It was just a bundle of grass, tied to his doorpost.
But it slammed Gena's mind into high gear so fast that his feet were sure they had to start running just to keep up.
He wanted to flee, but he also wanted to tear the bundle off and go inside. He reached toward it, but stopped.
Fear goaded him to do so many things at once that he could do nothing.
The bika on his doorpost meant an enemy had summoned the spirits to harm him. Maybe he would get sick, or his garden would wither. That was bad enough. But if he tore the bika off the spirits might take it personally – and that would be really bad. He could become ill and die. He had not just heard that; he had seen it.
The spirits are not just superstition to Gena and the rest of the people in Papua New Guinea's Dom tribe. To Gena and his people, and tribal people around the world, the spirits are real and must be dealt with. Gena's mind searched for a solution.
He needed to kill a small animal and have the proper incantation said. Yes, that was it.
But he couldn't do the ritual.
One thought silenced all the others.
"I belong to God."
He couldn't worship the spirits. But there was more than that. He didn't need to worship the spirits. God was in control – God had made the spirits, and He had made Gena.
Gena had decided to trust Jesus as his Savior.
Now he decided to trust God as his protector.
He reached up.
He pulled the grass from his doorpost.
He dropped it to the ground.
He went into his house.
And he stopped.
He listened to his breathing, to his heart. It wasn't difficult to hear them; they were so loud that there were no other sounds in the house. His breathing was fast; his heart was racing. But they were both working, and working fine, as far as he could tell.
