Well, land o' Goshen, sports fans. 'Twould seem that my faith lately has been growing in leaps and bounds, and my mental problems scattering. Coincidence? Hardly. As part of our Sunday morning getting-ready ritual, we turn on the preacher channel. Well, last week, I decided to follow John Haygee's advice and say a li'l prayer that went somewhat as follows:

"Spirit of depression, by the authority of Christ Jesus, I command you to get out of my head, to leave, and never return again."

Wouldn't you know it, all last week I felt like I had been taking my Zoloft, though I haven't touched the stuff. Who knew that that ol' southern preacher knew what he was talking about all this time?

So in the interest of further experimentation, this morning I turned my attention to the sick, murderous/suicidal thoughts that seem to pop up when I'm alone and have time to think. These are no emo darkness poetry fodder; I really am criminally insane, except that up until now, my fear of God kept me from going through with my intentions. So I rebuked the demon that had been occupying my head for the longest time, and here I am with a new-found appreciation for life, both that of others and my own. And as long as I remain faithful to God, they'll never come back. You wouldn't believe how freeing this feels.

At the risk of peeving some politically-correct dingbat somewhere, praise the Lord, for He is sovereign God, y'all.