500 words to describe to you a person or event that shaped or inspired my beliefs. 500 words that seek to transfer the details of a significant event from my mind to yours with enough clarity that you are actually able to see what i am...and I'm wasting it on introductions, so without further ado...

            I have spent the last three years at Peace River Bible Institute way up in northern(ish) Alberta. My time spent there has completely shaped my beliefs and convictions as a disciple maker of Jesus Christ, but this is not my story, merely. A few weeks after the Christmas break of my second year is the timeframe. The excitement of being back with friends, who in fact feel more like family, the excitement of getting back to the grind working on homework and going to class, the excitement that is the beginning stage of ever experience in which one expects nothing but greatness, was beginning to ebb.

            The night of January 31 was peculiar. My roommate, Josh Smolders, and I went to bed around 11:30 pm. Many others did too, which is what makes it peculiar. I hadn't thought about it before just now, but the dorm was quiet, when it normal wakes up after 11 and takes time to settle down. Anyways, we hadn't slept long when a buddy of ours, Ralph Gardner, burst into our room,

awakening us from our peaceful slumber, speaking in tones quieter than a fully qualified yell, but louder than normal speech, "guys wake up! Something crazy happened to Josiah! You need to pray!" ... ... ... say what? Come again? That's it?

            As we walked the few paced down to the boiler room, we heard voices: one familiar, one foreign. Ralph had gone to phone the dean of men. The recognizable voice was that of Chris Loewen. The second was coming from Josiah's mouth, but was not his voice, nor were words that he spoke. They were in English, but were blasphemous and vulgar, full of cursing and a tone that exuded nothing but pure hatred.

            One of the perks of living in North America in the 21^st Century is that even at the end of January, in the dead of winter, when wind is howling outside and temperatures plummet well below minus 30 degrees centigrade, one can find warmth and comfort inside. However, the floor felt like ice. Josiah, Chris, Ralph, the dean and whatever else, were in the boiler room, behind the closed door, and there were now four of us outside of the door, flat with our noses to the muddy floor, praying desperately, shivering uncontrollably, full to the brim with fear.                     

                                                     

            That was the beginning of perhaps the most influential night of my life. Until 5:30 in the morning, we were on the floor begging Jesus Christ to redeem our brother from the clutches of several demons.

                                                                                                                                        Mark Dueck