The Ballestero Blog

“I’m Gone!”

Brother Verbal Bean put his arm around my shoulder in a conspiratorial manner, as we walked from the Dining Hall. For the third time that week of Hoosier Camp Meeting, he asked. “Brother Marty, tell me that story about the devil again.”

I was an Associate pastor with my Father, Carl Ballestero, and greatly revered Brother Bean. In my heart, I wasn’t sure if he was having more fun laughing at me, or at my story. Nevertheless, I began.

“I was twenty years old and preaching a revival in East Texas. One night during the altar service, a young single woman began to demonstrate signs of demon possession. She was always on the platform during service. She was a “Praise Singer” and also sang in a trio with the Pastor and his wife.

“This girl was well liked by all. I was greatly surprised at the demonstration. It was completely out of character for her. The saints were gathered around crying and praying. Some were giving prayerful support to her astonished parents.

“The Pastor asked me if I would go pray for her. (I later wondered why he didn’t pray for her and ask me to join him, but I was an evangelist and just did what I was told.)

“ I knelt down beside this young woman and began to pray very earnestly. “Satan, I command you in Jesus name to come out of her, she’s not yours, she has been bought with a price.”

“A low voice growled back at me, ‘She is too mine!’

“Without missing a beat I said, ‘How did you get her?’

“I stole her.” The voice said.

“I said, ‘Devil I rebuke you in Jesus Name. I command you now to release your hold on her. You will be bound for a thousand years, and I bind you now in Jesus Name. Come out of her!

“A high pitched, innocent sounding little girl’s voice sweetly said, “I’m gone!”

“Devil,” I said, “you’re a liar. If you were gone, you wouldn’t be talking to me. Now come out of her in Jesus Name.”

At that part of the story, Brother Bean started laughing so hard that he crumbled to the grass in hysterics. He rolled over on his back and with complete excitement. His arms and legs up in the air thrashing like a locomotive, while tears of laughter ran down his cheeks.

“I’m Gone! I’m Gone” I’m Gone!” He said and then laughed some more.

I stood there grinning, looked at the most esteemed evangelist in Pentecost. He was too weak to stand, and completely enjoying experience, my discomfort and my spiritual ineptness.

Till he passed, whenever he would see me at a Convention or a Camp, he would look at me with a big grin and say, in a high falsetto, “I’m Gone!”

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