One moment I was peacefully sleeping, dreaming that my husband Timon had returned from the sea to make life right again, and the next I was wide-awake, staring into the deep, impenetrable darkness as I listened to my daughter’s screams. May the gods help her, I thought. My daughter’s screams were not the screams of a normal thirteen-year-old. They were filled with fear, hatred and despair and made my heart bleed. For over a year now this had been my life; a life filled with sleepless nights and constant labor. This was a mother’s worst nightmare come true: an only child possessed by demons.

Helen was thirteen when Timon went out to sea for fish and never returned. After the storm, Helen and I would walk out to the cliffs by the ocean several evenings each week and look out to sea, hoping against hope that our steady and loving provider would return. In our hearts, however, we knew that Timon was gone forever.

One evening after walking the half-mile to the ocean, Helen turned to me and asked, “Mother, do you believe in the gods?”


Benjamin Holscher is in his first year at Fairwood Bible Institute. A homeschool student, he graduated from high school in June of 2007. Ben is the student manager of Fairwood's radio station for the school year of 2007-2008.

I looked over at my daughter, into the dark sparkling eyes that were so alive and the brown hair blowing about in the wind. “Of course I do, Helen, and I believe that if we only give them sufficient sacrifice and prayer they will prosper and protect us throughout our lives. This is one of the most important things that I could ever teach you: to trust in the gods no matter what.” Helen looked skeptical and I knew why. I had thought those same thoughts over and over: If the priests say the gods will protect us, why was Timon taken from us? Thoughts like these were common but I wanted to keep my daughter from feeling the same fear and insecurity that I had been experiencing. “Daughter, remember that all of us die eventually.” After a brief pause, I continued, “We cannot blame the gods.”

“I know, Mother, but it’s just so hard without Father.” A tear trickled down Helen’s tan cheek, and I pulled her to me in a comforting embrace; we wept together. Little did she know that my sole comfort was in her: when Timon did not return, Helen became my life.

That evening at the beach was only a couple weeks before Helen was dedicated to the gods as she passed on into womanhood. How was I to know that shortly after this occurrence my comfort in Helen was to be ripped from me? How could I have foreseen my life becoming more of a hell than it already was?

It was almost immediately after the dedication that I began to see a change in Helen. She seemed to be constantly depressed, nothing like the cheerful daughter that I had always known. I started to notice strange things around the house, too. Little things, like doors left open and bread gone from the pantry. Soon after this Helen began to become unresponsive to me. “Helen,” I would say, “I love you, dear!” but silence would be her reply. Soon she ceased talking altogether and would shy away from my loving embrace that I had once offered frequently. Further, she hated to be outside in the sun and would stay in her room throughout the day, only coming out to loot the pantry for food and water.

At first I didn’t want to admit it but I knew what was happening. I had heard the stories and listened to the gossip, but I was totally unprepared for my daughter, my lovely, and happy little daughter, to become possessed by demons. Several months later, Helen began let loose those hideous screams from hell that haunted me throughout the night. At first I would jump out of bed and stumble around as I lit a candle before dashing to Helen’s room. But when spitting and cursing was my only reward for trying to comfort her I stopped my unsuccessful attempts and lay alone in my own room trying to remember a better time.

Soon after Helen became possessed, what normalcy had remained after Timon’s death was lost. The townsfolk demanded that we move to the outskirts of Sidon because of the “horrible noises that thing makes.” Along with losing our old abode, I lost my faith in the gods. I began to believe that it was they who had taken my husband, and that the dedicating of Helen coincided too neatly with her demon possession to be coincidence. I began to hate those gods with every fiber of my being.

It was during my ordeal that I began to hear news of a man named “Jesus” from Nazareth, and of the miracles that he worked in Judea. Furthermore, there were stories of this man’s kindness and mercy and of how he would call a sinner “my daughter” and heal unclean lepers when other people wouldn’t come within fifty feet of them. The most important thing that I heard, though, was that he cast out demons. I had never met this man, but I began to believe that there was more to him than the eye could see.

One afternoon I had left Helen alone in our dwelling place and gone to wash clothes with a friend of mine. Our conversation was rather boring until Hazor said, “Hera, I’ve heard that the man named Jesus has been spotted near Tyre.” My friend had been droning on for some time and my mind had wandered to my troubles, as it had with regularity of late, but when I heard Jesus’ name spoken I quickly glanced up at my older black-haired friend. She was standing near the small stream vigorously beating a piece of soiled clothing. It wasn’t unusual that Hazor would hear such interesting news before I; she has always had a penchant for gossip.

“Helen, where did you hear this news?”

“Oh,” she replied, “Aléxandros returned from the temple, and apparently the priests are anxious because Jesus seems to be making his way toward Sidon. The priests seem to see it as some sort of threat to our gods.” Jesus coming to Sidon? It didn’t seem possible. I had heard so much about Him from the citizens of Sidon who had ventured to Galilee nearly a month ago: They had described the authoritative and fascinating teaching that Jesus gave, but most of all the incredible miracles He worked.

“What else do you know about it Hazor?” I tried to hide my excitement by stooping over the bundle of clothes that I had brought.

“Well, He’s expected to be somewhere around Sidon tonight or tomorrow morning. Also, from reports it seems like He’s trying to keep a low profile. I don’t know what to think about Him, Hera.”

I replied with as much conviction as I dared, “Hazor, I think He’s really who He says He is! The Jews’ Messiah.” Hazor looked skeptical. I continued, “Think about it, friend; our gods are supposed to do certain things for us, but they don’t. The only thing they give us is a false sense of security. Over and over I would bring my daughter to the gods in prayer, asking them to heal her of the demons, but they never answered. This Jesus seems like a man, but the miracles He works tells me He is a god! As far as I’m concerned, if what I hear is true, this man believes in the One God of the Jews, and if this God allows Jesus to work such wonders I will believe in Him too.” Hazor dropped the shirt in her hands into the mud and her mouth dropped open. This was one of the few times I had seen my friend speechless. We discussed it more as we walked back to our homes in Sidon, and although Hazor was beginning to see my points, tradition was too strong and she remained skeptical when she turned off for her house.

After returning to my house with the laundry I simply sat down on the floor and thought about what I’d heard from Hazor. If it was true that Jesus was going to be coming close to Sidon then I was going to take action. From the stories I heard Jesus always demonstrated love and compassion. At this point I was desperate, and I knew that I could not go on much longer under the present circumstances without breaking down emotionally, mentally and physically.

Hazor had told me that Jesus would most likely arrive that evening and I prepared myself to wait for Him on the road. Before leaving the house that afternoon, I attempted to bring Helen with me. As I urgently spoke with her I gazed into the eyes that had once sparkled with such life, but now looked dead. Helen huddled unresponsively in the corner and only looked at me when I moved, as if she was some sort of animal. I held back a sob of grief as I gazed on my fourteen-year-old girl that was growing into a woman. I whispered as I left the room, “I’ll be back soon Helen. I love you!” Helen gave a pitiful whimper as if to say “Help me mother, I’m trapped.”

With great purpose I left our house and made my way to the road coming from Tyre to the south. I walked for a couple miles and found a nice spot hidden behind several brownish scrub trees. From that vantage point I could see who approached without revealing my position. As I waited I nervously nibbled on some bread that I had brought with me and thought about what I should say to Jesus.

I realized that as a Jew it would be very strange for Him to actually help me. In fact it might hurt His ministry to the Jews because I was a gentile, a Syro-Phoenician by birth. These thoughts and more like them plagued my mind for a time, but eventually I realized that in Jesus lay my only hope. I would choose to believe that He would heal my daughter because that was the only choice I had left.

The sun was still two or three hours from setting when I saw a band of men walking toward Sidon. They didn’t have the same appearance as the other travelers who were using the road that day. I had heard about the twelve disciples that went everywhere with Jesus so I hurriedly counted them. Sure enough, there were thirteen men that looked rather Jewish. My heart began to pound and I nervously thought, how will I know which one is Jesus?

Once they were within earshot I stood up and addressed the group with the first words that came to mind, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is cruelly demon-possessed.”

What I’d meant to be a quiet appeal came out as a shout. The group stopped and the men dropped back behind their leader to see what He would do. Now Jesus was exposed to my sight and I beheld Him with awe, knowing that this man could save my daughter. His black hair was cut rather short and I immediately noticed His strong features that simultaneously looked hard and gentle. He was only of a moderate build, but His body was corded with muscle. As He continued to walk a little closer His steps were taken with a confident ease that reminded me of a lion I had seen once when I was little. I would have said that he was a warrior except that the love and compassion shining through His face told me otherwise.

I had been distracted by Jesus’ appearance but I realized now that He was not replying to my petition. I repeated my request, still with voice raised rather loudly. The disciples hurried over to Jesus and I could hear some of what they were saying the Him.

One was asking something like, “Lord, could you not simply send this woman away?”

While another seemed to be agreeing, “Yes Lord, send her away, because she keeps shouting at us.”

“Maybe you could simply do what she says so she will leave us alone,” another implored.

Jesus looked at each of them and they fell silent as if ashamed. Abruptly Jesus turned toward me and spoke in a strong, deep voice that was both powerful and calming at once, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” I tried to grasp the ramifications of what Jesus had said, but my mind refused to believe that this hope I had nourished could so easily be taken from be. Before I could despair my legs brought me over to Jesus and threw me on the ground in front of his feet.

“Lord, help me!” I cried.

I looked up at Jesus’ loving face and almost imagined that I had seen a tear there. However, He replied in stern terms saying, “It is not good to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs.” It sounded like He was done talking with me but I would not be denied. My mind furiously scrabbled for something, anything, to reply with.

“Yes, Lord; but even the dogs feed on the crumbs which fall from their masters’ table.”

Suddenly Jesus broke into a radiant smile that made my heart want to shout out in song. He put His rather calloused hand on my head and gently told me, “O woman, your faith is great; it shall be done for you as you wish.”

The words were so unexpected they took my breath away. Could He really have just healed my daughter? I talked to Jesus a little more, but the only thing I remember is the peace and safety that I felt in His presence; I was too distracted by thoughts of my daughter to take in more.

After leaving Jesus and the disciples I ran as fast as my legs would take me back to my house. As I ran I thought, Can it be that my daughter is healed? Can it be that my life is restored to me? As I approached our house I slowed my run to a walk, dreading the possibility that my daughter was unchanged.

“Mother, where are you!” Helen’s clear voice that I had not heard for so long shouted at me with excitement as she rounded the corner of our house.

There she was, dressed in clean clothes with her hair brushed. It was too much. I cried her name and ran forward to meet her. We embraced there on the walkway, Helen’s head held tightly to my chest as I rocked her back and forth whispering her name and telling her how much I had missed her and how deeply I loved her. Now she was telling me that she loved me too and how scared she had been. I tilted her head back and gazed into the eyes that were suddenly so alive once more. Now I was alive again too. Then I remembered Jesus, for it was He that gave me back my daughter. “Thank you Lord,” I whispered.