AND THEY OVERCAME HIM

“And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of their testimony; and they loved not their lives unto the death.”    Revelation 12:11

 

      It is possible to overcome the devil in these dark times in which we live.  Revelation 12:11 tells us how.  We overcome him by the blood of the Lamb – Jesus Christ’s sacrifice on the cross for each person willing to freely accept it, and by the word of their testimony.  When we share what Christ has done in our lives, it gives others hope and the faith necessary to reach out and accept His life-giving provision for themselves.  Each person that comes to faith in Christ is one less person who Satan can claim as his own to spend eternity with him in Hell.  We overcome Satan by the blood of the Lamb, and the word of our testimony.

     On the following pages are the true stories of real people whose lives have been drastically changed by the blood of the Lamb.  They are sharing their testimonies because they believe the Word of God and know that their story has the power to defeat Satan in the lives of others and change their lives for the better.  These are ordinary people just like you….

And They Overcame Him. 

EXCERPTS

CARRIE’S STORY

 

      My brother was born in 1960 to a pair of teenage love birds. At this time in history you did not have a baby out of wedlock so my parents did the honorable thing and got married before the bump showed. Just under two years later I was born.  I don’t know if my parents were alcoholics at the very beginning, but I suspect so. The divorce came quickly.  My dad went to parts unknown with a gal named Joan, while my mom decided to marry again when I was five years old. Unfortunately, she married a pedophile. His name was Jim, who was raising a daughter and three sons, one of which was following very closely in his footsteps. The son didn’t care whether he molested little girls or little boys, which was very unfortunate for my seven-year-old brother.

      Pedophiles have a way of convincing their victims that secrecy is essential. They use jealousy as a means of keeping the child quiet. Jim convinced me that my mother would hate me if I told her, because she would know that he loved me more than he loved her. Tragically I believed him.

     My 1st grade teacher, Mrs. Estabbe, was the one person in my life that noticed that something was wrong.  One day as the students were filing out of class, she came up to me and asked, ‘Why do you wear the same clothes day after day and how about food, are you eating enough?’ I shrugged her off, stating that everything was fine. My shame was so heavy, that I couldn’t bring myself to talk about it. The assaults finally ended when I got the courage at age seven to speak up. I told him that I didn’t want to do what he was making me do and that I wanted to be outside playing with my friends. He never touched me again and within a couple of months my mom, brother and I moved out of the house. We no longer had any value.

     Four or five months later, my mom informed us that we were going to go visit our dad for the summer. She drove us down to the bus station, loaded us on board a greyhound then waved goodbye. She waited a few hours, then called my dad in California and told him that we were on our way and that he needed to pick us up at such and such a time.  He had no idea that we were coming. Talk about a scramble to get things ready. He had found himself a new bride who probably knew he had children but I bet she never thought she would be raising them, which in fact she did for the rest of our youth. She did try her best with us. I knew that she never wanted children and certainly did not want to raise someone else’s. My brother and I were painfully aware of this. You see she couldn’t rely on my dad for help because he was a raging alcoholic. We would listen every morning for the kitchen cabinet door (where he kept the scotch) to thump to know when his day was getting started.

       By the time I hit the fourth grade, I was wondering what all the alcohol hoopla was about so I snuck some of my dad’s scotch. It wasn’t hard to steal his scotch as the level was drained so quickly by him that an inch or two missing meant nothing. It turned out that the alcohol that I resented wholeheartedly made sense after all.

     On a typical evening my best friend and I would go in between two lengths of fence that separated the backsides of two rows of neighborhood homes. We had a favorite family that we liked to check up on. We could just make out what they were doing through the fence slats. There was a mom, dad and two children that were always playing games or laughing about something. My friend and I would sip our scotch and watch this wonderful representation of a family that we were unfamiliar with.

     The two of us managed to find trouble whether we were looking for it or not. She ended up having an abortion by the time she was 15.  A doctor told me at the age of 18 that I would never have children because my tubes were too scarred up to ever have a baby. I never married. I did have a high school sweetheart who I loved more than anyone to this day. We were going steady and had decided that it was time to consummate the union. My poor boyfriend had no idea what he was getting into. I started to scream obscenities at him as he got closer to me. He never knew why I reacted to his touch the way I did. No more boyfriend…. Drinking became my love and my life.

      For 47 years this was my life. If I would have fallen off the planet there would not have been a sucking sound in the space I left behind. To be honest I wouldn’t have cared if I did fall off.  As fate would have it, a major hangover brought about the beginning of change. I drank so much one night that when I woke the next morning I managed to turn on the TV but could not muster the strength to change the channel.

      On the screen was a pastor talking about some guy named Jonah who was supposed to go to some city and save a bunch of people from God’s wrath. The problem was Jonah hated these people and wished that God would just strike them dead. I instantly liked Jonah and thought of a couple people that I could wish the same fate. Well the story ended midway, so of course, the next Sunday I had to find out what Jonah ended up doing. Turns out, he went to the people and told them that they had 40 days to get their act together. The people repented, thus falling into favor with God. My hero Jonah was completely distraught because he felt that these people did not deserve to be saved. They were awful people so how could God possibly do this?  

     I began looking forward to my Sunday mornings. My world was so full of brokenness that hearing about these people out of this Book that the pastor was reading from was the highlight of my week. In that one half hour I started seeing hope around the edges of my darkness.  Hope enough to look in the mirror one morning after a very intense night of drinking. I studied my red puffy face in the mirror and knew I couldn’t do it anymore. I did not want to live one more day as myself. I started to pray to God. I said aloud, “God I know who you are. I have been steering this boat around in circles for forty-seven years of my life and the circle never ends. I want you to Captain my ship. I want to live the life that you want me to live.” I gave my life to Him that morning. I walked away from that mirror and have not wanted a drink since. What should have been a very difficult time of withdrawal and desire had been spared me.

     Because of my complete transformation through His grace, I felt compelled to share Him with over 20,000 people via a letter of testimony that I had written. He had given me a love towards people that I never had before. I sent 2000 letters a month for ten months relating my testimony of how I had found God. When I dropped the last batch off at the post office I knew I was done; I had accomplished what He wanted me to. As I was driving home from the post office I asked God, ‘Why did I have to go through this?’ referring to the contents of the letter. There was no answer. Later that night as I was playing my guitar and feeling a bit heavy-laden I heard Him say, ‘Because you wouldn’t have come to me, you would have stayed in the world.’ Oh how I cried and cried because I knew He was right. 

      I do not know what life has dealt you. I have seen so much pain that I ache for those who don’t see the hope around the edges. If this story has found you empty, please know that there is someone out there that cares about you. There is a God who sent his Son Jesus to die on the cross for you. Do you know that every hair on your head is known by God?  From the beginning of time He has had a plan for you. With two sentences you can change your life. Tell Jesus that you accept Him as your Savior and give your life to Him. Commit yourself to Him. Learn about Him.  I believe that my faith is God’s mercy towards me. He has given me light in a very dark and troubled world. I wish the same for you.  

Author’s note:  Today Carrie is still single and still sober.  She lives on a piece of land she owns in a house she built with her own two hands with her rescue dogs.  God is using her to help those who have been trafficked.  She is my good friend, and more than any other has encouraged my writing.  The devil tried to steal her childhood, kill her with alcohol and destroy her life.  She overcame him by the blood of the lamb and the word of her testimony.

RAE’S STORY

 

        Though we lived in Southeastern Arizona, Mt. Lemmon just north of Tucson gets about 180 inches of snow in the winter and we had given our children plastic sleds for Christmas.  So, one cold Sunday in January of 1994, my husband and I took our two kids and my best friend, her husband and their two kids after church up to Mt. Lemmon to play in the snow.

       The mountain was crowded that day.  Everyone had the same idea we had.  So, we parked the car down below and shlepped all our toys and supplies up the mountain to find a good spot for sledding.  We hiked a long way until we didn’t see any other people and found the perfect secluded spot with a gently sloping hill.  While everyone eagerly ran up the hill, I stayed below to make hot chocolate and take pictures.  

         For hours, the kids (including those over 21) ran up the hill and sledded down, laughing, panting, having a blast.  I got some great shots. When the air started getting noticeably colder and we were starting to lose the light, I hollered, “Ok guys, it’s time to go.”  There were whines of protest, but everyone started down the hill toward me – everyone except my husband and nine-year-old son who grabbed an innertube and headed back up.  “Just one more time!” they pleaded, backs to me, nearing the top of the hill.  The rest of the group watched as my husband sat in the innertube and settled my son onto his lap.  With a push of his foot they were off!  Without warning, the innertube became airborne.  It had hit a snow-covered stump that the group had somehow managed to miss the whole time they’d been sledding down that hill.  My son flew three feet into the air and landed face-down on the hard packed surface, that was more ice now than snow.  My husband landed right on top of him.  Horrified, the group with me in the lead ran to them as my husband struggled to right himself.  As he climbed off my son, we noticed that he was not moving nor making a sound.  My husband carefully turned my son over.  His face was a bloody mess.  His nose was dislodged, obviously broken; there were scrapes all over his face, a strange swelling along his jaw line, and he was blowing little blood bubbles (proof he was breathing, thank God!)

          Afraid to move him because we didn’t know what else might be broken, we didn’t know what to do.  We’d not seen another soul for the last four hours.  None of us had cell phones.  In 1994, the “mobile” phones resembled a brick with an antenna, and most people didn’t have one.  We did the only thing we knew to do.  We gathered in a circle around him and began praying.  As this momma was pleading with God for the life of her son, something miraculous happened.  A man came by on skis – the first person we’d seen since finding this spot – and he had a mobile phone with him.  He called 911 and was told there was already a rescue team on the mountain.  The man knew where we were and was able to give them directions over the phone.  Another miracle.  Within minutes that felt like hours, a paramedic was assessing my son.

        “Ma’am,” the paramedic explained, “Your son has a broken nose, a broken jaw, a broken collarbone and a broken rib that is puncturing his lung, accounting for the blood bubbles.  We have another paramedic assessing a woman with a head injury.  I’m going to have him assess your son while I assess her.  We have one helicopter and one ambulance at the base of the mountain.  We will determine who needs which.”  After the second paramedic assessed my son, it was determined that he needed the Life Flight.  My husband and the paramedic loaded my son on a gurney and carefully carried him down the icy mountain trails to the helicopter waiting below.  I went with my son in the helicopter while the rest of the group gathered our belongings and followed behind in the cars to the hospital.

      It was my first time in a helicopter, but I didn’t even notice the scenery.  My eyes were fixed on my motionless son, struggling to breathe.  I held his cold little hand and continued pleading with my God to heal him.  When we arrived on the roof of Tucson Medical Center, there was a team of doctors with a gurney waiting for us.  They rushed him into a trauma room, and pointed me toward a nearby waiting room, where I continued my frantic prayers.  Within minutes, my son, now in a hospital gown, was being wheeled past me into X-Ray.  Ten minutes later, he was wheeled back into the trauma room.  What’s going on?  I wondered.  Is he going to have to have surgery?

      The trauma room door opened and a doctor walked toward me, pulling down his mask.  “Are you the mother of the little boy hurt on the mountain?” he asked. I nodded.  “Your son is just fine”, he told me.  “He has scratches on his face which will heal in a week or so, but other than that, there is nothing wrong with him.”  “Tha..That can’t be!” I stuttered.  “He had a broken nose, a broken jaw, a broken collarbone, a broken rib and a punctured lung.  Two paramedics assessed him and decided he needed to be airlifted to the hospital!”  The doctor shook his head.  “X-rays show healed injuries of the type you’ve described, but your son is fine.  We cut his clothes off him, but he can wear the hospital gown home.  I’ll bring him out to you.”

     My son ran to me and wrapped his arms around me.  “Mom, did I really get to ride in a helicopter?”, he asked, then pouted, “I didn’t get to see anything.  Can we do it again?”  “Not if I can help it,” I answered.  As I wrapped my coat around him, the rest of our group came running into the room.  Once again, the group circled my son and held hands to pray.  This time we were thanking God for his miraculous healing power – right there in the waiting room with everyone around watching and listening.  What a mighty God we serve!

        Five days later I took my kids to a tent revival where the well-known evangelist R.W. Schambach was preaching.  My son’s scrapes were almost healed, but the evidence of the trauma still was visible.  We went on the stage and shared this story when he asked for testimonies.  The meeting was being aired on radio.  Why did this happen to my son?  For the thousands who would hear of God’s miraculous ability to heal, so no one could ever convince me that there isn’t a God who sees, hears and loves us, and so my son would always know how precious he is to God.  The devil tried to kill my son, and we overcame him.

“When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, though shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.”                                                                                Isaiah 43:2

 

 

DEBBIE’S STORY

 

     When I was eight years old, I contracted Rheumatic Fever which resulted in Sydenham Chorea, a neurological disorder caused by the same bacteria that causes Rheumatic Fever in childhood.  It started with jerky, uncontrollable movements of the hands and arms, shoulders and legs, like an ungainly dance.  It came to a point where I couldn’t walk or talk.  My words were jumbled because your tongue is a muscle and it affects your muscles.  I had to be carried everywhere I went.  They took movies of me when I was eight years old and shared it with the Bethesda Navy Hospital, a big research facility in D.C. and Maryland. The top neurologist in the country at that time came to help me and put me on medication that would reverse these symptoms. But God was with me through all that and I did not remain crippled and my speech returned and the rest of my childhood was pretty normal.

     When I was nineteen and going through nursing school, the symptoms returned.  It was a very stressful time and the stress brought back the symptoms.  I couldn’t articulate my symptoms when I went to the doctor, so they were kind of guessing what was wrong with me.  One doctor tried to say I was schizophrenic.  At the nursing school I was attending, the nursing students were taking my vitals and doing reports and two fellows who worked with the neurologist who had seen me at age 8, just happened to be on staff there.  They said, “It sounds like you have symptoms of Sydenham Chorea.”  They asked me to try certain movements, and I knew they knew what was going on with me, because it was not a common diagnosis. I know God had them in that place so I would be correctly diagnosed and treated when I couldn’t explain or advocate for myself.

     When I moved to Arizona as an adult, my mom noticed that I was repeating myself.  I really thought I had something like ADHD or was getting dementia.  I couldn’t articulate my thoughts and I kept repeating myself to try to get my points across. My sister came because she knew my mom was worried about me.  I had moved to Arizona after living in California for 20 some years and it was a big life change for me. We bought a house that needed remodeling and people were in doing that and that was stressful.  My fiancé and I were not getting along because my mom was living with me causing stress in his and my relationship.  He knew my personality was different, but he didn’t know why and when my sister came, that was an additional agitation.  So it was a time of great stress in my life.  Everyone was trying to help me but I couldn’t articulate what I needed from each person because I was so emotionally stressed. 

     My sister started looking for doctors and I told her to try to find a neurologist because that was the type of problems I’d had in the past.  I started having the uncontrolled motions again. My sister found a doctor on staff at University Medical Center and it was the same neurologist I saw when I was eight years old.  50 years later in a different part of the country!  What were the odds of that?  That was God’s divine provision for me.  One of my sister’s friends was a physician’s assistant who was able to get me a referral as a new patient to that neurologist.  50 years later he remembered me!  Or my case at least.  He was able to put me back on the meds to reverse the symptoms.

     Each time this disorder reared its ugly head and I was unable to speak and advocate for myself, God had the only people who were familiar with it and knew how to treat it available.  It didn’t matter how much time had passed or what part of the country I’d moved to.  When I went through the fires, He was there.  And I know He always will be.

 

Author’s note: Debbie has not had any symptoms of Sydenham Chorea for the last nine years.  Debbie has retired from nursing.  While she was in the field she was able to recognize people who had the same symptoms and was able to aid in their diagnosis. God had helped her through each occurrence when the enemy tried to use it to destroy her and in return, used her to help others.

JESUS’ STORY

 

     I remember looking down from above and seeing all the evil in the world.  I saw all the pain that my people were inflicting upon each other.  I saw the devil having a hey-day manipulating people and circumstances in order to steal, kill and destroy.  My heart broke, so great was my love for them.  “Father, is there nothing we can do?” I cried out in anguish.  “Yes, son, there is something YOU can do,” He replied.  “You can leave this place of privilege and become one of them.  You can be born as a human and live as they live.  You can show them how to live a successful, godly life.  And then you can die.  You can become the perfect, sinless sacrifice that will pay the debt for their sin.  Your blood will overcome the evil of this world and the one who currently rules it.  All those who will accept your sacrifice will have victory in this life and in the one to come.  When it is their appointed time to die, only their bodies will die.  They will live forever with us in Heaven.  Those who choose not to accept your sacrifice will spend eternity with Satan in Hell.  The choice will be theirs.”  “Is there no other way?” I asked.  “You are the way, the truth, and the life,” He told me.  “No one comes to the Father, but by You.”  I looked down at my hurting people again.  As my eyes filled with tears, I whispered, “Yes.  I’ll do it.”  “And because I love the world so much,” my Father replied, “I will send you, my only begotten son.”

     I was born to my earthly mother, Mary, and her husband Joseph in Bethlehem of Judea, where my earthly parents travelled to be counted for the census.  The city was so crowded with travelers that all the inns were full so I was born in a stable and a manger of hay became my crib.  From the very beginning people either loved me or hated me.  Some travelled from far away, following a star in the east just to see where I was born and to bring me gifts.  And others, like Herod, the king of Judea, hated me enough to order all the male children aged two years and under killed to make sure that I would not survive.  But that was not my Father’s plan.  He sent an angel to Joseph to warn him of Herod’s intentions and he moved our family to Egypt until Herod passed away and it was safe to go home.

     I grew up in Nazareth of Galilee.  My earthly father, Joseph, was a carpenter and I helped him with his projects and learned the trade.  My childhood was not unlike that of other boys my age, with one exception.  Because I was “God in the flesh” I knew things others didn’t know and I had a confidence that came with the close relationship I had with my Father.  I was always aware that my mission here was to point others to Him.  But because I was born as a human, I was limited by a physical body.  I could get sick, scrape my knees, feel pain and every other emotion that humans experience.  It was kind of strange.  I knew no one else was like me, but that didn’t make me think I was better than they were.  In fact, the humanity I experienced helped me understand all the things these humans go through, and I would be able to intercede to the Father on their behalf because of it.

     I remember one time when I was twelve earthly years old and our family travelled to Jerusalem for the Passover.  We had a great time of feasting and when it was time to go home, I was still at the temple talking with the doctors.  I was listening to them and asking them questions and having a great time.  I didn’t know my family had already headed home and been gone a day before they realized I wasn’t among any of the relatives.  They had to come back and find me.  My mother scolded me for worrying them, which surprised me. I thought she would know I’d be in God’s house doing my Father’s business.

     When I was thirty earthly years old, my Father let me know that it was time for my ministry among these people to begin.  I found my cousin John baptizing in the Jordan River and to set an example for the people had him baptize me.  When I came up out of the water, the holy Spirit in the form of a dove landed upon me and a voice boomed out of Heaven saying, “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well-pleased.”  I was publicly declared to be the Son of God by my Father Himself, yet unbelievably people still didn’t see it.  How the enemy had blinded their eyes!  I had my work cut out for me.

     I spent the next three years gathering followers, teaching the people about the kingdom of God through parables and in the temple.  I healed all who were oppressed of the devil and even raised my good friend Lazarus from the dead.  Finally, I was able to do something to make a difference in the lives of the people I loved so much!  This is why I came.  Not everyone appreciated my contributions to society, though.  The religious leaders felt very threatened by me.  They had instituted a bunch of rules that had an appearance of godliness, but instead of pointing people to my Father, made themselves prominent and revered instead. When people started following me instead of them, I became a threat that needed to be removed.

     Many years before I was born on earth, my Father shared his plan for salvation of the world with some faithful men.  Isaiah and David were a couple of them.  People had read their writing and knew that a savior, a messiah was to come.  He even told them where I would be born and other details so they would recognize me when I arrived.  But I was not what the people expected.  My people were tributes of Rome and they were under the control of the Roman Empire.  Soldiers walked the streets making sure they complied with Roman rule.  Those who were looking for a messiah were looking for someone who would overthrow the oppressive Roman government in Israel.  So even though I fulfilled all the prophecies regarding my coming, many did not recognize the man of peace, preaching that God is love as the one the Father had sent to save the world.

     Between jealous religious leaders and those who believed I was a false prophet because I did not overthrow Roman rule, many wanted to kill me.  My disciples even tried to keep me from going to Jerusalem for the Passover because it was too dangerous.  But I knew this was my Father’s plan.  I knew I had to die to save the people from their sins.

     My final week on this earth was a whirlwind.  I rode into Jerusalem being hailed by the masses as a victorious king, then went into the temple and found they were using it like a swap meet!  There were sacrificial animals being sold and people were being cheated by the money changers.  I got so angry at this misuse of my Father’s house that I turned over all the tables and drove the money changers out!  Then I went to the Mount of Olives and taught the people.  I warned them about the last days.  I even told them that I would be crucified at the time of the Passover.  Some thought I was talking about destroying the temple and others just didn’t want to believe it.  I had one last supper with my faithful twelve disciples in an upper room then went to the Garden of Gethsemane to pray.  I knew my time was come. I needed to talk to my Father.  My heart was heavy and because the humanity in me knew how agonizing this death would be, I cried to my Father asking if there was any other way to accomplish this people’s salvation.  I knew there wasn’t though.  He’d already told me I was the way.  I yielded to His will knowing that what I would accomplish on the cross would far outweigh any suffering I would endure.

     Later that night, one of my disciples, Judas Iscariot, led Roman soldiers to Gethsemane to arrest me.  I was tried by Annas and Caiaphas, but I didn’t defend myself.  The next morning I was tried by the Sanhedrin, Pilate, Herod Antipas and then Pilate again.  Pilate was of a mind to let me go and told the people he would release me because of the Passover, but they asked for Barrabas, a murderer, to be released instead.  When Pilate asked what he should do with me, they yelled, “Crucify him!”  They said my blood would be upon their children.  They had no idea how right they were! 

     I was tortured and beaten and led to the cross at 9:00 am Friday morning.  I laid down on the pole and offered my hands and feet for the spikes they would drive into them.  No one took my life.  I laid it down of myself.  I died at 3:00 pm and was buried later that day.  The sky went dark, there was an earthquake and the Temple curtain that separated the people from the Holy of Holies tore in two.  Now everyone would have access to the Most Holy God because of my sacrifice.

     I didn’t stay dead though.  On the third day I rose from the dead, and spent 40 days on this earth, showing myself to many before ascending to Heaven to sit once again at the right hand of God.  My work on earth was finished.  Those who believe would be saved, those who would not, would be damned.  Please be one who believes!

 

Author’s note:  Today Jesus is in Heaven, preparing a place for us that where He is there we may be also.  Willing that none should perish, He is giving the people of this world one last chance to accept Him as their Lord and Savior before returning to claim His own.  They will meet Him in the air and shall ever be with their Lord.

 

 

CONCLUSION

     This book was not easy to write.  I had to ask the people I interviewed to relive some of the most painful times in their lives.  I sat silently handing them tissues as they poured out their hearts - their heartbreak and shame spilling out around them.  Sharing tragedies and indignities that no one should be able to survive or even endure, they completed the interviews because they knew their suffering was not in vain.  The telling of it had power.  Power to overcome evil in this world.  Power to help those reading their stories to be able to overcome the pain and tragedies of their own lives.  They did it for you and they did it for me.

     In the same way, Jesus Christ, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, despising the shame (Hebrews 12:2).  Jesus did not have to come to this earth in human form to experience all things that we would ever encounter.  He did not have to allow Himself to be tortured and nailed to a cross to endure a humiliating and agonizing death. He did these things because he knew His suffering would not be in vain.  Those who would accept the sacrifice he made and would choose to live for Him would have power.  Power to overcome evil in this world.  Power to overcome the pain and tragedies that come from living in a broken and sinful world.  He did it for you and He did it for me.

     If you are struggling through this life, in bondage to choices you’ve made or damaged by the actions of others; if your life is one of pain, shame and hopelessness, it was not bad luck, being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or anything you deserved that caused it.  It was Satan.  He is real and he hates you because you were made in the image of God.  He will not be satisfied until you are completely destroyed and he can take you to Hell to be eternally miserable with him. 

     But today all that can change.  Satan is a defeated foe.  He was overcome by the blood of the lamb (Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross) and the word of our testimony (stories like those you read today of how evil was overcome by good by those who accepted Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior).  Satan tried to destroy these…

…AND THEY OVERCAME HIM.   You can too!  Accept Christ, change your ending, and share your story.  Live the life you were always meant to live – that of an overcomer!

AND THEY OVERCAME HIM is in the process of being published right now.  This was a little sneak peek to whet your appetite so you will be watching for it when it comes out.  It should be available mid-2025.