He appeared in silhouette form—a black shadow more than six feet tall. My spirit identified him immediately. It was Satan himself. As I looked at him and he looked back at me, communication between us happened at the level of the soul, beyond the five senses, and was perfectly clear. “You know what?” he said. “Your little worship song doesn’t scare me. I happen to know the song too.” Then he started clapping right along with me, becoming my evil backup singer. Laughing and singing obnoxiously loud, he tried to override my voice. Searching my mind for another worship song, I switched tunes, thinking a new song might have power over him, but he simply followed suit: “I know this song too.” Feeling helpless and frustrated, I continued to sing, wondering why God wasn’t showing up. “I know any song you can come up with,” the devil mocked, “but you don’t know one verse from the whole Bible. Not one!” Putting both hands up above his ears like moose antlers, he wiggled his fingers and stuck his tongue out at me. Then he disappeared.
The life of Patricia Sandoval—keynote speaker at the Walk for Life West Coast-2019 and subject of the highly acclaimed book, TRANSFIGURED—is better than fiction and a balm of healing for the reader.
Fr. Donald Calloway wrote in the foreword to TRANSFIGURED, “Thanks to Patricia’s courage in sharing, I have found renewed hope and healing. I believe this book can be healing for you too. Prepare yourself for a wild ride, my friends. You are going to witness the innocence and beauty of a woman being restored. You are going to learn how Jesus, Mary, and Catholicism have the power to transfigured any soul. And I bet you’re going to want to be transfigured, too.”
To order the book, click here or on the image below:
If you look at Patricia Sandoval’s picture, what you see is a woman completely restored in Christ. Only through God’s grace can a person who suffered through the break-up of her family, three abortions, work behind-the-scenes at Planned Parenthood, and years of living homeless as a methamphetamine addict, reach the healing and heights that she has.
The following is an excerpt from her highly acclaimed book, endorsed by Archbishop Salvatore Cordileone and Bishop Michael Barber: TRANSFIGURED. Due to her powerful mission of saving lives and souls, Mrs. Sandoval has been and is still attacked by evil spirits, sometimes Satan himself. Her following encounter with the forces of darkness occurred when she returned to the Sacrament of Reconciliation after her last drug relapse:
Because I was doing their bidding, the demons that had previously assailed me stopped putting up a fight during my relapse. But as soon as I returned to my mother’s home, their assaults not only resumed, they became more frequent. Things reached a peak when my mom made an appointment for me to go to the Sacrament of Reconciliation. . . During the week before my appointment, the attacks continued relentlessly, allowing me little sleep. Every half hour or so throughout the night, I was pinned to my bed as my oppressors strangled my throat, cutting off my airway to the point that I could hardly breathe, move, or think. Those demons did not want me to go to Confession. Too much was at stake.
The night before my appointment, a familiar presence of darkness came into my room and stood at the right side of my bed. It possessed powers of fear and sought to terrorize me. Chills scurried up and down my spine, but by the grace and power of God, the fear never became mine. Suddenly, the demonic presence leapt on top of me. I put up a fight to try to move, or even breathe, but found that I couldn’t force either. Compressed and motionless, my body felt as though it were tied up and drowning at sea, descending slowly into deep waters. Calling out to God, I gasped, “Jesus! Jesus!” wondering why He didn’t immediately intervene to help me.
After five or ten minutes of violent struggle, my airway started to open up, and I was able to move my hands a little, though the rest of my body remained paralyzed. I began to applaud Jesus and to sing a worship song I liked called “Dios está aquí”—“God is here.” “Any minute now He’ll be here,” I reassured myself. But my confidence quickly devolved into pleas: “Where are You? You’ve gotta come back me up!”
Finally, my oppressor came off me and went to stand in the entrance to my room. He appeared in silhouette form—a black shadow more than six feet tall. My spirit identified him immediately. It was Satan himself. As I looked at him and he looked back at me, communication between us happened at the level of the soul, beyond the five senses, and was perfectly clear. “You know what?” he said. “Your little worship song doesn’t scare me. I happen to know the song too.” Then he started clapping right along with me, becoming my evil backup singer. Laughing and singing obnoxiously loud, he tried to override my voice. Searching my mind for another worship song, I switched tunes, thinking a new song might have power over him, but he simply followed suit: “I know this song too.” Feeling helpless and frustrated, I continued to sing, wondering why God wasn’t showing up. “I know any song you can come up with,” the devil mocked, “but you don’t know one verse from the whole Bible. Not one!” Putting both hands up above his ears like moose antlers, he wiggled his fingers and stuck his tongue out at me. Then he disappeared.
I ran to my mom to tell her what happened, and she said, “The Bible, that’s your sword! Remember, when Jesus was tempted in the desert by Satan, He quoted the Scriptures to fend off the devil by saying, ‘As it is written . . .’ followed by lines from His own book!” She reached for her Bible and read Hebrews 4:12a: “Indeed, the word of God is living and effective, sharper than any two-edged sword . . .”
“Why,” I wondered, “did Satan give me a clue about the Bible? Did God force those words from his mouth?” I began to open my Bible every day. Now I was armed. The next time Satan came, I had my favorite quotes prepared and, sure enough, the recitation of—even the mere thought of—verses from Scripture weakened his grip on me. My favorite battle cry became a variation of 1 John 4:4b: “Greater is He who is in me than he who is in the world!”
The next morning, Patricia went to Confession. The priest admonished her for returning to drugs and told her she was in good company with certain saints who received relentless attacks from the evil one. He also encouraged Patricia to pray often before the Blessed Sacrament.
I decided to follow the priest’s advice, and I found a church close to our home that offered Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament. Sitting in a small side chapel, I stared for some time at the Host, the Body of Christ in the appearance of a thin, circular wafer of bread. It was the presence of Jesus, Himself, displayed within a monstrance: a golden holder in the shape of the sun, supported by a vertical stand placed on top of the altar. Yet as I stared and prayed, doubts of Jesus’ Real Presence in the form of that little, round wafer began to flood my mind: “Is this really God? Is that really You, Jesus?” I didn’t doubt His Presence at Mass, but here in Adoration, I struggled to believe.
That night, I had a dream, realistic and in full color:
I was standing in front of an old cathedral with numerous cement steps leading up to it, and I turned around to my right to see a woman sitting on one of the steps. “Do you want me to read your palms?” she asked me.
“No,” I responded emphatically.
Then thousands upon thousands of people began to approach this woman to have their palms read and receive tarot card readings. Offended that the woman was doing this in front of a house of God, I began to yell at the crowd, “No! This is false power! This is not true power!” Pointing to the entrance of the church, I shouted, “True power is inside that church! The Truth is inside that church!” But no one listened.
Feeling terribly impotent, I watched as the woman laid out her cards on the steps, and the enthralled crowd gathered round her, attracted like canines to a bone.
I wanted to console God, so I turned around and ran into the church. Inside, I noticed that the walls practically glowed in a radiant white, and the black-and-white, checkered floor looked so clean that it sparkled. Nothing filled the church but an altar, and exposed on the altar was the Blessed Sacrament in a grand and gleaming gold monstrance. I walked forward to stand in front of Jesus, my Lord, feeling heartbroken that He was completely alone on the altar with no one to adore Him. Through tears, I said, “Lord, all those people are out there following a lie, but I’m here to worship You, and I will sing and praise and honor You.” To console Him, I started singing aloud, dancing in a circle—jumping, applauding, and clapping like a child—extolling His love and mercy to make up for the thousands outside.
Unexpectedly, Jesus Himself came out of the Blessed Sacrament and appeared behind the altar, standing in His human form. He wore a luminous, white garment, and His features reflected the image of Divine Mercy. Stunned, I immediately stopped singing and dancing and stood facing Him, unable to move or speak. He was looking at me with great tenderness, filling my soul with feelings of such worth! With His gaze never leaving me, He walked around the left side of the altar and descended the two stairs in front of it toward me. My pulse began to quicken, and my heart swelled with awe and disbelief. He had come solely for me! When He got so close as to be able to touch me, I felt I might faint from joy and longing. The overwhelming love radiating from His Being pierced me with ecstasy. Then with a voice of great caring mixed with powerful authority, He said to me in Spanish: “Get down on your knees, Patricia, because I am going to anoint your head.” I dropped to my knees with my head bowed toward the floor. Laying His hands on me with gentleness, He said, “I’m going to purify you.”
While I stared at his bare feet, Jesus prayed for me fervently in heavenly tongues, which I didn’t understand. I told myself, “I’m dreaming. This isn’t real.” Aware that Jesus had read my heart, I felt Him purposefully press down upon my head, so that I could physically feel the strength and pressure of His hands. In my spirit, I knew He was communicating to me, “This is true, Patricia. This is real. Do not doubt Me. I am here with you, and I am here for you, and I have a plan . . .”
In the morning, I joyfully sprung out of bed and continued to jump up and down in my room, remembering every detail of the dream. I had gotten to see Him and to feel Him! All of my doubts concerning Jesus’ Real Presence in the Blessed Sacrament vanished, and through the anointing of His hands, I was left with a strong sense that He had chosen me for a mission in life. But what was it?
Hear now my words: If there be a prophet among you, I the Lord will make myself known unto him in a vision, and will speak unto him in a dream.