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I seemed to hear the squeals, shouts and giggles of little children. It had to be a dream, but as time wore on I began to doubt that presumption. Where am I now? I moaned to myself in perplexed frustration. What is happening to me? And why? It was bad enough being who knows how many light-years from earth, let alone bouncing from one alien world to another.

“This is an immense honor. You have each been selected for an assignment that is especially dear to God’s heart.” As the words slowly seeped into my consciousness I looked up groggily and saw green rolling hills. As my eyes focused I could see wildflowers on the grassy slopes. Little children of various nationalities were kicking or throwing what looked like large, apparently harmless, balls of fire. Some seemed to be playing tag. Some were just babies, able only to crawl. Some were sitting in little groups on the grass, listening intently to angels.

As the voice continued to expound on the “immense honor,” I looked in its direction. An impressive-looking angel was addressing a group of angels. Not knowing his name, I will just call him the Lecturer. “You may have presumed that those you see playing here are humans who died as children. They are not.” The angels looked at each other in what I guessed to be amazement.

“These are child parts of earth-based humans who have multiple personalities. As children, these people suffered, through the atrocities of war, child abuse or whatever, horrors so extreme that to try to cope with psychologically intolerable levels of trauma, the mind of each of them compartmentalized itself. It’s the mind’s attempt to shield the rest of itself from awareness of the trauma.”

I was not so groggy to not be stunned by what I had just heard. How could I possibly be seeing the disembodied child parts of people with multiple personalities? I’ve seen mind-boggling things of late but this is really off the planet! I smirked, realizing that I had literally been off the planet. Okay, this isn’t my planet but this is more than too bizarre for words, it’s impossible! I knew almost nothing about multiple personalities but it does not take a genius to know that any adult’s child parts are not literally children that could leave their hosts and end up in front of me.

Oblivious to my mind reeling at the impossibilities, the Lecturer’s words kept rumbling on as relentlessly as a freight train. “Rather than rationally, emotionally and spiritually resolve issues in their life, humans typically try to cop out by doing their utmost to push disturbing memories out of their minds and trying to fool themselves into thinking that it never happened. Some even think this cowardly reaction is heroic or even spiritual.”

The angelic audience erupted. “Teeeeeoool!” “Teeeeeoool!” “Teeeeeoool!” Admittedly when I’d previously heard that weird sound it was usually when fewer angels were present, but I had never before heard so many. I could only assume they had found the Lecturer’s last statement astounding.

“It doesn’t work, of course,” continued the Lecturer after they had settled. “The unresolved issues remain like a cancer in the back of their minds, eating away at them in psychologically and spiritually destructive ways.

“Those who come here, do so because on earth they are in a highly vulnerable situation. They are being mercilessly tormented there by people who either don’t care or don’t understand the psychological damage they are inflicting. Some of these child parts have been persecuted or abused by the person they belong to. Some have been terrorized by pastors or Christian counselors who treat these child parts, the darlings of God’s heart, as demons.”

“Teeeeeoool!” “Teeeeeoool!” “Teeeeeoool!” “Teeeeeoool!” They were off again, almost like triggered smoke detectors.

“Someone having several personalities within him sounds superficially like demons, doesn’t it?”

Having risen to the status of self-proclaimed expert at angelic body language, it seemed to me that they were not impressed by that statement.

“In a desperate attempt to simplify a world they find overwhelmingly too complex, humans want to label everything they don’t understand; trying to force everything they encounter into the few categories they know. Instead of seeking God for understanding, some humans with a little understanding of demons leap to the disastrously wrong conclusion that the child parts of traumatized people are demons.

“One of the most greatest weakness humans have is their intelligence.”

“You mean their lack of intelligence, don’t you?” interrupted one of the listeners.

“No, Teshua. As far as creatures go – especially earthly creatures – human intelligence is not insignificant. Because of this, so many of them keep sliding into the horrendous presumption that they know enough or can figure out enough not to need to keep consulting the Omniscient Lord on every matter. The more intelligent one is, the greater the danger of trusting one’s intellectual powers or experience, rather than keep humbly seeking God’s revelation. You see –”

Suddenly the children went wild with excitement.

“It’s pandemonium whenever their beloved Papa arrives!” grinned the Lecturer. “You just have to forget about trying to instruct or guide them at such times!”

Then I saw him. His features were only vaguely like the earthly Jesus I had seen before, but he was so stunningly regal that I just knew this had to be the exalted Son of God. Everything about him, though reminiscent of humanity, was markedly different to any earthly person. His skin literally glowed. His slightly wavy, shoulder length hair was brownish but, perhaps because of the radiance emanating from him, no one on earth has hair that color. He seemed of no particular race, and yet I could see in him features of every racial group. With an enormous grin and sparkling eyes he was beaming with delight at the children. It seemed that each child was his precious darling, the light of his life.

His robe was a warm golden color that shimmered in the radiance, revealing hints of the colors of the rainbow. The fabric seemed a little like satin. I was surprised that his feet were bare. Was this reaction simply my cultural bias? My mind momentarily slid into overdrive to process this. I concluded that if we regard someone as fully dressed despite having bare hands, face and head, why should feet be covered?

I had seen Jesus reduced to someone who physically fitted in with the crowd of fallen humanity, but never before had I laid eyes on the risen Lord, restored to the eternal glory that was his alone. What was now boring through my eyes into my heart was so overwhelming it was like love at first sight. I admit it: as much as I had thought I had loved Christ before, it was nothing compared with what was now overwhelming me. I was stunned. I was enthralled. I was out-of-my-mind in love.

It was true: no matter how much all the “sparklers” in that endless palace were beyond anything earth offers, they really were trashy trinkets, and all their euphoria was a split second fizzle relative to the Lord of glory. The most fascinating things I have ever laid eyes on and the most exhilarating experiences are dead boring alongside this captivatingly radiant Being. Anyone in their right mind would swap in a heartbeat all the treasures and beauty and pleasures of a thousand universes for one moment with him.

You know how I wrestle with words, straining to take you out of your skin and transport you to realms light-years beyond the planet of your birth. If I could succeed in conveying just one thing, however, it would be the beauty, the wonder, the majesty, the magnetism of the eyes of the astounding Being I was privileged to gaze upon. Like prisms, they shone with every conceivable color, but there was far more to them than just stunning physical beauty that totally eclipsed any eyes I had ever before imagined. They glistened with life, twinkled with joy, and beamed with love. In comparison, diamonds are dull, fire is frigid, and leaping gazelles are lifeless. But even more than this, his eyes revealed such warmth, such openness, such acceptance that instead of cowering in fear, I felt irresistibly drawn to this Man who was infinitely more than man. No matter how macho I tried to be, I felt that to be in his arms was to truly be home for the first time in my life. One glimpse at those eyes would sweeten the sourest soul, melt the hardest heart and satiate the most love-starved person.

I saw boundless wisdom, goodness, agelessness, infinity and eternity in those eyes. They seemed endless oceans of love that I ached to dive into and soak in for all eternity. If you think it madness for me to see so much in one pair of eyes, the explanation is simple: you have never seen such eyes.

No artist could hope to capture the sparkle, the depth, the love, the life, the fun, the playfulness, the tenderness, the fire in those eyes. Never before had it struck me as repugnant blasphemy to try to represent the magnificence of the Pre-eminent One by using two or three dimensional images. If we cannot even capture love in stone or on canvass, who dare imagine any attempt at portraying the glory of the Infinite One would end up anything less than a sick insult?

The children squealed with delight. “Papa! Papa!” many of them called.

I was taken aback. Jesus is the Son, not the Father! Then it hit me: Everyone’s earthly father is somebody’s son. Jesus was God’s Son, not our son. Come to think of it: I had always puzzled over Isaiah’s prophecy that the Messiah would be called “the Everlasting Father.” He is the Ancient of Days and truly the Father of us all.

Arms extended, this majestic Being kneeled down – yes, the exalted Lord of glory kneeled before them – and they mobbed him. Giggling and squealing, they knocked him to the ground; jumping on him, climbing all over him, clinging to him. He laughed and laughed as he romped with them in uninhibited delight. His laugh was so heartwarming that I was even more drawn to him. I stood transfixed.

It seemed that to them, he was fun stretched to incomparable extremes.

As I gazed upon what struck me as a peculiarly sacred commotion, a Scripture rose from within me with irresistible force. The reference escaped me but I knew that it was originally in the Old Testament and Jesus had quoted it to silence some of his critics: “From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise.” There was nothing dignified about the chaos I was viewing and yet the little ones’ sheer delight in Jesus somehow seemed the very pinnacle of praise, leaving the most sophisticated adult attempts at worship seeming cold, sterile imitations of the genuine article.

I could not see the Lord of glory. He was somewhere beneath a pile of squealing, squirming children, but my eyes were riveted on the center of the chaos, in the hope of catching a further glimpse of the King.

I could hear the Lecturer resume, but his words never registered. I was so stunned, mesmerized, besotted – call it whatever you want – that nothing but the slim chance of again glimpsing the Exalted One was of any interest to me. The angel’s words rambled on until finally their significance breached my consciousness with the explosive force of a hand grenade. He had said something like, “These are emotionally shattered people with the fragile senses of earth-based fallen humanity, so he has to tone his glory way down to almost zero for their sake.” Once I understood what he had said, I almost choked. This is toned-down glory? Then I recalled Saul being struck to the ground on the Damascus Road and so blinded by the intensity of the brighter-than-noonday-sun radiance of the risen Lord that even after three days in which to recover, it still took a divine miracle for Saul to be able to see again.

Eventually the little ones calmed enough for Christ to begin dancing with them; the attending angels providing the music. As he danced, he would take into his arms each child, one at a time, and whisper in the child’s ear. I could tell by the length of time he spent speaking that what he said must have been unique for each child. I was keen to hear what he was saying, so I drew as near as I dared and strained to hear.

“You know how much you like presents . . .” he whispered to one.

The boy’s eyes lit up, “Yes!”

“You really, really like them?” teased the Lord of glory.

“Yes!” The boy’s eyes grew even bigger.

“Well, that’s how much I love you,” he said, as his grin broadened still further.

It dawned on me that these children who, I presume, we might pity for having never known a kind-hearted earthly father, were now enjoying not just a good father, but the perfect one. They were in one sense underprivileged and yet through the intensity of their intimacy with the perfect Father, they were now more privileged than those with superb human parents.

Suddenly, I felt peculiarly confused as to who is privileged and who is not; who is spiritually blessed and who is to be pitied. As the confusion escalated, fragments of Scripture began whirling inside my head. “The last will be first, and the first will be last . . .” “For he who is least among you all – he is the greatest . . .” “For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted . . .” “Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it . . .” “Blessed are those who are persecuted . . ”. “Blessed are you who are poor . . .” On and on the torrent of words spun, twisting and twirling inside me. “I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children . . .” “Son, remember that in your lifetime you received your good things, while Lazarus received bad things, but now he is comforted here and you are in agony . . .” “Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things – and the things that are not – to nullify the things that are . . .” “Blessed are you when people insult you,”  . . . I could see each word flashing colors, writhing and whirlpooling, while simultaneously hearing that word echoing in my head. “For when I am weak, then I am strong . . .” “Woe to you who are rich, for you have already received your comfort. Woe to you who are well fed now, for you will go hungry. Woe to you who laugh now, for you will mourn and weep. Woe to you when all men speak well of you . . .”

I began to feel dizzy, then nauseous as well. I panicked, wondering whether I would pass out, vomit, or go insane. Then, as instantly at it had began, the internal whirlwind of words and scrambled thoughts stopped dead.

Wow! What was that all about? To this day, I am still confused as to who, when all is revealed, is privileged and who is to be pitied.

By the time I was able to focus again, the King of kings had left and the Lecturer had launched into a long, complex explanation of how they could be seeing the child parts of people who were still on earth. I won’t bore you with all of it. Okay, I confess I cannot fully recall it all and, though I hate admitting it, some technical details went over my head.

The best I could make of it is that, except for all the angels and the physical environment, what I was observing was rather like virtual reality. An individualized version of what I was seeing was simultaneously taking place within a part of the compartmentalized brains of many people with multiple personalities. I say “individualized version” because in his or her mind, each child part was seeing, hearing, feeling, smelling and tasting exactly what he or she would sense if he or she were in the precise physical position and doing exactly what the child appeared to be doing in the scene I was viewing.

Parts reeling in emotional pain who, instead of receiving the comfort they deserved from the people around them, were being further traumatized by neglect, or outright persecution, were mercifully granted this experience. When the angels instructed or played with them, they were interacting with – for lack of a more accurate term – touchable holograms, with everything they did being transferred back into the minds of each person whose part I could see playing.

The other “personalities” of each person were oblivious to this experience, but the specific part of each person represented here was so vividly aware of what I could see that it was reality to him/her. If I were to get religious I could say each of the child parts I could see were simultaneously all having the same vision or, more accurately, trance.

Apparently, the time the children stay in this virtual reality (perhaps I should call it spiritual reality) is temporary but can vary from just minutes to years, earth time. From what I could gather, there are many more groups like the one I was seeing, scattered in diverse locations. There are not just child parts who need this special care, but even adult parts can be so badly treated on earth that they temporarily need a safe haven like this one.

As the explanation droned on, a gentle breeze picked up, wafting the soft scents of exotic flowers, flooding me with its warm comfort. The giggles of happy children were like music to my soul. I looked in their direction and noticed to my disgust that some of them were licking the grass. I glanced at others and noticed some eating the flowers. I stared at them, wondering why their attending angels did not intervene or feed them properly. As I looked more intently I soon grew so intrigued by how much they seemed to be enjoying tasting the plants that I began to contemplate trying some myself. I tentatively put a piece of grass to my lips and touched it with my tongue. It was delicious! I greedily scoffed a handful and it melted in my mouth like ice cream. I tried a flower and it was like candy. The next one shocked me speechless. It was not just unbelievably delicious; it was like nothing I had ever before tasted. If you could describe peppermint or Turkish delight or strawberry yogurt to someone who has never tasted anything remotely like them, you should be writing this account. If I could only market this flavor, chocolate sales would plummet and I’d be an instant billionaire. Every plant species had a different flavor. Wow! This certainly is a child’s idea of Heaven!

I must slip out of this account for just a little while. I apologize for breaking the flow of my record of events but I feel compelled to justify my decision not to cave in to my yearning for acceptance by omitting this chapter.

My curiosity had been so aroused by what I had just witnessed that when at last I stopped being smacked from world to world to world like some hapless ping pong ball, and my time/space odyssey (that should be spelt odd-yssey) finally ended, I researched Multiple Personality Disorder. By so doing, I plunged into a world as astounding as any described in this book. I discovered that having multiple personalities is more common than I had ever imagined. You and I have most likely met such people – and might even be close friends with them – and never guessed it. More surprising still, there is a good chance that the people themselves have not yet guessed.

They are not crazed weirdoes created by Hollywood, but deeply hurting people doing their utmost to suppress their inner pain and live normal lives. They are found in all levels of society. Even though their low self-esteem usually blinds them to their giftedness, they are likely to have above average intelligence or be exceptionally creative.

I learned that the more scientific term is Dissociative Identity Disorder (D.I.D.) and that the usual term for the various “personalities” is alters (short for alternate personality). The predominant personality is usually called the host.

Though still in its infancy, scientific research is uncovering amazing things about these people. For example, some people with this condition can switch from having a severe allergic reaction to medication, or some other substance, to having no allergy at all, depending upon which alter is in control. Likewise, heart rhythms (as measured by E.K.G.s), brain waves (E.E.G.s), and blood pressure can vary markedly from alter to alter within the one person. Apparently they can also switch instantly to different blood alcohol levels, and glucose levels and some research suggests that differences between alters can even be detected in CAT and PET scans. A person can need spectacles and the next moment, when another alter takes over, has to remove them to see. They can speak with different accents or even languages that other alters do not know. Someone crippled with arthritis can switch alters and suddenly run, skip and play like a child. Some of them have great difficulty at banks and so on, because they have a whole range of different signatures and when a particular alter is not available, none of the others can can produce the required signature. Some people’s alters are left-handed, while the rest of that same person’s alters are right-handed. Some people who are hopeless at a particular skill or talent – poetry, art or whatever – suddenly find themselves brilliant at it when another alter takes over. Sometimes these people live for decades without realizing that another part of them has this ability. (Source of Information)

In line with my common failing, I slid into an almost hypnotic fascination with an academic analysis of the topic. Finally, the gut-wrenching human cost flung me back to reality. I had become so intrigued that I felt I had to meet someone with D.I.D. An extensive, on-line search led me to e-mail contacts and finally I found myself face to face with Rose, an attractive, middle-aged Christian who freely admitted she had D.I.D. This articulate woman was well on the way to becoming an acclaimed poet and had significant other gifts as well. I’m respecting her confidentiality by not using her real name.

Rose looked me in the eye and whizzed through her story of horrific sexual abuse as a child growing up in what everyone had presumed to be a respectable home. As an adult trying her utmost to cope with the aftermath, she spent years under counselors and therapists, both Christian and secular, and they never diagnosed her as having D.I.D. Finally, someone correctly identified her affliction but, like the woman who touched the hem of Jesus’ clothes, she continued to suffer at the hands of professionals. Not only did they take her money, they tried treatments that suppressed her alters and only increased her suffering. The lowest part of all was when she mustered the courage to confide in her beloved pastor that she had multiple personalities. He immediately concluded that her alters must be demons and tried to cast them out. The consequences were devastating.

Imagine being told by a respected spiritual leader, not just that you have demons but that you are a demon! That’s how Rose’s alters received it. They plummeted from having reeled in emotional agony and shattered self-esteem all their lives, to be being authoritatively pronounced totally evil, non-human, abandoned by God and beyond redemption. They concluded that the torturous existence they had already suffered was destined to end in nothing less than eternal torment in the fires of hell.

Those parts of Rose were, of course, not cast out. Instead, after having been hurt and suppressed for most of their existence, they fled in terrified horror into even deeper hiding. Not surprisingly, every alter vanishing from her consciousness gave Rose the illusion of greater normality and she temporarily seemed to have more peace, thus emboldening her pastor in his misdiagnosis.

Without as much as considering the agony of her suppressed alters, the cost was far more extreme than was realized even for that part of her that thought she was more at peace. There are parts of the brain that only an alter has control of. Lose contact with an alter and you lose access to that part of the brain. With the alters too terrified to contribute to Rose’s well-being, significant parts of her intellectual capacity were inaccessible. Oh, she could stagger on, but it was years before she had even a clue of how much she had been robbed. Convinced by the pastor’s well-meaning and understandable mistake, she became her own worst enemy; hounding back into suppression any alter within her that ever dared surface. Most tragic of all, the wonderful healing that she eventually experienced was delayed for twelve years until she finally learnt the truth about D.I.D.

Momentarily, I felt some of her grief over what could have been twelve highly productive years being wasted. In fact, such is the range and magnitude of her talents that the whole world lost, the moment that pastor decided to “help” her. As she kept reeling off all the damage this man of God had inflicted by calling her alters demons, I began to express my outrage at his foolishness.

“Oh, no!” objected Rose, “He did his best. No one had explained anything to him about D.I.D. He simply didn’t understand the extent to which discernment is needed.”

“It’s usual for some alters of Christians to be so cut off from their host’s knowledge and experience that they know nothing of the love of God nor have ever heard of the power of Christ’s forgiveness. They are often terrified of God because they see him as male, and from their experience with males they conclude that all males are potential abusers.

“Like most people cut off from a knowledge of the gospel and writhing in intolerable emotional pain, some can be filled with rage and bitterness and bound by all sorts of addictions and sins that are totally contrary to their Christian parts. Until the needy parts find healing in Christ they are likely to engage is self-harm, such as cutting themselves. Most likely, they will attempt suicide, which in practical terms means trying to kill their host. Some can even name themselves, ‘Pain,’ ‘Fury,’ ‘Evil,’ or some other demonic-sounding name. Some of them can think of themselves as animals or aliens or the opposite sex, or gay.

I was flabbergasted. Now even I was beginning to wonder if it was demonic. “Self-harm?” I said out loud. The instant she had mentioned it my mind had flashed uncontrollably to the crazed man in Jesus’ day with the legion of demons.

“Haven’t you ever been so frustrated with yourself for making some mistake that you’ve berated yourself and felt like hitting yourself?”

I had, on rare occasions, but I wasn’t going to admit it. “Legion” cutting himself with stones (Mark 5:5) was still playing on the screen on my mind. “So you don’t believe in demons?” My voice was raised in frustration.

“I not only believe in demons, I’ve had eight demons cast out of me,” she retorted defiantly.

Now I was really confused.

“Of course demons exist. They are more common than most people realize. But not everything that superficially seems like a demon is one, just as not everything that superficially seems natural is devoid of demonic influence. We must exercise caution and prayerful discernment in such delicate matters because not just callous demons are involved but highly vulnerable, sensitive people who could be devastated by even as little as a raised voice.

“I’ve met people who have been seriously injured physically – one even had a miscarriage – by kind-hearted people trying to cast out non-existent demons.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“In the case of the miscarriage, a large group of people, seeking to bless the woman, laid hands on her in prayer. They had no idea she suffers from claustrophobia and she panicked with so many people pressing on her. Instead of them backing off and giving her some space, someone mistook her reaction for a demonic manifestation and began to physically restrain her. She panicked even more and began to thrash in a frantic attempt to burst out of her confinement, and the vicious circle escalated.

I felt sick. Wow! One really must be careful!

“And don’t be quick to consign psychological issues to some weird category,” she added. “The result could have been the same if, unknown to them, her clothing had covered a physical injury and the pressure of the hands caused her to reel or squeal in pain. We need cool heads when encountering anything that initially seems bizarre.”

She must have sensed I was weakening but still far from convinced, so Rose continued to labor away at the arduous task of trying convince me that the bizarre aspects of D.I.D were nothing more sinister than a natural reaction to extreme trauma.

She started with the basics. “Some people talk about the ‘inner child’. People sometimes speak about ‘going back into their shell’. More controversially, you might even have heard talk about men ‘getting in touch with their feminine side’.”

I was nodding until that last statement.

“Okay, that last one might be kinky,” she hastily added, “but you’ll agree that almost everyone contrasts the conscious with the unconscious and Christians often speak of head knowledge versus heart knowledge.”

I had to agree with that.

“These are all ways of acknowledging that everyone has more than one side to their personality and that often a part of who they are is somewhat hidden from their consciousness. With D.I.D., this natural aspect of being human is simply more pronounced. It has been pushed to extremes because their trauma has been extreme.”

Rose had clearly thought this through, but I couldn’t help thinking her explanation was over-simplistic. Undeterred, she annihilated my skepticism by speeding through a detailed rationale for peculiar behavior that, at least superficially, could be mistaken for demonic. I’ll just summarize the points that won me over.

Little children are so impressionable and trusting of adults that if an adult continually and emphatically asserts that they are useless or evil or sluts, they will typically end up completely believing that this must be who they are.

When children are in such physical or emotional agony that they form alters, they do so because they are scared to let themselves feel the pain. Since humans feel – and feeling pain is the last thing they want – it is hardly surprising if some alters try to use their powerful imagination to convince themselves that they are not human. Likewise, when one considers what they have suffered, it is understandable that in order to feel safe, some alters convince themselves that they are the opposite sex. Sex abuse victims, for example, commonly wish they were the opposite sex because they believe that this would have protected them from the horrors they suffered.

Rose bravely confessed to sometimes having had lesbian tendencies until she discovered that it was because parts of her believed they were male. In some of his many encounters with them, Jesus gradually and tenderly helped them see that they could be just as strong and as safe being female and now Rose delights in being fully feminine and heterosexual.

Widening her scope to include the experiences of some of her acquaintances, Rose told story after story of amazing transformation, as the hearts of angry, bitter, mean alters melted in response to unconditional love and how, often in the space of just a few days, they would fully respond to the gospel and fall head over heels in love with Jesus. Thereafter they often have times of being taught directly by Jesus and regularly have powerful, deeply moving encounters with each member of the Trinity in ways that would make the average Christian highly envious. They develop a deep love for God’s Word and the power of the cross, and in almost no time some of them become fearless in standing up to demons and sending them fleeing in the name of Jesus.

“Alters bear their host’s pain,” said Rose, “thus allowing the hosts, at least temporarily, to cope better. Jesus is, in a real sense, the ultimate alter and he bore on the cross all of our pain. When alters realize this, they release their pain and shame and guilt to him. Their burdens go and they fill with peace and joy. They stop being nasty and become kind and loving and eager to devote the rest of their lives to glorifying God. Of course, like every Christian, they still face trials, battles with temptation and so on, and they work through these just like other new Christians.”

I was convinced, but as I thought more about that pastor’s mistake, it hit me what a hot potato this topic is. I selfishly began to worry about whether it would damage book sales to include this chapter. Why risk making enemies of Christian leaders I respect who, despite their best intentions, are mistaken about D.I.D.?

For a moment I began to think out loud . . .

“No!” she shouted in what seemed like anger. She immediately felt the need to try to salvage that mistake by converting it into a plea. “Please don’t,” she said, with as much calmness as she could muster. “I needlessly suffered years and years and years of turmoil, confusion and indescribable anguish. Besides the almost intolerable emotional pain, it ruined my marriage, messed up my children and hindered my walk with God. So much of my life has been lost. So much good I could have done and people I could have helped – gone forever.

“What disasters could have been spared if only my pastor or counselors or simply me, had been better informed,” she exclaimed. “And this tragedy is the norm for people with D.I.D. Even those who, like me, have ended up gloriously healed, have typically had their healing deferred by ten or twenty years because of widespread ignorance. And people with D.I.D. are usually remarkably gifted. Have you any idea of all the good just one or two of them – let alone all of them – could have achieved, and how much they could have enriched the entire world, had they been healed many years earlier?”

My mind flashed through Rose’s immense talents and tried to grasp the enormity of what could be achieved with ten or more extra years added to such people in the prime of their lives.

“Not a few of them suicide before learning the truth about D.I.D. And all the others languish in agony so intense that over and over they contemplate killing themselves.

“Basic, sane information about D.I.D. must be disseminated as widely as possible to stop this needless tragedy being repeated over and over in thousands of lives.”

I must have raised an eyebrow over those last few words because she came back at me hard, “Yes, thousands of lives, worldwide.”

I was shaken. Having been granted a unique experience had apparently lumbered me with a unique responsibility.

Source of Scientific Information about Dissociative Identity Disorder
Got Parts? An Insider’s Guide to Managing Life Successfully with Dissociative Identity Disorder, by ATW, Loving Healing Press, Ann Arbor, MI, 2005. page 98-97

Much More Information about Dissociative Identity Disorder
www.net-burst.com/counselor-therapist/dissociative-resources.htm