Defying Darkness: A Miraculous Journey of Faith and Victory
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Get ready for a jaw-dropping testimony that’ll send chills down your spine!
Let’s rewind to last year – there I was, struck by a sudden illness at my workplace. The pain was relentless, leaving me unable to walk, and so I was whisked away to the hospital, tears mingling with my anguish. Each movement sent shockwaves of agony through me. The doctor’s diagnosis hit like a ton of bricks: a monstrous cyst. But hold on, it could be acute appendicitis, he warned, so off to a specialist I had to go.
Morphine became my best friend, numbing the torment coursing through my body. Frantic phone calls later, a specialist’s touch confirmed something suspicious, but not definite. More scans were ordered, yet the verdict was clear – the next day, surgery was happening, as the specialist firmly believed it was appendicitis that had to be ousted from my body.
For a fleeting moment, I held up well, but then a tidal wave of fear crashed into me. My heart raced, the room seemed to warp around me, and an eerie sensation clawed at my senses. This isn’t a mere tale – it’s the real deal. When I say witchcraft is alive, I mean it. Voices wafted from the next room, weaving funeral hymns into the air. My skin heated, my nerves prickled, and I felt like I was losing my grip.
That’s when I phoned my cousin, begging him to pray for me. And then, a tiny glimmer of hope – I spotted a fresh, untouched New Testament Bible in the drawer. Clutching it, I flipped it open to Psalm 91. Talk about a power-packed Scripture! My thoughts darted like startled birds, and my breath raced, mirroring my panic. I fought to centre myself on Christ, to anchor my thoughts.
When a semblance of calm had been reclaimed, I mustered the strength to approach the reception desk. With newfound boldness that couldn’t be mine alone, I demanded my file. Resistance first, but then they surrendered. Oh, but here’s the twist: it wasn’t just about the nurses or their refusal. It was a spiritual tussle, a battle that transcended the physical. Satan was pulling strings, trying to derail or portray their nonchalance. It’s deep, friends, a spiritual chess match where Satan manipulates, steals, and destroys.
Back in my room, the phone rang – it was my cousin, invoking Heaven’s help through his prayer. As the mighty name of Jesus Christ flowed from his lips, peace descended on me, softening my edges, allowing my mind to reset. This was it – the Holy Spirit at work. Back at reception, my demeanour had shifted. With a dash of authority not my own, I asked for my file again, and this time, they didn’t dare deny me.
Opening my file was like cracking a cryptic code. The report danced with uncertainty, revealing a haze where the operation’s nature remained a puzzle. That’s when I took a stand – I demanded the surgery be cancelled. The doctor would be arriving soon, they said, and I held my ground. In his puzzled eyes, even the doctor saw the confusion, the mystery.
Discharge was granted, and I stumbled out of that room suffused with a whiff of death. The pain was gone, the result of morphine, yes, but equally a result of fervent prayer. A haze hung over my thoughts, and the idea of seeing a psychiatrist danced in my mind. But God’s plan isn’t ours, no, far from it. My GP, the house doctor, stepped in, prescribing tranquillity in pill form.
An hour ticked by, and like a gentle wave, the pills soothed my turmoil. Night fell, and with it came a dream – a dream so vivid it bordered on the surreal. A tunnel, swathed in darkness, greeted me. Figures emerged, women garbed in flowing white dresses, their hair cascading like a waterfall. Deception cloaked their appearance, their friendliness melting into something grotesque as I drew nearer.
A sensation, akin to birthing pains, overtook me. And then it happened – I birthed something. A ball, resembling a bat, slipped from me. It was a battle cry, a surge of courage. I hurled it at the women, invoking the name of Jesus Christ. The shift was palpable, their fear tangible, and they scattered like shadows at dawn.
Awakening from the dream, drenched in sweat, I reached for my Bible and found refuge in Psalm 91. Its words flowed from my lips, and with each verse, I felt lighter, cleaner. The devil had tried, yet he’d failed. I was a child of the King of Kings, and that made all the difference.
A man of God came to see me hours later, a prophet with a vision – He saw me, on an operating table, and said, “The devil tried to kill you.” The revelation hit like a thunderbolt, gratitude washing over me. Had I walked into that surgery, I’d have treaded on thin ice. You see, if you’re a true child of God, the devil’s schemes won’t succeed. “Greater is He who is in you than he who is in the world” (1 John 4:4 KJV). The Holy Spirit’s might eclipses the devil’s wiles.
So, stand strong, stay vigilant, for “your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour” (1 Peter 5:8 KJV). Let the fruits of the Spirit be your armour. Love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance – let Galatians 5:22-23 be your guiding light.
My tale is a testament to divine intervention, to the power of unwavering faith, and to the indomitable spirit of a true believer.