Part 3

By: Ceci Sullivan

I still felt as if I lived in a prison with him. I asked Jesus to show me what was wrong. I couldn’t attach to him. We were indifferent to each other. I had four small children to keep me busy and he was busy with his contracting business. Neither of us had EVER been familiar with close, open, honest, accountable relationships in our lives, so it was life as usual. 

His actions spoke volumes to me. He said he loved me, but he behaved as if the kids and I weren’t there most of the time. We looked like the struggling religious family on the outside, but I knew in my heart something was missing on the inside. One day I told him to tell me the truth, because his actions did anyway. Our marriage was a facade, and our religion together was hypocrisy. He had a form of seeking God to try to pacify me, but he didn’t seek the truth out of his own spiritual hunger. 

We lived in private little worlds apart from each other, calling ourselves married, with no spirit of marriage. In the church we attended, I learned a crafty way of praying. The underlying message is, “I can control God through my prayers, and He will control you.” It’s a very subtle form of witchcraft, and it just about shipwrecked my faith. I recited prayers with the belief that if I filled in a certain person’s name on the dotted line, God would be obligated to control them. “If you pray it, God is obligated to yield to your prayer.” I didn’t realize that God doesn’t work through control and manipulation because of prayer. He does however, work through influence and persuasion. We don’t just automatically have authority over people, places, and things because of our prayers. This kind of teaching was very devastating to me. 

I thought Jesus didn’t love me anymore when He wouldn’t “control” Michael into obeying Him. I had a real “Burger King” mentality of Jesus (give me things my way and I’ll love and serve You.) I wasn’t living for God and His Kingdom, Jesus or His peoples and purposes. I lived for MY thoughts, MY ways, MY kingdom, and MY world, but declared myself to be a Christian. I served The Jesus of my imagination, not the Jesus in the Bible! 

A year later a miracle was about to take place. Michael came home with a hurt ankle. I didn’t watch much TV or read newspapers, so I wasn’t aware of an attempted rape that had occurred in our area. The next day, Michael hadn’t gone to church with me. I came home to find him crying (which is very unusual for a prideful man). I went to nap for a few minutes and found myself in a half awake, half asleep state of dreaming. I saw myself in a big open field with a wooden cross about ten feet tall in front of me, and many large filled trash bags behind me. I heard a voice say, “Pick up those nails and hammer, and nail those trash bags on that cross.” 

As I began to nail them on, the cross began to grow. The next thing I knew, I was looking down on the planet earth, floating above it. The cross had outgrown the planet. During some of my darkest hours, I saw how I limited God through my ignorance and lack of faith. The following day, I went to a women’s Christian Luncheon, and upon returning home, I found a note on the door from a local sheriff. He called when Michael got home. I just assumed he wanted some contracting work done. Michael proceeded to tell me some off-the-wall story (which most of the time I bought). 

This time however, I didn’t believe a word he said. I had a sense, that he had hurt someone. Just as Jesus had opened my eyes to “perceive” evil seven years earlier, I perceived Michael was lying! (I had also recently asked Jesus to open my eyes to see.) I believe when we pray in honesty, sincerely with faith regarding ourselves, He will hear our cry. After Michael finished his long, tedious, deceitful story, I looked him straight in the eyes and said, “I’m sorry you haven’t gotten the help you need.” 

He went from being well composed, to shaking and trembling. He told me that he had a problem, which had nothing to do with me and ran out the door. I went to the neighbor’s house. They didn’t get the paper, and they had no TV. I told the woman I thought Michael had hurt someone. She mentioned receiving a call to pray for a woman who was sunbathing in the nude, and someone had tried to rape her. The man fled when the woman cried out “Jesus, help me.” 

When she said the assailant had jumped off a cliff and ran off, I put two and two together, about why Michael had come home limping. After speaking with my friends, we decided to call the police. I was in a state of total shock. It’s not every day, well maybe it does happen frequently, that a woman picks up the phone to end her life as she knows it, to turn her husband in. It was hard for me to believe a man would choose to act that way, totally disregarding any love or respect for his wife and children. 

I was panic stricken with fear. The world as I knew it had just come crashing down, and I had little faith Jesus could help me pick up the pieces. Michael came back home. I was ready to give up the “he has a disease” philosophy. The “devil made him do it,” seemed a bit too evasive to swallow anymore. He was making bad choices, and we had tried all kinds of “therapies,” and he was still choosing to make bad choices. The psalmist put it this way, “they eat the bread of wickedness, they drink the wine of violence, and they don’t sleep until they do evil. They make haste to shed innocent blood.” 

I tried everything but turning him in. I was advised for years I didn’t have enough information, but nothing had successfully stopped him from hurting others. I knew he needed to be stopped, no matter what the cost. I knew my life would be in danger for calling the police, but I didn’t care. The Lord put a resolve in my heart that I was not going to allow anyone to cause me to deny any longer. He walked in the house, took one look at me, and he knew what I had done. He read me like a book, and the spirit of “murder” was glaring in his eyes. 

He had a wicked way of staying in control of me. There was an eerie silent voice that screamed “Do what I say, don’t cross my will or I’ll kill you.” You couldn’t hear the words, but you could feel them in the air. I said to Michael, “If you loved me and you had done all you could to help me stop hurting people, and I didn’t stop, what would you do?” He stared at me with his murderous eyes, while I prayed silently for Jesus to protect the kids and me. I knew he was very unstable, and he ran out of the house in a rage. I knew an emotional volcano was about to erupt. 

I wasn’t sure where he was going or what he would do, but I knew a miracle had taken place. Jesus promises to bring the hidden things of darkness to the light. He said there is nothing hidden that will not be revealed. For the first time since meeting Michael, I saw clearly his deceit and wickedness. I saw it was his “food” to do evil. This event began some of the darkest hours of my life. I took our four small children, and left to go stay at my mom’s house. I was tormented. Where was he? What was he doing? Would he come and take the kids? Would he kill me for turning him in? 

After five days of not eating, and little sleep, Michael called on the phone. I asked him about the woman that lived next to his business partner. He confessed to being the one who had raped her. I asked him about the girl who lived across the street who had been raped a couple of years earlier, and he admitted he was responsible for that too. All I could say to him is “do what you have never done, tell the truth, maybe it will set you free.”

He decided to turn himself in, but controlled and manipulated the whole thing, his usual style. He had the sheriff, pastor, a lawyer from the church and me, meet him in a park by our home. The lawyer brought a colleague and together they advised him not to confess, but try to work out a plea bargain. The pastor had no opinion, but the Sheriff and I were indignant. That “still small voice” was telling me, “This is not true repentance.” 

The Sheriff’s Department didn’t have enough evidence to hold him, in spite of all I had told them about. I realized why all the past counselors had advised against me turning him in. The hard reality of prosecuting a criminal today is they just about have to commit the crime on the doorstep of the police department to be prosecuted and convicted. 

Michael’s brother drove across the state when he heard what was going on, to see if he could help. His only, and older brother, treats sexual offenders for a living. He employs physiologists in his clinic that treats the sexual offenders in a big metropolis city. He travels the country giving seminars on how to treat sexual offenders, and has been doing this all the years his brother has been a sexual offender! His comment to Michael was, “I can’t believe you would hurt a fly.” 

There are so many things I could tell about the shocking details of this story. To tell it all would truly take a book. I still marvel that my children and I lived through it, and I know God sent Ministering Angels to help us. I know without Jesus in my life and the power of His Holy Spirit, I would have ended up in an insane asylum, dying of self-pity. 

For the next few months, I lived life on the run, like an animal being hunted. We stayed in shelters. I stayed in a friend's vacated house. He was like a predator who had lost control of his prey. The police were trying to protect me. The stress was tremendous, and it was taking its toll on me. I was an emotional wreck. I was tired, sick, terrified, and exhausted. My days were filled with panic and terror, wondering if he would “catch” the kids and me. 

I ended up going to stay with the mother of my childhood best friend as a child. She was in great fear for our lives, and invited us to hide out in her home. We began to talk, and she thought the information she had about a murder Michael had committed, varied from the information I had. I began wondering if there was a discrepancy in the information I had given the Sheriff’s Department months earlier. 

I began calling the different county authorities where I thought he had committed rapes, kidnappings, and attempted murder. The regular investigator was on vacation. The man I spoke with “miraculously” happened to be going through old files — (Which they rarely ever do)! As I spoke, he said, “I’m driving across town right now to come and see you.” He did, and he had a drawing by the police artist through a description of a woman Michael had kidnapped, raped, and tried to murder. It looked just like him. They had fingerprints, and thought they may be able to arrest him. 

I called another county where I thought a murder had taken place. The detective went downstairs to the “archives” and dug up a file of an old murder. After he looked at the file he stated, “You wouldn’t know the details you know, if you hadn’t talked to the murderer.” Both of the detectives looked shocked and bewildered they had not received more information from the county I had originally given details to months earlier. I was horrified. Why were these counties withholding critical information from each other? Why were they allowing a murderer to be on the loose and failing to communicate vital information? Were they in some kind of competition to catch him first?

To be continued...please click here for Part Four

Special Note:  If you would like to go to the ministry website of sister Ceci, click here:  http://jumpforjesus.net/ 


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