It started as a normal Friday with a flurry of activities. As several older men worked outside weaving straw into thatching, I swept my kitchen and washed my dishes. Then I sat down to help Abraham with his schoolwork while I filled capsules with charcoal.

As I opened the capsules and put them back together, my right wrist started to hurt. I thought it was strange since I hadn’t done anything to injure it. The pain got steadily worse until it felt like my wrist bones were coming out of place, and I could hardly move my hand. I had experienced bone displacement in a vehicle accident, and I knew how to realign bones, but nothing I tried helped.

This was a bit distressing to me since I had bread dough to knead and the rest of my house to clean. I asked my seven-year-old nephew who lives with us to knead the bread, and he did a good job. Using only my left hand, I managed to sweep the house.

Finally it occurred to me that this strange pain might be a satanic attack. I knelt in the bedroom and prayed, rebuking Satan in Jesus’ name. Then I got up and continued with my work, putting the bread in the oven. The pain began to subside, but I still worried about getting to church for the vespers program. Our truck has manual shift and no power steering, but I managed. At church that night, we prayed again for my wrist.

Sabbath morning, my wrist felt stiff, but the pain was mostly gone. I praised God for this blessing, because I had to drive the truck out to the village that day on bad roads. By the time we came back home, my wrist wasn’t stiff anymore, and there was no more pain. This convinced me that it had been a spiritual attack. The last time it had hurt that bad was after my accident, and it had been six months before I could use my hand again. God is good!

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