The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the picnic tables as the youth group milled about, enjoying the warmth of an early summer day. Laughter mixed with the soft rustle of leaves, and the scent of grilled burgers floated in the air. For Lisa and John, it was a day filled with joy and anticipation, though their news wasn’t public yet. They were expecting their second child, and soon, they’d share the secret with their church family.
As the pastor stood at the front to say grace over the meal, he paused, eyes twinkling, and glanced toward Lisa and John. “Before we eat, I’ve got some exciting news,” he began, his voice carrying through the crowd. Lisa felt her heart skip a beat as John squeezed her hand gently. “Lisa and John are expecting!” The crowd erupted in cheers and congratulations.
Lisa smiled, soaking in the warmth of the moment. She was about ten or eleven weeks along, and though she still carried the slight nervousness any mother might at that stage, she felt good about it. There was life inside her, a tiny heartbeat that would soon be part of their growing family.
That evening, John had to head back to the church for a service, leaving Lisa to unwind at home with their toddler, Addison. As she settled into her evening routine, the phone rang—a rare sound these days, especially at such an odd hour. Lisa picked up the receiver, her mind still drifting in the happiness of the day.
“Hello?” she answered, her tone light.
“Hey,” came the voice from the other end, and Lisa’s stomach tightened. It was a girl who had once been part of their youth group—a troubled teen who had been dabbling in witchcraft before leaving the church. She had supposedly renounced her old ways, but her presence had always left a shadow.
“I hear you might be pregnant,” the girl said, her voice almost teasing.
Lisa felt a surge of irritation. “No, I am pregnant,” she replied curtly, her hand gripping the phone tighter.
There was a pause on the other end, then a quiet, unsettling laugh. “Well, you never know, do you?” the girl said softly, before hanging up without another word.
Lisa stared at the phone, her heart racing. What was that supposed to mean? She shook her head, trying to dismiss it as nothing more than a strange, unnerving comment from a disturbed girl. But the words lingered in her mind like a bad taste.
That night, Lisa went to bed uneasy, but she kept the conversation to herself. What was the point of bringing it up to John? He had enough on his plate. Besides, it was probably just nonsense.
The next day, as Lisa was preparing to leave for the church office, a sharp pain shot through her lower abdomen. She winced and doubled over, her hand instinctively going to her belly. It felt like the kind of cramp she’d get after too much coffee—and she had downed a cup earlier that morning. But this was different. It was deeper, more insistent.
She hurried to the bathroom and froze in horror. Blood. It had run down her legs, staining her pantyhose, the dark streaks traveling all the way to her knees.
Her heart pounded in her chest, her mind swirling with panic and disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not after everything.
Lisa quickly found John, who was outside watching a shuttle launch on TV. She tried to keep her voice calm, but the urgency cracked through.
“John, we need to go to the doctor. Now.”
He glanced at her, his eyes still on the screen, and tried to brush it off. “But you don’t have an appointment, right?”
“John,” she said, her voice sharp now, “we need to go to the doctor.”
He turned, seeing her face, and the gravity of the situation hit him. In the car, Lisa told him about the bleeding, her voice shaking as she described the blood running down her legs. John’s face grew pale. Without hesitation, he placed his hand gently on her belly and began to pray.
“I don’t know why, but I feel like I need to break witchcraft off of you,” he said quietly, his voice filled with conviction.
Lisa nodded, her heart pounding in time with his words. “Then do it.”
“I break witchcraft in the name of Jesus,” John prayed, his voice firm but full of love. “I break every curse spoken over you. I bless this womb. You will carry this baby full term. You will not miscarry.”
There was a heaviness in the car, the kind of weight that comes with spiritual warfare. But Lisa felt something lift as John prayed. A peace settled over her—not the absence of fear, but the presence of something stronger, more profound. She held onto that peace as they arrived at the doctor’s office.
The panic in the office staff was palpable. They rushed her into a room, but then…nothing. No one told the doctor she was waiting, and he went off to lunch. So Lisa waited. And waited. She was in that sterile, white room, dressed in a hospital gown, feeling the seconds tick by like hours. Fear crept back in. She prayed silently, over and over, feeling John’s presence beside her like an anchor.
Finally, the doctor returned, his face grave as he examined her. The blood was undeniable. He looked up, his eyes searching hers, but then…something shifted.
“I don’t understand it,” he said, shaking his head. “I see the blood, but whatever was happening…it’s stopped. You’re not miscarrying. Everything looks perfect.”
Lisa exhaled, the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding releasing in a rush of relief. The baby was safe. God had intervened.
She was placed on bedrest for a week, and during that time, John made a phone call to the girl from the youth group. There was no accusation in his voice, just a simple question.
“Did you call Lisa to cast a spell on her?” he asked.
“Yes,” the girl admitted, her voice small and distant on the other end of the line.
“Why would you do that?” John’s voice was steady, but there was sadness there, a disappointment that cut deeper than anger.
“Because I love the power,” she replied.
John didn’t hesitate. “You’re not welcome in the youth group anymore.”
The line went dead.
That night, Lisa lay in bed, her hands resting on her still-growing belly. The fear that had gripped her was gone, replaced by a fierce determination. She whispered a prayer of thanks for the life inside her, for the victory that had been won—not just against flesh and blood, but against the darkness that had tried to snatch her child away.
Austin was born months later, perfect in every way—spirit, soul, and body. As Lisa held him in her arms for the first time, she marveled at the miracle he was, a testimony to the power of prayer, faith, and God’s unfailing protection.
But the experience left her with a deeper understanding of the spiritual battle she had always known was real. Witchcraft, curses, spiritual warfare—they weren’t just stories from ancient times. They were as real today as they had ever been. And though the enemy ranted, raved, and cursed, his power was no match for the authority given to those who believed.
Lisa knew one thing for certain: while the world was full of unseen battles, the victory had already been won. And in her home, over her family, she would claim that victory every day.
Because in the end, it wasn’t about the power of darkness. It was about the power of God’s love, a love that could break every curse, heal every wound, and protect what mattered most.
