She Lived to Tell the Story
Teach your children to stand on God’s Word before life tests them
It was April 14th, 2023 — the dry season in Lagos. The heat was fierce, the kind that clings to your skin and makes the air feel heavy.
My 12-year-old daughter, Blessing, had just come home from school — sweaty, but smiling. She dropped her bag, kicked off her shoes, and shouted, “Mummy, don’t forget Bible study tonight!”
I laughed softly, watching her excitement. Blessing loved children’s church more than cartoons. I had no idea that her love for God’s Word would soon save her life.
That evening, after Bible study, we got home late. I told Blessing to head upstairs for a shower while I fixed dinner. Moments later, a scream tore through the house — sharp and haunting.
I ran upstairs, my heart pounding. There she was — lying on the bathroom floor, trembling violently. Foam spilled from her mouth, her eyes rolled back. She was convulsing.
“Jesus!” I cried. My knees nearly gave way.
Neighbors rushed in, shouting over one another.
“This is epilepsy!” one said.
“No, it’s a spiritual attack!” another insisted.
“Take her to the hospital!” someone screamed.
In the chaos, I lifted my baby into my arms. Her small body jerked uncontrollably, as if she was battling something unseen. My hands shook, but I refused to let go.
We raced on a bike to the nearest clinic. The doctor ran some quick tests, then looked up at me with grim eyes.
“This isn’t epilepsy,” he said quietly. “It looks like poison.”
I froze. “Poison? How?”
The doctor explained that the symptoms showed she had swallowed something toxic. I was confused. she had eaten nothing strange. Then it hit me: she had bought groundnuts earlier that evening from a roadside seller.
My knees buckled. Someone had laced them with poison.
The doctor sighed. “She needs immediate treatment. But even if she survives, her organs may be damaged. Prepare for the worst.”
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I dropped to the hospital floor, weeping. “God, please… don’t let my daughter die.”
While nurses rushed around, inserting drips and injections, my daughter suddenly stopped jerking. She opened her eyes weakly, looked at me, and whispered:
“Mummy… don’t cry. Remember Psalm 118:17… I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord.”
Tears blurred my eyes. Even in her weakest moment, my little girl was quoting Scripture.
The nurses said, “She’s going into shock. Her pulse is faint!”
I grabbed her hand and shouted, “Blessing, say it again!”
With trembling lips, she repeated, “I… shall not die… but live…”
Suddenly, her breathing steadied. The monitor beeped stronger. The nurses exchanged glances.
The doctor rushed in, puzzled. “What just happened? Her vitals are stabilizing!”
That night, while other children in the ward lay silent, Blessing began to sing softly:
“Great is Thy faithfulness… morning by morning new mercies I see…”
By morning, the test results shocked everyone. The poison had somehow passed through her system without damaging any organ.
The doctor shook his head. “This is impossible. The concentration in her blood could have killed three adults, yet she’s recovering like nothing happened.”
But I knew. It wasn’t medicine. It wasn’t chance. It was the Word of God, alive in her heart.
Three days later, Blessing walked out of that hospital with a smile, holding my hand. When the neighbors came to see her, she told them confidently:
“Satan wanted to kill me, but Jesus said no. I will live to tell my story.”
I cried again, but this time, tears of joy.
💡 Moral of the Story:
Parents, you may not always be with your children. You can’t control every meal they eat, every bus they enter, or every path they walk. But if you plant God’s Word inside them, it will speak when you cannot.
Blessing lived because she didn’t just know about God — she knew His promises for herself.
👉 Teach your children the Word now. Teach them prayer now. Because one day, it may be the only weapon they have when life throws its deadliest arrows.