Spirit to do genuine supernatural acts, spiritual warfare other than the kind that tempts you to drink or smoke, or our genuine and profound authority as children of the Living God with the power of the blood of Jesus Christ. I felt abandoned by God, unprotected. Why was God letting it happen to me? Why had he not saved me from that first terrible episode with the wolf and arena as a child? Why was Satan more powerful than God?
Every time something happened to me, I would be heart-stoppingly terrified. I don’t use that word lightly. I mean sheer, unadulterated terror, like living through a horror movie. I was still that child lying in the dark in terror. I would sleep with some sort of light on. I would never go alone at night down the far end of the house to dark pockets. Or if I had to, I ran as fast as I could without alerting the rest of the family to my strange behaviour, and I would slap on every light along the way and avoid looking into dark rooms. I hated to be in a house alone, day or night. Full moons terrified me the most. Darkness was not my friend. I feared my dreams. I got to a point where I was making deals with the evil. If I did x, he would leave me alone.
A PRELUDE TO WAR
To cut a long story short, years later, the enemy crossed a line. It was a line he had been leading up to for years and this time, it went too far. He overplayed his hand.
A few years before it, friends at school got mixed up in the occult, dabbling in things like Ouija boards, not realising the powers they were toying with. A Ouija board is basically an open door, a yes-yes, to demonic activity. (“Oui” means yes in French, and ‘ja’ is ‘yes’ in German – so you are saying ‘yes, yes’ to demons.) They are not ghosts you are dealing with, or spirits of the dead. They are demons. Once, unbeknownst to me, during a sleepover, my friends decided to play the board whilst I was in the next room sleeping. That night, I woke abruptly. The corner of the room had filled with those long, distorted figures again. This time they stood on my side of the room near the door, not beyond looking through a window. And an unseen presence held me down so I could not move. I felt pressed down into the bed all night and the room was filled with terror and darkness and the sounds of many voices whispering. They were looking at me and talking about me, I could tell, though I could not understand their words. And there was a malevolence in that room that was tangible. I could not speak. I barely slept.
In the morning, the girls asked me if anything had happened to me. I said yes and explained what had happened. They told me that the “spirit in the room” i.e. the demon, kept saying my name over and over via the letters on the board. After that horrifying night, I became psychically linked with my friends. Whenever they watched a horror film, I would watch aspects of it too in my dreams, experiencing the trauma of it. I never watched horror films because the truth is that much of what happens in films like Poltergeist is real, but it is demons, not ghosts. It got to the point where my friends thought it was a kind of spooky but fun party trick to watch a horror film and see what it did to me. They would come to school and ask me what I had dreamt about that night and would be unnerved when I gave them details of what they had seen in their movie. I didn’t find it amusing at all.
My friends had all left when I was in Year 10, every single one of them pregnant. Pregnant at 16. And so I was left in peace from my connection to them … or so I thought.
THE ENEMY CROSSES A LINE
After Year 12 exams and just before university, when I was still living with my parents, I was at a new friend’s house. I suffered through a movie that wasn’t a horror but wasn’t what I would call pleasant. I don’t do well with graphic violence and especially things like burned bodies. I witnessed quite graphically a body burning in a dream that came from another horror movie my friends watched, and so burned bodies and bodies burning up in flames still haunt me. This movie, about firefighters, was rife with fire, people burning, and corpses that had been horrifically burned. I watched it all and I knew I had seen this movie before. I had watched it only recently in my dreams, even all the unusual aspects of it. I had thought I was free of this, but it had happened again!
And I came home from that friend’s house and all of a sudden I was angry. I was so fed up by it all because I had left behind those friends who had dabbled in the occult, and the movie thing hadn’t happened in a long time. And now here I was again. Instead of fear or exhaustion, or dealings, or tears, I became enraged. This time, it was daytime. A time when I had a whole lot more courage. And rising up in the middle of my room, I said out loud: “Every time you do this, you only make me believe in God more.” The more I saw my enemy, the more I knew beyond doubt that God existed. It was only that I thought God weaker or more distant, less practical for stopping the evil. This time, though, it was different. This meant war!
“I’ve had enough of you,” I half-shouted, fists curled, my feet pacing the room. “I am totally sick of this. You don’t ever get to do that to me again. I am going to expose you for what you are. You are going down. I am going to do everything I can to bring you down.”
And boy, did I mean that. I was absolutely utterly determined to crush Satan for all that he had done.
LEARNING MY TRUE IDENTITY
And with that, the direct attacks stopped. It was the beginning of a journey in which I would learn about how I had full authority over the enemy and that if I told him to stop, he had to stop. Demons had to obey because I was covered by the blood of Jesus. Satan was not more powerful than God; Satan was just more showy. But as soon as I held up my palm and said, “I am a daughter of the King, saved by the blood of Jesus, and I command you to stop,” he would stop and he would RUN. He hates exposure. He hates the light. He knows that we have been given the authority of Christ on this earth. Confront him and he runs.
It took a long, long time to learn that, and during that time, God allowed me a break from most of the demonic attacks. Later, the attacks would come again but it was different; the nature of them had changed. Sometimes they were direct, sometimes they were very subtle and insidious, like a word uttered by someone to take a blow at my self-esteem. Those are stories for another time, but for now I will explain that on this side of that long journey, I know who I am and I know that every time Satan and his demons show up, they are trying to stop something or thwart something. When the attacks come, it confirms for me that I am on the right track and doing something they really don’t want me to do or they would be leaving me alone.
WHEN THE WHOLE STORY BECAME CLEAR
I meant what I said about crushing Satan. And I didn’t fully understand how I was going to do that until the day I met Wolf in my book. Remember, I didn’t create Wolf. I met him. God gave me that character and very clearly told me to put Wolf in.
The moment I trusted, relaxed and let Wolf become a part of my book, God opened my mind to everything else he was going to include in that book and in the second book that I had never planned. It was all imagery from all the attacks Satan had thrown at me. You will find, for instance, the arena in my books. And the full moon symbol. And many other symbols I won’t go into here. In fact, the first and original cover of Bloodline (back when they were traditionally published) was a wolf and a full moon – symbols loved by those in the occult. And I obeyed God and put in imagery even I didn’t understand but knew had to be in there, especially in the second book. I later found out from those who had dabbled in the occult that the imagery was very real and very significant to them. People have stepped free from the occult and found Jesus through those books. I don’t know how, but they have. It speaks to them somehow. It breaks something over their lives.
The moment I saw all of that imagery that God had incredibly planned in those books, and how Satan was going to be utterly exposed through them, something happened to me to change how I saw everything. It threaded back through my life to my childhood to show me a reality or a truth I had never seen before.
I had always wondered all of my life, why a wolf? Why an arena? Why a full moon? They weren’t the most terrifying things. Not like, say, a monster. And why all of the other very specific and somewhat unconnected imagery Satan threw at me over the years?
I now know why. He saw the enemy that was coming. He saw the one who was going to expose him, crush him, and liberate those locked in the occult or those subjected to demonic and ghostly visitations. Satan knew the imagery God would use, and he tried to scare me off that imagery even all of those years ago. God didn’t take the imagery and turn it into good. He didn’t go: “I’ll use that, thank you.” God preordained those books. Satan stole it. Satan is not original or creative. Satan can only steal and warp what God does and try to claim it for his own. Satan took what was coming and tried to break me, drown me in fear, and render me totally ineffective.
The moment God whispered to me about Wolf, I could have let fear rule me and said no. It was tempting, but the moment I obeyed and included him, a lot of shackles fell off and the imagery of the book became clear to me. The whole element of the Demon Prince and the Darklands vs Lightlands came to me then – gifted by God. I saw the bigger picture God planned for that book, the bigger story that blew me away. I stopped being afraid of wolves and learned to love them – in just that instant. I stopped being afraid of the full moon and now it is my favourite time of each month. It is also an important theme in the books. Faced now with how much imagery God intended to include in the books, and the correlation to direct demonic attacks, I started to see all the ways that Satan had tried to scare me away from the story I was destined to write.
THE ENEMY’S ATTACKS EVOLVE
Satan pushed hard against those books – really, really hard. Even later in the process, when I was trying to write a particularly important part of my book that revealed some of the glory of God at creation, Satan tried to come at me again with a fear of wolves. I had a dark dream of packs of wolves on a bleak night trying to come at me, snapping and snarling. They wanted to stop me, a wall of ferocity, and they wanted to tear me apart. But then, I believe, God took over the dream. Up close the wolves were numerous and fierce, but as I pulled back, further and further, like a camera pulling back, I realised they were in a land far away, and then I pulled back even further and realised they were on a whole other planet to me. They were a dark, shadowy presence trying to block all the light from the universe, but I was so far away from them, I could only see them if I came closer and stared. In that dream, though the enemy wanted me to be afraid, God showed me the reality: I was in a whole other realm and the only way they could hurt me was if I gave the wolves attention and power. That is, if I let the camera move in closer and closer and closer so that it looked like we were on the same plane.
Wolf became important, but he was always going to be important. He is a vital piece of the story and of the redemption theme of the novel. But it is more than that. The books themselves were always going to be important. They were stories God ordained for me to write. They are weapons against the darkness that Satan was so afraid of, he went for me out of all our family members. None of the others experienced the direct demonic attacks. Just me. I always thought it was because I was the weakest one: the easiest target. Now I believe it is because he knew what was coming and tried to stop it. It didn’t work.
The Bloodline series was written, and Satan has been trying to submerge it in obscurity ever since. He made sure every publisher rejected me. When a publisher finally took it, he made sure that the publisher was corrupted and dishonest. He tried to have that publisher steal my books and the rights. He tried to cut my website off, time after time. He tried to wreak havoc with technology. He tried to fight sales. (Even now he has me blacklisted on Amazon and any money I make, Amazon claims it is a bot faking sales and takes it from me.) And he tried to tell me I was worthless and illegitimate, and tried to burn me out with writing, to make me quit, walk away, and to make me think year after year that it was God knocking me down and asking me to get back up again in order to test me and strengthen me; so that in the end I questioned God’s goodness and thought that following God was the hardest, most draining thing I could do.
I now know better. And I did quit for a few years, but only when God told me I could. I thought it was forever; God knew it was just a much-needed rest. It was time out. It was time to heal from a lot of terrible wounds. “A burning ember he will not quench.” The enemy had gone from showy and shouty to subtle and insidious, and it nearly destroyed me, but God called me out for a long, long rest. Over the last few years, though, God has gently brought me back and reminded me of the importance of my books.
WHY GOD PREORDAINED THE BOOK “BLOODLINE”
In an entirely metaphorical way, the Bloodline books show the reality of the spiritual world and spiritual warfare, and how, when it looks like we are losing and weakest, we are the most powerful of all. They show the true nature of the children of the King, and the true nature of evil, and they pull back the curtain on the confusion of racism, and violence, and lack of forgiveness to show who the real enemy is. Like the Book of Job, they go behind the scenes on what looks like a human drama, or human suffering, to show the spiritual warfare behind it. In the book of Job, Satan is fully exposed, like pulling back a rock to expose to the light the slithering bugs underneath. When Satan is exposed, he runs. When people read my book, Satan is exposed, and he runs. The Holy Spirit begins a work instead.
And even more than that, I am only just now seeing how incredibly prophetic that book is. When I wrote it over twenty years ago, I thought it was a book for our times because of the social themes it carried. I did not realise it was also a book for our future times because of what the world was heading towards and is now going through.
HIDING BEHIND MY NOVELS
Exposing Satan in Bloodline was just the beginning. Wolf was the awakening. It was the beginning of the revelation of who I was always going to become. Wolf was preordained like all of my books are. But it isn’t just the books God was interested in.
For a long time, I believed my books would do the work of bringing Satan down. I hid behind the books. “Let them do the work for me.” I think, in part, it was still a kind of fear, as if my books were a shield that would protect me. But my story didn’t end with writing Bloodline and the attacks didn’t stop just because I had the courage to write the symbolism down. If anything, my story got harder and harder. It was one of setbacks, disappointment, discouragement, and great pain – physical and emotional – but it was also one of learning about God and learning to trust him in the process. Slowly, God was telling me that my life stories were part of it too and I had to learn to tell them.
All along, I felt baffled by how little success the books had compared to the suffering that went behind them. The scale of the attacks against me did not seem to match a book that was barely read and was a series of closed or even slamming doors. Had Satan gone so hard after me for a handful of reads? The scales of effort he expended versus outcome he thwarted seemed grossly unbalanced. What was I missing?
IT WAS ABOUT MY LIFE STORY TOO
Slowly God showed me something through it all. In the same way that Satan’s attacks as a child created a story that became the story of my books, his later attacks on me became the stories that would liberate people God told me to tell those stories to. Though the Bloodline books did not find huge commercial success, they changed lives, but usually only when it was accompanied by me telling them my personal story. By that I mean mostly the struggle of the writing and publishing years and the kinds of attacks that came during that time. I cannot vouch for those who read them who I don’t know about – I don’t know what God did in their lives – but the most dramatic stories come from those who heard parts of my real-life stories, either through me or through a friend who knew some of them. One woman, for instance, a friend I met through my son’s primary school, read Bloodline because she heard my story from me personally. I told it after I heard she was having direct encounters of her own and didn’t fully understand what they were. She stepped from direct and terrible encounters with Satan and “ghosts” to become an amazing follower of Jesus who liberates others caught unwittingly or deliberately in the occult. (Let me be clear at this point: if you are seeing ghosts, you are seeing demons. Ghosts answer to the name of Jesus and flee his power just like they did for this woman because they are demonic manifestations.) She understood the symbolism in the books. In fact, she showed me that some of the symbolism God had me put in the book that I just thought was imaginative, was highly significant in the occultic world. I was stunned to hear it. God spoke to her so clearly through those books and she was liberated.
And it wasn’t just the stories of the direct spiritual attacks, for very few people know about those. One suicidal young man was told some of my story by a good friend of mine who knew bits of the personal struggle to publication and beyond. He loved the books dearly and decided that if someone like me could still carry on and write books like that after all I’d been through, he could hang on too. He said this to my friend while he was clutching the two books to his chest like anchors.
Though it was hard, slowly I started to tell more and more people the story behind the story. I didn’t want to tell my stories. I don’t enjoy telling them or reliving them, and I have never written them down for anyone until now. And I wanted to keep hiding behind the books, using them as a shield, kind of like dropping tracts in letterboxes and then walking on anonymous so you don’t have to be courageous enough to personally witness to someone or confess you are a follower of Jesus.
I had a neighbour once who was deeply into witchcraft. She found out about my Bloodline books and she began to read them. I decided God could do his thing through them and I wouldn’t get involved. The books would be enough. I would “drop that tract” and keep walking … fast. A coffee in her dining room and she brought up her witchcraft with a smile, proud of what she was involved in. I said nothing. I didn’t want to tell my story. She didn’t and probably still doesn’t even know I am a follower of Jesus and child of the Most High God. I didn’t want to get involved. I knew that whenever I came that close to the demonic and started to speak, it literally followed me home trying to terrify me and get me to stay silent, and I would have to contend for my space and place as a follower of Jesus again. I would have sleepless nights, days of heaviness and exhaustion as I contented for my own territory and my family. The authority that the person has unwittingly given the demonic is usually so strong, it takes battling in my own life just to withstand its ability to follow me home. So I said nothing. I tried to literally and metaphorically walk away. And the demonic followed me home anyway. I convinced myself that whatever spirit or spirits were a part of her life were too strong for me. And I kept saying nothing. And she remained in the darkness of witchcraft. I avoided her. At that time of my life, I was burning out from the writing, and I wasn’t far from the moment when I would quit for a while. Satan was going all out for me at that time, and I didn’t fight back. Those books that neighbour bought, as far as I know, fell on deaf ears. They were blunt weapons. My personal story, in that moment, was what God wanted me to tell.
THE ENEMY FEARS MY LIFE STORY … SO I’M TELLING IT
My personal story allowed me to write the books, but it is telling my personal story – the story behind the stories – that exposes Satan the most.
Satan went hard after my personal story too, and in far more insidious ways than demonic appearances. But he is shortsighted. If Satan knew how many lives would be touched and helped by the life of Job, he would have left Job alone. If Satan had known what the cross would do to liberate the whole world, he would have left Jesus alive. And if Satan had known that his pushing me and pushing me for years would be the very thing that would create the enemy he feared, he would never have come into my room that first night when I was a child. And had he known that pushing me to near breaking point year after year in the writing and publication would result in a story that would change lives, he would have made the publication process as smooth as he could. He nearly won again, or so he thought. And after years of quitting, I have come back and with more determination than ever to tell people the truth.
You can read about some of the more subtle personal attacks in my post, “Not a proper writer” and I hope to tell more stories of my many years of struggles here. Of course, Satan doesn’t know any other way to attack me other than to try and stop me, even though in the long run it keeps creating the enemy he fears. So Satan is trying to thwart the books again, doing everything he can. I know that exposing him in the books makes him flee when people read them. And so the time has come to expose him in my life story as well. The time has come to tell people the truth of what he has been up to since I was a child and why the books really matter.
I can’t sit with you all in person, share a coffee with you and tell you the story behind my stories before you read my books. Or help you one-on-one if you are experiencing demonic attacks like I did. So I am finally writing it down and putting it here for all to see. May those who need to read it find their way here. And may my story or my books or both together reach into your world somehow and give you hope.
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You can read a generous sample of Bloodline: Alliance if you’re curious. Go to the Bloodline Alliance book page (https://www.thelonelycreative.com/product/alliance/) and click on the preview at the bottom of the page. Click on the “My books” link above to see other books and find other samples.
About the Author: Lisa Saul
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