I Thought He Was Just a Troublemaker. Then the Screams Started.

The following story is true, aside from a name change.

When I signed up to be a camp counselor at a Christian camp in the summer of 1988, I had no idea I would experience something so profound. It was a free camp that largely served underprivileged kids from the nearby city. It gave them a chance to have a camp experience complete with horseback rides and swimming, and it gave us a chance to share the Gospel with them. It was a lot of hard work in the heavy heat and humidity typical of the deep South, but I would not trade it for any amount of money.

Meeting Sam

One week, I was assigned a camper named Sam. He was about twelve years old and a problem before we ever got on the bus for camp. The best word to describe him was feral. He looked as wild as he acted: his hair was a mess, his clothes were dirty and ragged, and I am not sure he had ever bathed. When I tried to get him to clean up, he screamed as though touching soap and water would be like touching acid.

Part of my duties included leading Bible lessons and Scripture memorization for my cabin. Sam would isolate himself and flatly refuse to participate. Short of physically dragging him back to the group—which I would never do—I had to let him stay apart. He was not just wild, he was mean, too; he once punched another boy in the face and he seldom had anything nice to say about anyone or anything.

Needless to say, none of his cabin mates liked him. I was getting in trouble with camp leaders because I could not keep him under control. He was never where he was supposed to be, and he never settled down. Even by 1988 standards, I would bet he would have been sent home if the situation had continued.

The Screams

While Sam’s daytime behavior was exhausting, nothing could prepare me for the night. By the time I was able to go to sleep, I had spent about 15 non-stop hours with eight boys, ages 11 and 12. If I had been tracking my steps, it would have easily been in the 30,000 range.

We slept in a 42-year-old yellow cabin that was approximately 350 square feet. My bed was in the dead center of the room so I could monitor the door, with the boys' bunk beds lining the walls. Sam slept in the top bunk at about the 11 o’clock position.

It takes a lot to wake me up, but sometime between 2 and 3 in the morning, I was ripped from sleep by ear-piercing screams that were nothing short of blood-curdling. I had no idea what to do or think. They went on for at least 30 more seconds. When I sat up, I saw Sam eerily sitting up in his bed as if nothing had happened. Even after I got everyone else to calm down, I lay there with my heart racing and my adrenaline high. I kept having visions of him flying off that top bunk and somehow attacking me.

A Spiritual Realization

After a repeat performance of his early morning hair-raising screams the next night, it became clear to me that I was dealing with a demon. I am sure the Holy Spirit assisted me in that realization because it was all new to me.

I was raised Baptist in a church I truly loved. The people there were wonderful to me and my family, and I learned so much of my spiritual foundation within those walls. However, like any tradition, there were noticeable gaps I didn't realize were missing until that moment in the cabin and as I learned more later in life. We were a conservative group; we wore the kind of clothes you were glad to take off when you got home, sang from hymnals, and read from the King James Version. It was a quiet, dignified atmosphere where no one ever really raised a hand during worship.

Because we were taught cessationism—the idea that certain spiritual gifts were only for the early apostles—we just didn't have a category for things like spiritual warfare or demons in the present day. I think it was a topic that was probably a bit too "messy" for our well-ordered services.

However, a sermon came to mind—no doubt also the work of the Holy Spirit. It was about the spiritual "highs and lows" in Mark 9. The "low" point was the story of the demon-possessed boy whom the disciples could not help. When they asked Jesus why they failed, He answered, “This kind cannot be driven out by anything but prayer” (Mark 9:29).

Since I did not know how to cast out a demon, I gathered a few other counselors. We followed the verse running through my mind and we prayed. We each took turns; none of us knew exactly what to say, but I’ve learned that the "right" words have never mattered. What matters is that we put our heart-felt petition before an all-powerful God.

The Transformation

That night, during the service in the open-air tabernacle, Sam stood up to go forward. My heart sank for a moment. He was so unpredictable that I was unsure what he might do or if he was about to cause another scene. I followed him out of the tabernacle to find a quiet spot to counsel him.

To my amazement, he told me he wanted Jesus in his life. I asked him several questions, making sure he understood what that meant and the weight of the decision he was making. Once I was assured he understood, I led him in prayer. The violent storm was immediately over; in its place was peace.

Now understand, Sam did not get saved because of our prayer. God will not override our choice to choose Him. What God did was make a way for Sam to hear the truth.

It was, and still is, the biggest transformation I have ever witnessed. He went from being the worst camper to the best camper. Not only did he sleep peacefully for the rest of the week, but he also became an entirely different boy. He was suddenly eager to take part in Bible studies and learn about his Jesus. He was extremely obedient, and instead of being confrontational, he was genuinely loving. For the rest of the week, he never strayed from my side.

I was not prepared for Sam, but all I had to do was be obedient and let my Lord take my hand and lead me through it.

“For I, the Lord your God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, ‘Fear not, I am the one who helps you.’” — Isaiah 41:13