A story from Joshua and Meagan Phiri’s ministry in Zambia

They used to come to me with fear in their eyes.

They called me N’kayi—the one who speaks with spirits. I held the charms, the chants, the power. Or so it seemed. Mothers brought sick children to my doorstep. Men asked me to curse their enemies. I wore fear like a crown. But no one ever asked how I slept at night.

They didn’t see the shadows that crept in when the fire died out. They didn’t hear the whispers that tormented me when I was alone. They didn’t feel the weight—the constant burden of pleasing spirits who were never truly satisfied.

Then one day, they came. Not with offerings. Not with fear. But with something I had forgotten: kindness.

They asked to hold a meeting in my home. They called it “Bible study.” I should have said no. But something in their eyes… something different. So I let them in.

The words they read sounded strange. Like wind rustling leaves I’d never noticed before. They spoke of a God who knew my name. A Son who carried my shame. A Spirit who brought peace, not terror.

At first, I watched in silence. I clutched my charms under my robe.

But week after week, their words cut deep.

I cried one night after they left. Not because I was afraid—but because, for the first time in my life, I hoped.

One morning, the words slipped from my lips before I could stop them: “I want to follow Jesus.”

I felt something shift inside. Something uncoiled. But not everything broke.

Because the charms are still hidden. The bones. The oils. The carved stones.

They’re not gone. Just out of sight. I can’t seem to destroy them. I’m terrified of what will happen if I do.

I told them, “The spirits will kill me.” And I believe it. That fear is real. It is the prison I’ve lived in for years. Not stone or iron—but terror disguised as tradition.

And yet… there’s a new voice now. Quieter, gentler, but strong.

It says, “You are mine. Do not be afraid.”

I want to believe it.

I want to be free.

If you read this, will you pray for me? Not just for courage, but for deliverance? That the lie of fear would crumble, and the village that once feared my name would one day hear His through me?

Jesus has entered my house.

Now the battle begins.