Evicting Pregnancy Demons: Spirit Journey

October 29th, 2009

I told Richard: “I’ve done a bit of work on me as the osprey, and have been able to fix several physical and spiritual problems, some of which I knew about, and some of which I hadn’t seen until searching the osprey for problems. Back and other joint problems that I’d believed were probably permanent are now improved or gone.

“One of the more interesting things I discovered was an unclean spirit which had been associated with Billy’s pregnancy and birth.”

  Motherhood and pregnancy – both beautiful and scary.

Pregnancy is Complicated Enough Without Help from the Enemy

It was a very complicated pregnancy and birth – my first – involving much struggle of every sort from me, my husband, and several friends. I was alone for most of the pregnancy, and so sick I couldn’t stand up for more than a minute or two at a time, on an average day. There were very few days I could get out and see anyone or do much of anything, and the cooking and housework which I craved to get done had to be ignored.

When the time for the planned home birth came, my son refused to be born.

Not absolutely, but mostly. That is, I went into labor every day for two weeks, but had no baby to hold to show for it. I did have full-blown contractions for hours every day, exhaustion, and much seemingly wasted time and energy. My husband, too, had been taking time off from work, and had experienced migraine headaches every day.

We knew that we were fighting a spiritual battle. Our fight was not against flesh and blood. My Christ-loving midwife, too, knew this, and fought with us. Yet, we seemed to be losing ground to the enemy of our souls.

On the tenth day of this ordeal, my son crowned. We could see that he had dark blond hair. Then, he went back up the birth canal, and disappeared into the womb. The contractions shut down, as they had every day.

On the twelfth day, my water finally broke. It had refused prior to this. At my husband’s direction, we went to the hospital an hour away, to see if we needed to have an induction. While we were on our way, still fifteen minutes from the city limits, my womb refilled with amniotic fluid.

Suffice it to say, my son was at last born, and was such a perfect peaches-and-cream child that people who had not attended his birth but saw him a few minutes after (in the ER, where I went to get stitches) refused to believe he was a newborn.

Still, I’d known that we had never gotten to the bottom of the struggle for him.

Just last week, I came across a book about angels associated with individual pregnancies and births. The author’s sister claims to remember quite clearly what it was like to live in the womb, and described it as being “dark, warm, and there was an angel there.” I thought, “Why not? God says children have guardian angels. Why shouldn’t they be there from conception? (or before).”

That night, it dawned on me that if there are angels present during pregnancies and births, there are also demons – where one comes to do good, almost certainly the other comes to foil the plans.

Taking Back Up the Battle

When I was writing to Richard about this, I summarized: “Right then and there, I prayed against any demons associated with that pregnancy and birth, making them clear off from Billy and I, particularly, as well as our house and property, and immediately experienced relieve from what I had assumed during the pregnancy was abdominal muscle stress. I had not associated the ongoing pain with the pregnancy (everything hurts so much the first few weeks after a birth, it all just blurs), and had assumed it stemmed from chiropractic problems, as it was primarily with my left ribs. With the tightness gone, I have regained much of the flexibility I had during college, before getting married. I’m frustrated that it took me seven years to recognize the problem, but thankful that it’s begun to be solved.”

Richard’s reply on October 30th: “Interesting and chilling suggestion about guardian angels you’ve got there; one that most people probably try to avoid. You’re right; it’s only logical that if children have guardian angels they also have demons set on doing them harm. I hope you’re successful in getting rid of them entirely and will pray for that.”

My response: “Thanks for the prayers about the pregnancy demons. I’m having trouble knowing the next step on that, but I’ll keep working on it.”

I plan to tell about the physical healings that accompanied the eviction of these demons in another article. Stay tuned.

The Book That Sparked the Realization that the Spirit World is Alive and Well Even in the Womb

• The Angel in the Waters

Read Full Post »

Energy Healing and a Mama Goat

When we hear “Old Yeller,” my siblings and I think of Dad. It’s not that he’s always angry…just loud. Even his goats have gotten used to it.

He yells for them to come in for feeding; he yells for them to come be milked. He yells at the “teenagers” for getting out of their fences, and for chewing up sacks left lying around the milk room.

They continue chewing on the feed sacks, or slurping up paper towels, and pretend they can’t hear.

Still, when Dad really needs something done, such as finding out the source of an illness, or preg-checking (the non-messy way), he calls in my sister or I.

“How many kids is she carrying?” he’ll ask.

Most of the time, we can tell him.

There they’ll be, snuggled up in the doe’s womb, almost as visible as if they were born.

Christa and I didn’t exactly develop this ability on purpose. God did it for us, for His purposes and for His glory.

Now for the story.

Notice: This article was originally published on Helium. I have chosen to duplicate it here.

 

Healing Cookie: The Gift of A Goat

December 2004
I clambered through the maze back of the barn, over fences, through gates, around tires set to fill spaces between the ground and fences. There in the December twilight lay a black goat, groaning deeply. My sister Christa had told me, “There are three babies, but the mother’s not getting up. Dad had to pull two of them.” So young, poor Cookie. She braced against a metal fence post, and kneeling, I talked softly to her and placed my hands on her side. I saw in my mind three tears along the artery over her uterus. Blood filled the gulf between her organs and womb. This knowledge made me queasy, but I hurried to the milk room in the barn, where Dad fussed over three birth-slimed goats, and announced, “She has internal bleeding. I’ll see if Christa has ideas to stop it.”

Christa often relied on herbs for her family’s health needs, and she and I had both experienced home births…and several first-trimester miscarriages. But we were not prepared for the gravity of Cookie’s condition. “Father-Creator,” we prayed, “what does Cookie need? We have no herbs on hand for bleeding.”

“Egg,” He said.

Cookie was listless when we returned from the house, and while I stroked her ears to bring her out of shock, Christa placed a raw yolk into her womb. We force-fed her the white, according to the directions in our hearts. Then we settled, one on each side, to comfort her. Consulting one another, we prayed as we laid hands on Cookie, and applied herbs to relax her muscles. Through the energy of the Creator, I persuaded her blood to clot and her pain to lessen. Soon she expelled some afterbirth, but continued to trickle blood. “What now?” we wondered – “goats don’t bleed like women.” We looked through our minds again at Cookie’s insides, and saw I had failed to clot the third hemorrhage, and Cookie had yet to expel all membranes.

Just then, Dad joined us. “The kids were born without the sacs around them,” he said.

We frowned at one another. What did this indicate?
But our musings were thrown aside as Cookie abruptly threw herself into an arc, like a mockery of lockjaw. She seemed to mirror her stiff and dying spirit. Quickly then, praying silently or speaking softly, we plied her with parsley, molasses, and whatever our hearts indicated, for an hour. Her body quieted, but her spirit continued to fret.

Then she spoke. She came eye-to-eye with my spirit, and asked, “Where is my black baby?”

“In the barn,” I said. “He’s warm, and fed and well cared for. We dried him, and he was lively when we came to you.”

Cookie shivered, and showed my spirit a meadow in springtime. Chicory flowers and cosmos grew thick, and she drew warmth from this imagination.

“I want to see my baby,” she fussed. So Dad brought the crying, frightened child. Cookie sighed and nuzzled him, and seemed satisfied. “I am content to live now, if my children are to live,” she said.

“They are healthy,” I told her. “There is no reason they should not live.”

Soon she dozed, and Dad brought a blanket and covered her. We tended the babies, and I instructed them, “You think warmth to your mama. She’s cold, and needs your help.” I saw they understood, and kissed them, and we went to the house.

Christa and I continued in discussion. Through prayer, she saw why the babies were born without sacs. “They were fighting,” she told me, “over who was going to be born first.” I looked surprise at her. “That’s why they tore the sacs, and tore the artery also.”

“Hm,” I said, then remembered a thought of earlier. “You know, when I held the cinnamon-colored one, at first, it told me it was third – but Dad said it came second. He had to push the white one back, because they were trying to come together.”

Suddenly Cookie came on a level with my spirit. “I want to name my children,” she said. She showed me her cinnamon-colored baby, kneeling before her. In this vision, she named it, blessed it, and kissed it.

So Christa, Dad and I went to fulfill the rite. We scooped up the babies, and brought them before the mother. For a moment she ignored them. The black one tumbled over her, seeking her udder. Then the cinnamon one knelt. He kissed his mother, and she kissed him. She called her other children, and christened them.

“What did you name them?” I asked.

“I named them what only I know,” she rebuked. “Not even the other goats call them by these names.”

“She is well enough to move now,” I said, looking at the others. So on a tarp, we dragged her into a horse stall. Cookie stiffened back into her lock-jaw imitation. “More parsley,” we decided.

But, “Milk,” said Cookie.

“Adult goats don’t drink milk,” we told her.

“I want milk,” she said.

So I mixed some, thin and sweet, in a pan, with parsley. When I re-entered the stall, Cookie was standing! I stared in wonder.
“She’s angry because she wanted to tell you something in private,” said Christa.

I advanced with the milk. “Here’s what you asked for,” I said. She lifted her nose in ill temper. “Cookie, you drink it.” I forced her muzzle into the pan. She slurped twice in self-defense, then jerked away.

Frostily, as through clenched teeth, I heard, “Thank you, that’s all I want. Now leave it, and I’ll drink the rest later.”

“Cookie, you can tell me now,” I said. She held haughty silence.

Christa and I departed.

Next morning, I went to visit.

Cookie greeted me warmly and led me to the middle of the pen. “Because you have done this for me,” she said, “you will be healed. Like in like kind. I am in worse shape than you. I will probably have no more children. But you will, because you have obeyed, and taken care of me.” No more miscarriages! I rejoiced.

“Take care of my children,” said Cookie. “Watch out for them, and check them when you can. I have asked Morgana to feed them, as I cannot.” This older doe joined us then, content with her charges.

Sugar, Cinnamon and Spice gallivanted around us. Spice kissed Cookie, Sugar went to Mama Morgana for a drink, and Cinnamon went to nap in a nearby tire.

December 2006
I sat at the end of my family’s long dining table, steaming with dishes of Christmas fare. In my lap reclined my tiny daughter – 1 1/2 months old, and nearly asleep.

It had happened just as Cookie had prophecied. My own womb had been healed, exactly a year before I conceieved, with a signalling twinge and a rebalancing of physical energies. I had carried this child well, knowing I would keep her – that she would be mine to love now and forever. She proved her miracle each day, and I talked to her softly about her three brothers and sisters, waiting for us at God’s side.

Dad had sold Cookie, succumbing to the pressures of bottom-line profits. Her children, too, were gone. But Mama Morgana still remembered, and whenever I visited her, we remembered together about Cookie.

Mama Morgana, an old doe now, with her fellow goats.

 

Have you any experiences this way? Share your story with us….

Read Full Post »

Baby Tyger (my newborn daughter)

  

Here is my new baby, “Tyger” Marie. I have prayed and waited for this child, and after four years and at least three miscarriages, she has arrived. Her birthday is November 6th. As Billy’s is on November 10th (when most of these photos were taken), they are nearly precisely four years apart. No, we didn’t plan that!

As you can see, she is an alert little thing, and does not act like a new-born “should”. She holds her own head up, rolls both ways, and scoots already. She also does not sleep as if she’s just had a long journey, but seems afraid she will miss something. I am enjoying her.

She was born at home, in the bathtub, and practically everything went textbook. My sister (seen holding her own baby, her fourth boy, off to one side in one of the photos) attended the birth. Will tried, as well, but he nearly passed out after babbling hopefully, “You’re so brave, my girl. You’re doing good. You’re so brave…” So he wasn’t much help. My sister and I were afraid we were going to have to haul him out of the tiny bathroom before we could finish welcoming the baby. But he stayed upright, reeling almost cross-eyed on the toilet opposite me, and after 12 hours start-to-finish, Tyger was in my arms.

I’d never been so tired in my life. This surprised me, as I had been full of vigor after Billy’s birth (also at home)…a blessing, as I had had to go into the local ER for stitches. When we had arrived, the nurse had looked in confusion at us, asking, “Which one of you needs attention?” She would not believe that Billy was a newborn, nor that I had just had a home birth.

Ah, well. No medical emergencies this time, and I am satisfied with all we’ve accomplished.

Read Full Post »