Evil Is Ugly

There are many amazing accounts of angels who astound onlookers with their glorious heavenly light. Yet my guardian angel never popped into view when rescuing me. But a demonic something or other did and, believe me, evil is as ugly as sin. Uglier.

My first awareness of angelic intervention happened on my way home from a church function for kids. As I walked along a partially wooded road bordering a ditch, falling snow lit the darkness of the winter evening. The wind howled as it stung my face with icy crystals, so I looked down.

I found a rabbit’s severed paw and thought, “Wow, a real rabbit’s foot! This will bring me luck.” Trust me, no drugs were coursing through my eleven-year-old body.

Suddenly, as if launched by NASA, I catapulted sideways over the ditch into a snow bank. At the same time, a car skidded along the berm where I’d been kicking my way through the snow. I hadn’t heard it behind me.

I wondered if the frozen good luck charm had flung me into orbit. My juvenile delusion fizzled as I peeled the furry little paw off my glove, eulogized it, and put it in an icy tomb. Then I praised God for the angelic flight assistance casting me away from Beelzebub’s evil intentions.

Nine years later I walked down a different street I’d been warned about. I’d traveled to Great Britain to spend six months as a happy wanderer. I rented a room from a former neighbor of a coworker who had immigrated to the United States from London.

The neighbor, Mrs. Carter, had lived in London for more than six decades and knew its splendors, its inhabitants, and it’s dangers. She worked on-call as a food preparer for state banquets at Buckingham Palace.

“You will want to see London properly, so it is best to take bus tours,” she said enunciating every letter of every word and even the air in-between each word.

I nodded.

“And you must not talk through your nose. Learn to speak proper English whilst you are here.”

I nodded.

“Wherever you go, take a bus. And stay away from Soho. It has alleyways and streets that are wretched and sordid. It is London’s most horrid red-light district. Girls are snatched up regularly there.” In the 1970s Soho did indeed take over as the primary hunting grounds for the sex slave trade.

I nodded.

So I took a bus tour to familiarize myself with the city and then walked everywhere to save money. One evening a gloomy covering of clouds quickly darkened the sky. While returning to my room on Lansdowne Road, I got confused in the web of streets and ended up in Soho. Oops.

As I headed north, it started to rain. The water blackened the streets until Soho resembled Jack the Ripper’s godforsaken stomping grounds. The Jezebels on corners and the guys pursuing their manwhore careers disappeared into sex shops and strip clubs of this Sodom and Gomorrah.

Even though I didn’t see a glow-in-the-dark heavenly being, I believed my Guardian Angel once again saved me from the Prince of Darkness by letting “…the skies rain down righteousness….” (Isaiah 45:8)

When I got back to my room, I unfolded a chair cot by the front window. The yellowish glow from the street lamps lit the room like a night light. I dried off and stretched out on the fun-sized bed.

The second floor window had no curtains, so I slept till the morning sun brightened the room. I heard the milk float (an electric milk truck) whine and its glass bottles rattle below the window. When the milkman set a few pints by the entranceway, they clinked.

I prepared to get up to fetch a bottle of the cream-topped milk so Mrs. Carter, who had arthritic knees, wouldn’t have to do it. When I opened my eyes, I sensed a presence in the room.

I lifted my head and blinked. A dark figure loomed over the foot of the cot.

Panic-stricken, I sprung onto my elbows and squinted hard. The entity glared. Like the snarl of a beast, its upper lip curled away from its yellow fanged teeth and dug into its blood red tongue.

The creature had a human shape with rough brownish-green skin like a toad. The corneas of its eyes were yellow. Its head had curved horns and a freakish halo of congealed bumps. When it arched foreword, my heart hammered against my breastbone.

Apparitions disappear. This hellhound didn’t.

I fell backwards and pressed my hands over my face. Yeah, like my whole body could hide behind my fingers. Breathless and ready to swallow my tongue, I couldn’t cry out to Jesus. But He must have heard my silent scream, because demon-face left and didn’t use the door.

“So submit yourselves to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.” (James4:7, NAB)

I perceived it as the devil. It looked nothing like the corny cartoon caricature of a red devil. According to Corinthians 11:14, Satan is more likely to disguise himself as an angel of light and not manifest as a hideous bogeyman like this thing.

The next day I fled to Swansea, Wales. I wanted to give the Proprietor of Hell time to go back to his barbecue grill and work on his snarling.

“Be sober and vigilant. Your opponent the devil is prowling around like a roaring lion looking for [someone] to devour.” (1 Peter 5:8, NAB)

During my search for a room to let (rent), I went to the wrong house. An older lady named Mrs. Sweet answered the door. She gave me directions to the correct address then began to cry.

“My husband had a stroke yesterday and he’s in the hospital. I want to be with him. You can stay here if you’ll take care of my dog, Rookie.” The Good Lord had given me a safe haven.

I stayed a month. Rookie, a black Labrador, strolled through the parks with me-tail wagging. I painted walls, shopped for food, and helped however I could. In turn, Mrs. Sweet’s adult children took me and Rookie to the pubs and sightseeing. When Mr. Sweet came home, I left.

I then traveled to Naples, Italy to visit my maternal relatives-another safe haven. They fed me 24 hours a day for thirty days except when we visited the Vatican where it’s forbidden. I’m certain they funneled pasta fagioli down my throat while I slept.

Then I returned to London to my creepy room with the hellhole.

Thankfully, the beast didn’t reappear. Faith has a repulsive stench to these maggot sniffing serpents, and I smelled like the essence of Vatican.

I’m convinced a diabolical demon confronted me, a careless twenty-year-old who frolicked through the devil’s den. Encountering the demonic is traumatic, but it’s worse when they’re hidden and ambush minds, bodies, or emotions unguarded by faith.

The devil and his demons aren’t everywhere, but they’re always somewhere. So, “In all circumstances, hold faith as a shield, to quench all (the) flaming arrows of the evil one.” (Ephesians 6:16, NAB)

“For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not from you; it is the gift of God;”

Ephesians 2:8, NAB

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