Ashes of Kappa: I was Born Cursed
You know how you grow up just knowing random facts about people in your family? Grandpa so-and-so owned a grocery store. Grandma so-and-so immigrated via Ellis Island. “We are Danish, English, Scotch, Irish, Norwegian, German, and Dutch.” Some of these facts rattle off like rhymes as they are entrenched in our family stories. I knew some of the songs of my family, and I thought it was just interesting information.
One of those stories I was told was, “Grandpa so-and-so was a Mason.” I truly never thought anything of it until I watched National Treasure. I had no background or understanding of it other than some random founding fathers were Masons, too. In the context of my political family, I even thought our family history was a place of pride.
I was twenty-five before I ever really heard about Masonry again, and this was a far different context than a Nicholas Cage movie. I was in Jacksonville, Florida enrolled in a school of healing prayer because well, I was desperate.
There was teaching, and then there was time to practice. It was early October, and I was in a small group session, and it was my turn to receive prayer. I was terrified really, and all I could say was, “I’m just a little down, and I do not know why.” I did not mention the horrific, violent scenes that would play over and over in my mind — how I felt completely helpless, defeated, and on my way to death. I did not even know how to articulate this and was terrified to even say it aloud. Within me was a darkness, terror, and grief that I was ashamed of even acknowledging.
You know when someone says “long story short…” how you always really want to know the long story? Well, long story short, a blessed group of four people began praying for me when all of a sudden I was saying, “My great grandfather was a Mason.”
I found myself crying uncontrollably and the prayer leader was praying in language I could not understand. She was not yelling, but she was speaking with an authority that pierced me to the very depths of my being. “Spirits of Torment, Fear, Death, and Pain, you must leave Frankie in the name of Jesus.” Legions of demons were leaving me simply by her word. I heard masonic curses being broken off of me, and as they broke I felt free. She prayed for healing for me from the moment of my conception to the moment of my birth, and I felt the presence of God in a way I had never known before in my entire life. What I once perceived as completely normal was banished from my life forever by a woman I had just met. I was born so blinded that I could not even see that demons actually plagued me my entire life.
I needed deliverance?
I was cursed?
I had no bandwidth to even understand this and had never heard anyone’s testimony before that was anything like this at all. The source of so many hardships in my life was because of Free Masonry? Two of my great grandfathers, one in Illinois and another in Canada, became members of masonic organizations.
Since that night in Florida, I have learned that many in my family, on both sides, have belonged to this satanic organization and related satanic organizations. And my family, like many families, has a story that we keep to ourselves. We have our hidden stories of brokenness, and know this truth well: secrecy keeps us safe.
Yet, this safety came with a cost.
Someone told Walter that the oaths did not matter.
Someone told Harold that rituals were just silly.
No one told Walter or Harold how their great grandchildren would suffer. No one told them about me.
Renunciation after renunciation — every oath, every ritual — it all had to be renounced in the name of Jesus. The occult third eye had to be closed. Every decision, every action of my great-grandfathers had to be broken — because they made oaths — because they did the rituals.
“People swear by someone greater than themselves, and the oath confirms what is said and puts an end to all argument” (Hebrews 6:16).
I was never meant to live with demons feasting on me daily: Torment, Fear, Addiction, Pain, Resentment, Grief. I used to believe these demons were me or that was just how I was made. This grieves me that I used to attribute this abuse to my Heavenly Father.
Yet, He started writing a different story. From that moment of sin, He has relentlessly chased down my family. By His hand, He authored the life of a little girl named Frances Elizabeth.
There is a reason why I am obsessed with being free — relentlessly pursuing Jesus — never satisfied until I have what He died to give me. I have poured over my Bible, flown thousands of miles, read dozens and dozens of books. I have sought Him and asked Him and longed for Him and called out to Him.
But it has been His plan all along, to simply give the littlest, weakest one the key.
You see, it is actually what I was named to be and do.
My name is Frances Elizabeth, which means: Freedom and My God is an Oath.
But you can call me Frankie.
But Christ has rescued us from the curse pronounced by the law. When he was hung on the cross, he took upon himself the curse for our wrongdoing. For it is written in the Scriptures, “Cursed is everyone who is hung on a tree.” Galatians 3:13
