Vision of Children Under Spiritual Attack

Chapter 1: The vision of danger If nothing is done, they will take the children. That was the phrase Jesus spoke to me on one of the most shocking nights of my life. I wasn't dreaming of heaven. Nor was I asking for signs. I simply wanted to understand why. Lately, I would weep whenever I watched my children sleep. But that morning, the Holy Spirit pulled me out of my lukewarm spiritual routine and led me into a vision that changed everything. I saw children being dragged away by the enemy. I saw distracted parents. I saw silent leaders. And I saw Jesus himself. His eyes filled with pain saying, "You need to save them." This is not a rant. It is a warning from heaven. And if you love the next generation, you must listen to the very end. What I am about to tell you is neither beautiful nor symbolic. It is raw, real, and urgent. I was taken in the spirit to places where the laughter of children vanished. I saw Satan prowling around the little ones trying to corrupt their hearts before they could know the truth. I saw children suffocated by games, ideologies, and videos. I saw young girls drawn in by lies disguised as freedom. And every scene was accompanied by a cry from heaven, protect the innocent. It crushed me inside because I knew I wasn't just seeing what was to come in the future. It was happening right now. This is what is already taking place within our homes. The rapture will happen. But before that, war has been declared against the children. This generation is under direct attack. And many fathers, mothers, pastors, and intercessors have not yet awakened to this fact. We are losing children within the church. We are seeing teenagers grow spiritually cold by the age of 13. We are normalizing things that are spiritual in nature. And God showed me clearly, if you do not fight now, it will be too late. Childhood is being stolen. Purity is being shattered. And we, as the church, cannot remain silent while Satan lays stepping stones to plunge our children into the abyss. Jesus did not give me a vision to make me feel good. He gave me a mission to issue a warning. And he was direct. Warn my people. Tell them the next generation is at risk. Tell them the enemy has already begun his work. I saw scenes that still make me shudder to this day. I saw children inside the church being ignored while demons roamed outside. I saw parents who no longer prayed. I saw homes without an altar. I saw mobile phones treated as spiritual babysitters. And God said to me, "If they do not return now, the gab will swallow the seed. That is why I am here." Not as someone who knows everything, but as someone who was confronted and returned with an urgent message. It does not matter if you are a father, mother, grandparent, teacher, or intercessor. If you love a child, this message is for you. God [clears throat] is raising up watchtowers. Yet many remain asleep. The trumpet of warning has sounded. Now is the time for action, for prayer, fasting, and teaching. Because every second of inaction can turn into an eternity of regret. Do not wait for the rapture to value what you have neglected. For what I saw were abandoned children weeping for parents who never prayed for them. And parents weeping for children who did not know how to pray for themselves. Jesus called for the children to be saved. That is the mission. That is the cry. That is the calling. And in the coming chapters, I will tell you all about it. Everything I saw, the visions God showed me, the invisible wars, the strategies of hell, and the only way to resist. Every word you hear could determine the destiny of an innocent soul. So stay with me until the end. Because while heaven cries out for salvation, hell is laying traps, and whoever heeds. This warning now still has time to act. I was praying in the early hours of the morning when a different kind of concern washed over me. It was not fear nor anxiety. It was as if heaven were calling me to see something I had ignored for too long. I felt a weight on my chest, as if the Holy Spirit were trying to tell me, "Pay attention." And that was the moment it all began. I found myself in a setting that resembled a vast hall filled with silent people. In the center stood a child, a boy looking around in fear. And right behind him loomed a dark, heavy presence that made my entire body shudder. It was Satan and he had his sights set on that boy. The air in the room was thick. The child didn't seem to grasp what was happening. Yet the evil surrounding him was palpable. I looked at the other adults in the room hoping someone would act. But no one moved. No one stood up. No one prayed. That was when I understood. This was no ordinary vision. It was an accurate depiction of what is happening today. Children are at the center of the attack while the adults around them are asleep. I couldn't stand idly by. I ran to the boy, held him tight, and hid him beneath a green rug. It was instinctive. It was as if my spirit was screaming, "Protect him! Save him!" Satan's presence drew closer. It was oppressive, making it hard to breathe. The air seemed to vanish. But right then, I remembered the words, "The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want." I began to declare them aloud. I shouted God's promises. I repeated verses etched upon my heart. And every word of scripture that left my lips became a sword. I didn't pray using theology. I prayed desperately like someone who understood that this child could be my son, yours, ours, and if I didn't step in, hell would claim him. That was when the angels arrived. Four of them encircled the boy and me, forming a barrier that Satan could not cross. I felt their strength. I felt divine authority filling the space. Yet the most striking thing wasn't their arrival, but what the Holy Spirit whispered within me. They had come because of the word. It was not my voice, nor my desperation. It was the living word of God proclaimed in faith that activated heavenly protection. And in that moment, I understood that parents who do not teach the Bible to their children leave them without a sword, without a shield, without any help at all. When the enemy retreated, the Holy Spirit spoke to me with terrifying clarity. This war has already begun, and it is waged against the little ones. I saw the weapons being used. Cell phones, cartoons, influences, and videos disguised as harmless fun, all carefully designed to strip away Chapter 2: Spiritual ruins at home innocence, corrupt the heart, and numb the conscience. I saw the enemy trying to tattoo spiritual lies onto children's hearts before the truth of Christ could be taught. And I saw what God sees. Distracted parents, silent leaders, and churches preoccupied with current events while the little ones die spiritually. When I returned from the vision, I was weeping. I looked into my children's room and wept as if I had never prayed for them before. For even though I had faith, attended church, and was a Christian, I realized the truth. I was doing too little, I had trusted that others would handle it, I believed they would understand in time, but there would be no time. Hell does not wait. It has already begun. And Jesus showed me this, not to frighten me, but to wake me up. If you love a child, kneel before them today, for tomorrow may be too late. After that vision involving the child, I thought it was all over. I was emotionally exhausted. Yet God did not let me rest. I was taken in the spirit to a completely different place. It was neither heavenly nor hellish. It was a dark, confusing and abandoned space. I realized I was inside a house, but not just any house. It was a spiritual home, a place once filled with God's presence, but now shrouded in decay and silence. Everything the screamed of abandonment. The Holy Spirit spoke to me. This was my altar, but I was cast out. I walked through that place, feeling the heavy air and the smell of something rotting, as if holiness had been stripped away and sin. Had taken hold of it. I saw the room with the closed dusty Bible. I saw the sofa where the family used to hold their times of devotion. Now it served as an altar to TV series and addictions. I saw the living room where prayer once took place. now filled with cell phones, distractions, and open spiritual doorways. That devastated me because I realized these were not godless homes. They were Christian homes, families that once prayed, fasted, and cried out to God, yet now lived in spiritual ruins. And God spoke a word to me that pierced my very soul. The children who ought to be growing up in sanctuaries are growing up in spiritual graveyards. I trembled at those words, for that is exactly what I saw. The houses's windows were broken, representing a lack of spiritual vigilance. The doors stood wide open, symbolizing an acceptance of sin, and the altar was cold. There was no fire, no cry to God, no holiness. I looked around and could only repeat, "My God, how many homes are like this today?" How many families say they love you but no longer listen to you? And heaven's answer was more than you realize. At the back of the house, I found a room with children's drawings on the walls. It was a child's room. Yet, there was an inner darkness that made me feel spiritually sick. The Holy Spirit spoke. This is where the enemy has attacked. And I understood, "When parents lose the altar, their children lose their protection." I knelt in that room and began to weep. Every word I spoke echoed off the walls as if the very spiritual structure of the home were crying out for help. Restore, Lord, dwell here once more. Break the coldness. Pour out repentance. God answered me right then with a verse. Unless the Lord builds the house, the builders labor in vain. I knew this verse by heart, but in that moment it struck me with new weight. For what I saw were houses built upon careers, vanity, social media, and leisure, but without God, and everything collapsed before my spiritual eyes. The ground was cracking. The walls were crumbling, and the children were caught in the middle, alone, without intercessors, no father praying, no mother fasting, and the spirit of God wept within. I woke up from that vision weeping, feeling small and responsible because it was as if God were saying, "You have seen it. Now speak. I needed to say it. I needed to warn." For while many await great signs of the end, the greatest sign is already in our homes, the absence of God's presence. And if that does not drive you to despair, then something has already died within you in a life. My call in this chapter is simple. Rebuild your home in the Lord. Rebuild the altar, for children will only be safe if the home dwells under his glory. And today there is still time after seeing those abandoned homes. God led me to a place I will never forget. It was like a dark, damp, and cold corridor. At the far end stood a door, immense and ancient, yet still slightly a jar. In that moment, the Holy Spirit spoke to me. This is the door of grace, and it is closing. I was deeply shaken, Chapter 3: The closing door of grace for the very atmosphere signaled that time was running out. I felt in my spirit that the season of mercy was coming to an end. Most distressing of all. There were so many people outside, distracted, in no hurry at all. As I walked toward the door, I began to hear sounds, voices, screams, and weeping. It was as if thousands were rushing toward it, finally realizing the urgency. when it was already too late. Some cried out for mercy, while others vowed to change. Yet the door kept closing inch by inch, unhurried, but with no turning back. There, I witnessed a sight that made me weep like a child. Parents holding their children in their arms, desperately knocking on the door, and heaven's answer was singular. Time has run out. What struck me most was seeing familiar faces, people who had once prayed alongside me, fellow ministers, leaders, and praying mothers. Yet somewhere along the way, they had let their guard down. They had put things off, becoming lost in busyness, pride, and distractions. And now they found themselves on the wrong side. I saw parents weeping because their children had moved on while they themselves had stayed behind. I saw children being carried away by angels while the adults paid for more time. And in that moment, I understood the door of grace will wait for no one, not even those who think everything is fine. The Holy Spirit had been speaking to me all along. Cry out while there is still time. For when it closes, there will be no further appeal. No preaching will resolve it. No amount of worship will suffice. There will be only silence. And that is what I felt in that place. A silence that pierced the soul, a screaming void, a suffocating absence. It was like being outside Noah's ark, hearing the sound of the rain, and knowing you had lost your last chance. And worst of all, I saw children outside, confused, asking their parents, "Why didn't we go in?" But there was no answer left. I tried to run toward the door, tried to cross the threshold, tried to hold it back with my own hands to keep it from closing, but it was useless. It would not yield to human effort. It was governed by a divine order. And the spirit said to me, "This vision is meant to bring about repentance now because later not even tears will help. I saw parents crying out, but I knew you, Lord, and I heard the voice from heaven. Yet you left me outside your house. I saw leaders saying, "But I preached," and the answer was, "But you never let me transform the hearts of your children." When I woke from that vision, I was drenched in sweat and tears. I could not go back to sleep. I spent the rest of the morning on my knees, weeping and asking, "Lord, is there still time? Can I still warn someone? Can I still move my household?" And the Holy Spirit answered, "Yes, but hurry because the door is still open for a little while." And that is why I am here not to entertain, not to go viral, but to warn. The door is closing. And if you love your children, start preparing today because when it arrives, nothing else will help. After seeing the door close, I thought God had said it all. Chapter 4: The abyss of entertainment But then I was taken to an even darker place. It was like a huge, dark, damp, suffocating cave. In the center was something that looked like a lake, but it wasn't water. It was a thick boiling liquid mingled with screams, pain, and despair. But [clears throat] the most terrifying thing wasn't the lake itself, but what surrounded it. Entire families walked toward the edge as if heading to a party, laughing, talking, taking selfies, without understanding what awaited them. Eternal destruction. They walked along paths lit with vibrant colors. past signs bearing words like freedom, fun, influence, and conquer your life. Everything seemed modern, bright, and acceptable. But there, at the end of every walkway, was a diving board. From there, they plunged straight into the boiling lake, unrestrained, with no turning back. And what tore me apart inside was seeing how small children were pushed in. Some out of ignorance, others by their own parents' hands. Yes, parents who didn't watch. Parents who mocked holiness. Parents who handed their children over to the system without even realizing it. I saw children with tablets in their hands. Girls in clothing far too mature for their age. I saw teenagers who never prayed, never fasted, and knew the word of God only through social media memes. And when they reached the end of the diving board, it was as if they thought they were jumping into a pool of likes, fame, and acceptance. But what awaited them was pain, mockery, and pition. And at that moment, the Holy Spirit cried out within me, "Sin has turned into entertainment." The abyss now has Wi-Fi, and many jump with a smile, unaware that it will be their last leap. The crulest part was the indifference. I saw adults sitting on sofas, watching their children jump, as if they were watching just another TV series. I've seen parents say, "It's just a phase." I saw mothers making excuses. At least they aren't on drugs. But God opened my eyes. Every concession, every emission, every silence, it was a ramp pushing the child closer to hell. And all the while, hell applauded. I saw demons disguised as influencers. I saw platforms used as inverted pulpits, preaching rebellion, premature sexuality, and mockery of the faith. And all this was accepted as normal. It was in this setting that I heard the most powerful voice of the vision. Where are my watchmen? It was like thunder inside the cave. The question echoed and struck my chest like an accusation. I tried to answer, but I was overwhelmed, realizing that this question was for me, for us, for every Christian who knows the truth yet remains silent. For every leader who prefers human applause to the pain of confronting others in love. For every parent who has time for everything except teaching the word. Where are those who should be sounding the trumpet? Heaven asked as the abyss filled up when I returned from that vision. I could not move for hours. My heart was shattered because I knew this was no metaphor. It was real. It was spiritual. It was urgent. And Jesus was clear with me. say that the abyss may seem fun now, but its end is death. I Chapter 5: The church's hidden wounds write this still trembling, still weeping, because I know there are so many people jumping right now. Many are smiling online while dying inside. And my cry is this. If you love your children, get them off the diving board today. Save them before the jump becomes eternal. For tomorrow there may be no solid ground left. After that vision of the abyss disguised as joy, I thought nothing else could hurt so much. But God led me to one final scene that exposed the most hidden wound in the church today. Spiritual coldness disguised as religiosity. I found myself transported into the midst of a crowd. They were people holding Bibles, wearing religious attire with serious faces and reverent expressions. From a distance, they all appeared prepared. But when the spirit gave me spiritual eyes to see beyond appearances, I began to see what truly lay beneath. Many were covered in filthy rags. Some of these rags bore names, pride, vanity, arrogance, gossip, hypocrisy. I saw pastors, singers, and intercessors, all known for their positions of influence. Yet in God's eyes, they were naked. The Holy Spirit whispered to me, "Not everyone who says,"Lord, Lord," will enter. And those words pierced my heart like a sword. For these people were not unbelievers. They spoke of Jesus, preached, and posted scripture verses. But inside there was no repentance, no fire, only outward appearances, and saddest of all, many of them were losing their children right inside the church. I saw fathers who fasted but did not speak to their children. Mothers who led small groups but never prayed with the kids in the living room. People who knew everything about ministry but nothing about the heart of their own home. And there God spoke to me. They are too busy with the church altar and have forgotten the home altar. Those words destroyed me because I knew they were true. Many children grew up seeing their godly parents in the pulpit but absent at the dinner table. Many teenagers drifted away, not out of rebellion, but because of silent wounds. And now, who will gather them up? As I looked around, God showed me the few who were shining. They were ordinary people, some without a ministry, others without followers, but they all shared one thing in common, broken hearts. I saw men weeping in secret. I saw mothers placing Bibles under their children's pillows and praying silently. I saw intercessors unknown on earth but famous in heaven. The Holy Spirit spoke to me. These are mine, the ones I am coming for. They are not the ones who put on a show. They are the ones who obey. They are not the ones who merely speak. They are the ones who truly live. The difference lies in the secret place. What struck me most was seeing familiar faces beating their chests and declaring, "I belong to God." Yet their eyes were empty. There was no fire, only the memory of a blaze that had once existed. And in that moment, I heard Jesus say in a firm voice, "I stand at the door and knock, but few have the courage to open. It wasn't a gentle rhythm. It was an urgent pounding, a final heartbeat. And what broke my heart was knowing that so many still think they are fine. They think ministry equals salvation. They think a crowd signifies divine approval. They are cold yet they no longer even feel it. When I returned from that vision, I couldn't get up for a long time. I felt shame, fear, and a spiritual weight unlike anything I had ever known. Jesus made me understand that the greatest lie in hell is the one that makes you believe you are saved while you are walking toward petition. And many live that way today. So I cry out, kneel, repent, stop living for the eyes of others. Return to your first love. For the fire that restores is not found in liturgy. It is found in the inner room in repentance. And if you want to save your children, you will have to start by saving yourself. I thought the pain of spiritual coldness marked the end of the vision. But God still had something to say. I was carried once more in the spirit to an open place like a vast field. And there I heard a sound unlike anything I had ever experienced before. It was not a trumpet, nor was it thunder. It was a cry from heaven. A deep anguished cry, as if the very heart of God were weeping for his children. And that cry was not meant to accuse. It was meant to save. It was the final call. The Holy Spirit said to me, "It is the last trumpet. Yet many no longer hear it." While heaven cried out, I saw silence upon the earth. People were too busy. Cell phones, laughter, commitments, distractions. No one realized it was the voice of God echoing. It was the spirit calling out for repentance, for consecration, for a return to the altar. And while a few, Chapter 6: The final call to awaken some fell to their knees and wept, while the majority carried on as if nothing had happened, I saw the sorrowful faces of the angels. It was as if all of heaven were waiting for an answer that never came. And I trembled deep within because I understood. The time for answers is running out. I saw some beginning to awaken. I saw fathers bending the knee. I saw young people rising up out of sin. I saw families putting aside their cell phones to seek the presence of God. I saw mothers anointing the doorways of their children's bedrooms. I saw fathers deleting things that did not edify. I saw lukewarm believers being set ablaze once more. And the Holy Spirit said, "There is still time, but not much. For at the same time I saw others mocking, laughing at consecration, and ignoring the signs. And in this contrast, I understood heaven will separate those who listen from those who harden their hearts. And the separation has already begun. What broke me was seeing that those who listened were not the most influential, nor the most educated, nor the most followed. They were the brokenhearted, simple people, sincere people, people who wept while washing dishes, who prayed while waiting for the bus, who read the word even without understanding it all. People who said, "Lord, I am not perfect, but I want you." And the spirit made me understand. God is not looking for performance. He is looking for truth. And he responds to those who seek him with tears, not with outward appearances. In that final scene, I saw Jesus with open arms, not as a judge, but as a father. He called out, "Come while there is still light. Run while there is still a path. But in the distance, the darkness was already advancing. It was like watching the sun slowly set." Every second of delay felt like a grain of sand falling at the end of the divine hourglass, and the heavens cried out louder, "Wake up! Wake up! The door is open, but time is running out." It was the climax of mercy, the last breath of hope before grace gave way and justice took its place. I awoke from that vision, gasping, sweating, my knees burning as if resting on hot coals. I knew God had spoken. And that vision wasn't just for me. It was for everyone who can still hear. So I ask you, do you still hear the cry from the heavens? Or have you become too numb to the voices of the earth? That is the call. This is the moment. For after that cry comes silence. And for those who do not answer now, you will face something that no amount of late repentance can erase, Jesus is still calling. But for how long? After the heavenly cry ceased, I was left in silence, a heavy, dense, almost suffocating silence. It was then that the Holy Spirit spoke to me with a clarity that pierced my soul. Now you see, now you know, now you bear a responsibility. And he wasn't just speaking to me. He was speaking to all of us. For after everything God revealed. One truth remained deted in my heart. Saving children is not a favor. It is a mission. And this mission was entrusted by Jesus to those who can still hear and still to feel it. It was then that he showed me with spiritual Chapter 7: Restoring the family altar tears that children are the most overlooked battlefield in the church today. Everyone talks about salvation, revival, and ministry. Yet few intercede for the next generation. Few teach the word at home. Few fast for their children. And Jesus said, "You say you love me, but you forget my little ones. How can you expect the rapture if you do not prepare your own children for it?" That phrase burned within me. For the truth is that we are outsourcing spiritual care and the consequences are already upon us. God made me understand that physically protecting children is not enough. They must be protected spiritually. There is no point in limiting screen time if there is no time for prayer. There is no point in blocking certain content if the Bible is never opened in the living room. It does no good to take them to worship services if they do not experience God's presence at home. And the spirit cried out within me, teach, shape, intercede. He does not want perfect parents. He wants parents who are present. He does not want technical leaders. He wants leaders who weep in their prayer closets. For little ones do not need powerful examples. They need real ones. I saw the child from the first vision again. He was smiling now, but shadows lurked behind him trying to reach him. I saw that whenever someone prayed for him, an invisible wall formed. But when the cry of prayer ceased, gaps appeared. God told me, "The prayer of the righteous still guards the little ones. But when the altar is abandoned, the enemy enters. I saw children saved by prayers no one saw, by fasts no one celebrated, by tears that fell upon the pillow. I saw mothers on their knees holding on to their children by faith. And I saw heaven responding with power. It was then that Jesus said something that broke me inside, "Children are my inheritance. Yet many are giving that inheritance to the world." He did not speak with anger. He spoke with pain and I understood. Childhood is sacred. It is fertile ground, a battleground. And if we do not take a stand now, the enemy will plant whatever he pleases. It has already begun. Cartoons filled with ideology. Music steeped in sensuality. Social media rife with disguised perversion. Every father who remains silent. Every mother who is negligent is opening the door to a child's soul. and God will hold them accountable. This chapter is more than a warning. It is a call, a spiritual burden that can no longer be ignored. If you are a father, mother, uncle, aunt, grandparent, teacher, or leader, this word is for you. Do not wait for another movement. Do not wait any longer for a sign. Start today. Pray in the children's room. Anoint the doorways. Sing praises while they sleep. Read verses at breakfast. Show them what it looks like to live with Jesus. For on the day of the rapture, there will be no time to sew what has not already been sown. And the children you love could be the first to ascend or the first left behind, crying out from below. After Jesus spoke of their responsibility to save children, the Holy Spirit led me to reflect on something many overlook, the Chapter 8: Faithful living and legacy home altar. He showed me that protecting children requires more than just rebuking the enemy. We must rebuild what was abandoned in the spirit. I saw an image of thousands of homes with their spiritual altars torn down, covered in dust, without fire, without praise, without the word. And God said to me sadly, "The place where I lived became an ornament. The altar became a shelf. The flame became a memory. As I looked at this, I felt my heart burn with shame. Because as much as I prayed, as much as I loved God, I had also allowed the altar in my home to weaken, the Holy Spirit was direct with me. You've been praying in church, but what about at home? Do you pray online, but do you read the Bible with your children? These questions tore at me and their prostrate. I understood that a Christian's first ministry is their home. The first service has to be in the living room. The first intercession has to be in the children's room. The first anointing has to begin in the kitchen. God showed me that the home altar is built with simple but consistent actions. A family prayer before bed. A word of praise tied to breakfast. A verse read together. Time without cell phones to seek God's presence. And most importantly, when father and mother unite in prayer, heaven, it is installed in that place. It doesn't matter if the house is big or small, rented or owned. What matters is inviting God's presence. Because where there is an altar, there is shelter. Where there is prayer, there is deliverance. Where there is faith, there is protection from unseen attacks. I also saw that many didn't rebuild the altar out of shame. They feel they fail too much. That it drifted too far. That the children have grown up and now it's too late. But God told me it's never too late to start again. All it takes is a sincere prayer to rekindle the fire. I saw fathers stand up and ask their children for forgiveness. I saw mothers return to prayer with their Bibles open. I saw homes being washed with tears of repentance. And heaven celebrated each of these new beginnings like a feast. Because the altar doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to be real. The spirit revealed something to me that changed my perspective on routine. Every room becomes an altar when it is consecrated with faith. The dining room table can be a pullpit. The sofa can be a place of praise. The children's room can be the angel's first morning visit. It's not about formality. It's about presence. It's not about religiosity. It's about relationships. And while many want grand signs, the greatest one begins with a simple, "Lord, come live here again." And when it's said sincerely, heaven enters and fills it. It transforms everything. If you are hearing this right now, understand this. Rebuilding the altar is not a luxury. It is survival. You do not need a pastor to begin. You simply need to bend your knees, call your family together, and declare, "Here, Jesus will be the center. The presence of God is the most powerful inheritance you can leave behind. And children who grow up before this altar will possess an invisible shield against everything the world tries to throw at them. For where there is an altar, there is fire. And where there is fire, the enemy cannot remain. Today is the day to rebuild what was broken. While there is still time after everything God showed me, the abandonment of homes, the coldness of those who call themselves holy, the abyss disguised as joy. He allowed me to see the other side. I saw what happens when a family decides to be faithful. It was the most uplifting, powerful, and transformative vision of all. I saw a simple home with humble furnishings, yet it held something that shone brighter than gold. The presence of God. There was peace in that place. There was prayer and the word. And what moved me most, there were children being shaped before the altar. I saw a mother kneeling on the kitchen floor, tears on her face, praying as she stirred the pot. I saw a father calling his children to pray before school. I saw a young girl reading a psalm aloud while her brother drew a cross with colored pencils. It was heaven manifesting in the ordinary and the Holy Spirit said to me, "That is what I seek. Not perfection, but true surrender. That home was not free from struggles. Yet it was surrounded by angels. And I understood that when the altar is restored, all of heaven moves to protect what is holy." I saw the atmosphere in that house. Chang.

Vision of Children Under Spiritual Attack

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