Ghost Driver 4

The Ghost Driver carriage returned much sooner than anyone expected.

Maddened drivers raged upon each other and bullied for the reins, but each was powerless to take charge. Stubbornly the wagon made its haltering way toward a modest cottage nestled in a valley. A determined face pushed it on with the force of her own insistence.

As the horses stamped their uncomfortable presence a woman stepped from the carriage and stood, looking at the humble home. A woman stepped from the threshold and reached out her arms toward the visitor.

Tears streamed down both faces, but both were frozen in place. The younger woman turned her face away, struggling with internal torments of unbearable potency.

“You have come.” The older woman spoke, to break the spell of their meeting.

“She is dead.” The young woman measured her tears, as remorse, pain and anger fought for ascendancy within her. “She was thrown from the carriage in a wild moment and dashed to pieces under the hooves of these dreadful horses.”

The woman moved quickly from the cottage and embraced the stiffened body of the beautiful young visitor. “I’m so sorry”, she soothed.

“I am not”, the younger replied. “I hated her.”

“But she is your Mother!” The older woman urged.

“She was never a mother to me.” The words were bitter and pained. “She lived only for herself and did not care what I suffered under her wild will. She was never a mother to me. Never!” There were no tears with this, but cold hardness of heart.

“Well, now you are free.”

“No. I am not free. These wild urges surge in me more powerfully than ever. They have lost their slave and are determined to own me more than they ever owned her.”

“But that’s alright. We can help you get freedom.” The tone was filled with promise.

The visitor stood stiff, struggling with surging internal currents. “I do not want to forgive her. Hating her makes me feel better. And I don’t want to give up my will. I am afraid of being mocked as a servant to others. I like being admired and envied. Part of me wants to taunt others and prove that I am right. If I give up all this, I will face unbearable shame.”

The woman gently led the stunned guest toward the cottage, speaking tenderly as she did. “But you desperately want to be loved, don’t you.”

At this the visitor wept freely. She did desperately want to be loved and valued and cherished and be appreciated for more than her seductive beauty or painted eyes. She wanted the freedom to be as plain as a country servant and yet to be loved none-the-less. Her life as a raging beauty had never brought her such treasures.

Moments later the guest dropped hot tears into the mug of tea in her trembling hands. The warmth of the country kitchen and the sounds of children singing as they were busy with their chores invoked senses which were as intoxicating as they were foreign to her. This reality affirmed a expectation deep within her that such things must exist.

“You can stay with us, if you like. My son will deal with the horses and the carriage. He has done it before, for others. We can guide you and help you cut all the cords that enslave you. You can be as free as a bird and as whole on the inside as you could ever imagine.”

The woman’s motherly care was welcome, but uncertainties stormed against the situation now before the young woman. Could she endure such a change of her whole existence?

Through the window she watched a young man approach the horses, whip in hand. He was cautious, but not afraid. He spoke to them and presented the large whip to their view. They pulled back from him, but he held them from rearing up as they were wont to do. After a long and painstaking process they were led to take steps under the man’s direction. When unseen hands lifted another whip and phantom voices raised a cry of protest, the man simply stared them down until they were silent.

Finally the carriage was drawn into a yard and the horses tethered there. This was not the end of the process, but just the beginning, but a good start had now been made.

The young woman slumped into a chair and wept freely. Hope stepped one pace closer in her chest.

Thus began a long and wonderful season that would lead to a young woman shining with double beauty. She would one day display the beauty of her natural features and the richer beauty of a yielded spirit.

But that day was not to come without many a struggle, within the woman’s heart and between her and those who loved her. They would be tested and drained by the process, but their compassion for her would bring them through.

When the young man entered the room and slipped his woollen cap from his head the young guest nodded to him. He looked upon her differently to the way other men did. And immediately she was stirred. Something inside her demanded that she have alluring power over such males and one of her first struggles began right there.

Romantics speculate at this point that the young man and young woman made a lovely couple in due time. But that is to be distracted. The story is not about romance, but about Freedom. Don’t be distracted by emotional excursions when far more important matters are afoot.

The “Happily Ever After” sentiment of the Fairy Story cheats us of life’s reality. Life is not achieved by a romantic ending to a story, but by godly wisdom applied on a daily basis to challenges which mature us and deepen our grip on God and His grip on us.

So, as you make your own journey from here keep an ear attuned to the cry of Ghost Drivers who have already gained a hold on you or who come along with the promise of gain, so they can drive you at their will. Refuse the “Cumalongnow” call of the tormentors and prepare yourself for the “Come up here” call of the Lord, taking you into His presence.

To read the earlier instalments in this important story of slavery and freedom click the following links:

Part One: http://chrisfieldblog.com/ministry/ghost-driver

Part Two: http://chrisfieldblog.com/ministry/ghost-driver-2

Part Three: http://chrisfieldblog.com/ministry/ghost-driver-3

Ghost Driver 3

It took fifteen years for the two to meet again. He was now a middle aged man, running a business and raising a family. Walking home from a meeting, with his wife at his side, he saw the familiar carriage approaching from the distance.

The carriage showed signs of a hard life. It had traversed many miles, at break-neck speed, and crashed its way through many a barrier in its time. The mad drivers did not care for maintenance or for the welfare of the passengers, just that they vent their passion with full force and let fly their energies at a whim.

The carriage creaked its way toward the man and wife as they walked the dusty road. Finally it stopped just short of them. They saw the reins drop from the hands of the invisible driver. The door opened and a woman stepped out.

We Meet Again

The man approached slowly.

She was still beautiful to behold, but up close her face was painted and her eyes hard. She cast her scorning gaze upon the man and back to the wife waiting at a distance. The wife, plain in the way of country women, was no match for her own arrogant beauty and crafted image and appeal. The air was crisp in the silence of their meeting.

“You have not changed”, he said. “Thank you”, she oozed as she turned her cheek toward him.

“I mean, you have not become free.” She scowled at him with angry eyes.

“I see you have settled for second best”, she said with contempt as she glared at the wife, dressed in plain linen and face browned by the sun.

“Freedom is always better than slavery”, he said simply. “Ha!” She scorned.

Meet the Next Generation

Then another person stepped from the carriage. The woman’s baby had grown to a lovely young lady and looked even more beautiful than her mother ever had.

“This is the man I told you of”, mother said to her girl. “I’m very pleased to meet you”. The girl spoke with sincerity. The man nodded.

The girl then stepped past him and went to greet the wife standing at a distance.

“She is beautiful, isn’t she?” The woman urged.

“It is a tragedy she must endure your fate.” He spoke honestly, not as one taunting another.

Mutual Contempt

“You know nothing of life and its wonders. You have not seen what I have seen or been where I have been. You have strangled your life in this dull valley, with a woman who knows nothing of how to really live!”

“And what do you have to show for your wild adventures?” He asked.

She pointed her chin toward her lovely daughter. “Every man we meet wishes he was passenger with us. We are the envy of the whole world.”

“Yet your husband never returned for your life of wild abandon.” At this she turned her head and snorted.

What is Freedom?

“I have the freedom to go as I will and do as I please!” She declared.

“You have no freedom at all. You are a slave to every passion you ever yielded to. You have been trampled by every thing you thought would enrich you.”

She snarled at him. The hardness in her eyes and on her face made her beauty brittle. She had the beauty of an image painted on glass. There was no softness or life in it. His own wife, much more modest in demeanour and tempered in nature, did not have the hardened beauty of this painted woman, but she had a genuine radiance that was deeper than beauty, which glowed from the very depths of her being.

“I am not trapped by your civilities, laws and expectations. People know to let me have my head and to step out of my way. I am free to do what you would never allow yourself to do!”

“Yet you have no power to say ‘No’ to your own enslaving impulses. Not only must people get out of your way, but you, too, must rush with the impulse that throws you this way and that.”

She stared him down in defiance, unable to think what else to throw at him.

“I am free to say ‘No’ to you. Your husband was free to walk away. But you are the sorriest slave of all, for you cannot get free, even from yourself!”

The Appeal

As this exchange took its course the young lass spoke quietly to the plain wife with the sun-browned skin. She had longed for his moment for many years and even anticipated such a conversation.

“Is it true you can free us from this curse?” The woman squeezed her hand and nodded. “Yes, and we’d love to help you.”

“I’m afraid mother will never let me be free while she is still alive, but one day…”, she paused to gain courage for what she wanted to say. “One day I will come this way again and ask you to help me.”

“We will be here waiting. I promise.”

Ghost Drivers Take Charge Again

Suddenly a raucous “Cumalongnow!” growled from unseen voices and the horses reared up ready for a charge.

The woman stepped toward the carriage, head held high and rage in her sparkling eyes. She had sought the man out to mock him, but now he had stood his ground and everything within her whirled in a torrent of contempt and rage.

But the daughter gripped the wife’s hand with all her might. Invisible cords pulled relentlessly at the young body, tearing her back to the waiting vehicle. “Cum! Cum!” the mad voices demanded.

In an instant the daughter was pulled inside with her mother and whisked away in a fury of stamping hooves.

Two faces looked back through the swirling dust. One bore mocking defiance and the stubborn insistence of her own self-will. The other looked longingly for the day they would meet again and the road to freedom would be traversed.

Generational Curse

Have you trapped your children into a life controlled by your Ghost Drivers? Are you raising the next generation to the same slavery which has dogged your life?

Or have you broken the curses passed down from generations, so your own descendents can live in true freedom?

The Ghost Drivers are linked to your self-will. If you will to be a slave they will gladly fulfil your wish. If you will to be free, then you must use your will to humble yourself before God and allow Him to set you free.

True freedom awaits you. True beauty of soul is waiting to be seen from within you.

Come free today, through the finished work of the Cross of Christ.

To read the earlier instalments in this important story of slavery and freedom click the following links:

Part One: http://chrisfieldblog.com/ministry/ghost-driver

Part Two: http://chrisfieldblog.com/ministry/ghost-driver-2

Ghost Driver 2

Five years after their last meeting the young man, now not so young, once again caught a glimpse of the Ghost Driver carriage. He saw it speeding along a high road, with the whip cracking and the horses galloping, and the very faint impression of several ethereal drivers urging it along.

Later that same day he came across it again, standing in the shade of a cluster of trees beside a country road. The young woman was sitting quietly in the shade.

He approached her and then stood quiet and motionless.

She saw him approach but did not greet him. They were both unsure how to proceed.

Finally he broke the silence. “I see you still have your carriage and your drivers.”

She nodded as she gazed at her feet. He shuffled with uncertainty.

Help At Last

“I think I can help you”, he announced at last. She did not react.

“I have found the secret to being rid of these Ghost Drivers.” His voice quickly became enthusiastic. He had waited a long time to pass on this vital information. “I know how you get them and how to get rid of them.” She did not respond, so he continued, as if to assure her. “It has been done, you know. Many people have become free from a life like yours.”

She turned her head away, as if not wanting to hear more. He moved so she could see him.

“Don’t you want to be free?” She waited, still, before springing up and walking to the carriage. He followed. Beside the rig she nodded her head to indicate that he should look inside.

Another Passenger

He peered into the carriage and saw a small baby, sleeping in a basket.

“It’s too late”, she muttered as she walked away. He looked again at the baby and then followed her.

“You can be FREE!” He asserted. She turned and raged at him as she indicated toward the baby. “I cannot be free of HER!”

“You can both be free! Can’t you see I am telling you that you don’t have to be trapped by these ghosts?”

She returned to the place where she had been sitting and slumped herself back onto the grass. “He left me. He said he could not take it anymore. He left me and the baby. Now what am I to do?” She asked as one who does not expect an answer.

Try Freedom

“You could try Freedom”, he suggested. She did not react, so he took that as permission to explain.

“There is a man I found who knows of these Ghost Drivers. He has dealt with them before. And he knows where they come from. They are passed to us, as familiar acquaintances of our parents, or they come and introduce themselves to us. If we welcome them, or if we do not resist them, they claim a part of us. We agree by our invitation or acquiescence.” She did not respond to any of this.

“Over time they make demands of us, urging us to give over more and more of our life to their control. If we give in to their suggestions, such as to be angry, bitter, jealous, resentful, proud, selfish, or many other things, then their grip on our life becomes much stronger. Eventually they have their claws dug deep into our flesh and they drive us at their whim.” She put her face in her hands.

All of this gave her no hope, but only described her destruction.

Grow a New Life Within

“Our only hope is to grow a new life within. Since our old life has become a slave and must die to be rid of its masters, we need a new life spawned within us, from God. That new life lives in freedom from the things that drive our flesh.” She did not move.

“Once there are two lives within us we can then die to our flesh and deal with all those selfish, evil, hurtful and destructive things we once invited into our life. While our old flesh man dies, we are not hurt, but liberated. Our new man is all the more free to live a wonderful new life.” He finished this explanation on a high note, excited by the prospects. She, however, was unmoved.

“You make it sound too easy. But I know the tyranny of my masters. They will not give me up without much pain. I cannot face the humiliation and I won’t admit I was wrong. I won’t give up my claim for revenge against my husband, or my resentment of my parents, or my jealousy of my school friends. I won’t give up my pride in my own ability to survive and to succeed without God’s help. I cannot afford to give up such things without enduring unbearable pain and shame.”

“You will live in such slavery and doom yourself and your daughter to a life of misery?” He was astonished.

Cumalongnow!

With that, a loud “Cumalongnow!” rang from unseen voices and she dashed into the carriage which began to speed away. Her flight was so quick and determined that he hardly had time to see through the dust the gestures from spite, arrogance, defiance and the like, raging from atop the carriage. He also could not see the tortured look of despair in a face that knew the truth, but could not bear to face it.

Our young friend was saddened but not daunted. His new understanding of these things put him to recognising others of his acquaintance who had Ghosts driving their lives at times. Some only heard a “Cumalongnow!” on the rarest of occasions, while some were stirred by unseen voices almost every day.

He began to visit these people and to share with them the truth he now understood. Some, but not all, were open to his message. Some, too, gained complete freedom from masters that spoiled their life and marriage. Many a family thanked him repeatedly for the healing he brought, not only to the enslaved, but to the experience of them all.

From time to time he stopped to pray for a woman and a little girl, whirling around the countryside in uncontrolled urges and furies. What tragedy lay in store for them yet?

Getting the Picture?

The things that drive you are part of your life by your agreement. You agree to contracts either by your signature (you requested the good or service) or by your acquiescence (you did not object to the imposition forced upon you).

When fear sweeps over you, giving you a sample of its wares, you either buy in or your reject the goods as unsuitable for the life you wish to live. If anger sweeps over you, giving you a taste of its finest qualities, you either subscribe or you throw the sample away. This is how it works for all those things you have integrated into your life.

Of course, when you are very young you are more vulnerable and less likely to know what is going on. But even then, you knew by the way it made you feel, that the things you welcomed into your life were not things that made you noble and special, but things that made you evil and dirty.

More Control

Once those things have become travelling companions in your life they will seek permission to take greater and greater control of your life. They will suggest, “It’s a good time to be angry. I’d be really angry if I were you.” If you accept the suggestion you give over that much more of your will and life to the invaders, until they become Ghost Drivers of your life.

Freedom comes from reversing those invitations and contracts which we established with the evil influences. However it is most effectively done when we die to our old life, including all its contracts, and live out of the new life born in us by the Holy Spirit when we are saved.

If you missed the first part of this allegory you will find it at: http://chrisfieldblog.com/ministry/ghost-driver

Ghost Driver Allegory

This allegory is an attempt to open up a subject for your consideration. Often matters of our heart and inner life are hard to describe. I like to create language, pictures and allegory that open up our understanding of internal processes and empower us to take some leadership in our own lives.

I trust that this allegorical effort does that for you.

This is Part One of a story to illustrate what can happen in people’s lives, when they come under the power of unseen forces that function as a driver in their life.

The Beautiful Girl

The young man noticed her at once. She was beautiful to his eyes, so he watched her from a distance. The coach stood still in the market and the lovely young lady hung out the window drinking in the sounds and senses of the bustling crowd.

As she stepped out onto the pavement the young man hurried to greet her. She smiled and he stammered to make meaningful conversation. Both were delighted by the meeting. She was just passing through and he hardly caught her name before the coach driver called his “Cumalongnow” cry and she stepped onto the running board.

As the coach began to move she swung herself into the coach and waved to him from the window. As he waved back he saw there was no driver steering the horses, yet the whip cracked and the carriage sped away. The boy ran after them, crying for the carriage to stop, but it passed out of sight, with the young lady waving still.

Second Meeting

Two full years passed before he saw her again. It was early morning and the village streets had hardly sprung to life. The coach was there again. He walked quickly to it and peered through the window. She was there, resting. He tapped and caught her attention. She quickly sprang out to meet him, smiling broadly. It was the same chemistry they had enjoyed on their first meeting.

They had barely gotten past a few pleasantries when the “Cumalongnow” made her step back into the carriage. The young man only had eyes for her sparkling smile, but something tugged at his attention. As the coach moved away he recalled the missing driver from their first meeting and glancing to the front of the coach he again saw that there was no-one holding the reins. He ran after the coach and shouted, “There’s no driver!” She simply smiled and waved back as the coach gained speed and moved away.

From then on he always kept an eye to the road, in case she should pass that way again. It was a full two years again before they met once more. He was riding a country track when he came upon the coach. The young lady was sitting in the pasture as the horses took their rest.

Explanation

His fascination for her was now cautioned by his questions. They stood silently for a time before he spoke.

“There is no driver”, he said simply. She nodded.

“How can that be?” She shrugged.

“So, what do you do?” He was totally lost for understanding.

She kept her eyes on the grass as she answered. “When he cries, I get aboard.” And that was all she said.

“But where is he taking you?”

She held her reply for an intolerable time, then said, “They take me where they will.”

“There is more than one?” He was incredulous. “Who are they?”

She turned away. When she looked back toward him she could see he was resolute upon an answer.

Naming the Drivers

“One is called Ambition. Another is Rage.” He kept his gaze fixed upon her.

“Then there is Jealousy. Greed takes his turn. There are others.”

He stood stock still, unsatisfied.

“They take the reins and drive me where they will and I must stay on board. One time I am driven by rage, then by ambition, other times by self-justification. At any moment one of them can jump to the lead and dash me off in a hasty venture.”

“Where do they come from?”

“My mother and father had them before me. As a child I was carried about in this coach until it became normal for me to live under such unexpected and inexplicable whim. The ghosts have owned me since childhood. I am their pawn.”

“Then come away with me. I will ride you far from this coach and these demented masters.”

“But it will not work. They have power over me. If you try to take me away I will be torn apart, since each of them owns a handful of my being.”

A Proposal

She reached out her hand to him. “But you can come with me in the coach. We can be happy together, no matter where these riders take us.”

It was a delightful prospect, but the young man was held in check by his fear of the unseen drivers.

“I do not want to spend my life in uncertainty of the whim of Ghost Drivers. While I am delighted to be with you, I do not want to become a slave to your ghosts.”

“But my parents made a life in such a coach as this.” Her eyes appealed to him.

“No”, he said finally. “I will not be slave to another man’s masters.”

With that a multiple of voices cried, “Cumalongnow!” and she dashed into the carriage as it began to move away. Rage was almost visible as he cracked the whip. Defiance shook his fist at the man left standing. Pride lifted his head and looked away. Spite spat in his direction.

A lovely face looked back toward him, without expression, except the resignation of a slave.

Do You Recognise This?

Do you know people whose lives are upset at times by uncontrolled urges, impulses, reactions, obsessions, distractions, ventures, exploits, rages, campaigns, and the like?

Most of us have come under the power of some “Ghost Driver” or other. We are vulnerable to distraction or disruption when something triggers some internal switch and sets us off on an almost uncontrollable direction.

I have seen people spoil a social event because of their obsessive need to justify themselves, gain respect, clear up a misunderstanding, prove their worth, and so on. Romantic moments in marriages have been turned into arguments. Business ventures have come unglued. Friendships, committees, fellowships and events have all been impacted at times by someone or other whose “Ghost Driver” called “Cumalongnow” and pulled them off on some unfortunate process.

What is Going on?

I guess you’d like to know what this Ghost Driver process is all about. So that’s what we’ll look at as the story continues. The story of this young man and woman does go a little further, so keep an eye out for the next instalment of the Ghost Driver Story.