A WOMAN IN NEED BREAKING FREE FROM GENERATIONAL CURSES AND WITCHCRAFT

By Debra D. Greer

Family curses are the result of sin or someone in the family rebelling against God's sanctions. Living a life under a heredity curse is a particular type of supernatural curse that is passed from the parent to offspring. Curses that are passed down from one generation to the next, either until the entire family lines die out or unless they find some way to break the curse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9781639859993

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A Woman in Need Breaking Free from Generational Curses and Witchcraft

DEBRA D. GREER

Copyright © 2022 Debra D. Greer

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2022

ISBN 978-1-63985-998-6 (paperback)

ISBN978-1-63985-999-3 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Without being aware, the world unknowingly and ignorant to the fact that families can be under generational curses. Many may not believe or understand generational curses, witchcraft, spell, hex, and jinx; these detestable dark energies. Demonic forces without body are all around us in the unseen spiritual world. If our eyes were open to these detestable forces, that can work against your life, people would live in total fear or skepticism. I’m a living proof that dark energy can enter your life by forces unknown to you. These dark forces are used to manipulate, intimidate, and dominate your life by the devil’s puppets, the name I’ve given to those who use black magic on any level.

Some take part in such practice—studying sorcery, incantations, and spells for many years, hoping to gain knowledge and power and to take control over the life of others. Witchcraft practice and belief can be pass down from generation to generation, either by culture means or blood ties. These wicked schemers are ruthless, showing no pity or compassion as long as the outcome is favorable for the evildoer. People who practice witchcraft, voodoo, sorcery, charismatic witchcraft, and black magic all derive from the same source of evil. The main purpose is to control you, harm you, or eventually kill you if necessary. These devil’s puppets have a dark-seeded core inside of them to be drawn into the devil’s playground.

Some devotee are born into blood ties, and the family have an obligation to fulfill before Satan, master of evil. Just having a fascination with the occult supernatural power and beliefs is a snare of the devil. Black magic. The devil’s playground is here to fool mankind. That Satan and his kingdom does not exist. That he is a fictional character we read about in books, folklore tales, or a ghastly sinister creature burning in hell. As human beings, we fail to recognize that Satan is a concealer of all truth; a master of deceit and lies…

A powerful verse from the Holy Bible that I come to live by…

Be sober, be vigilant, because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about seeking whom he may devour" that what black magic is all about, devourer of life. (1 Peter 5:8)

My journey began at the tender age of five. It was through the Holy Spirit that saved me from this ungodly world and the selfish despicable acts by those I love and trusted. God had his loving hands on my life. He also had to mature me with understanding of his gospel. Without the precious blood of Jesus Christ, the blood that can save, the blood that can protect, and the blood that can heal, I would have grown up to hate those who wanted to use me as a blood sacrifice.

The year was 1964. I could still see myself sitting at the kitchen table, coloring with my oldest brother, Michael, who is no longer with us, a beautiful life cut down at the age of forty. My mother, this day, was listening to gospel music. Mahalia Jackson’s soulful voice penetrated throughout the apartment. Her voice saturated my soul deep within. Something came over me; I started to cry and shake all over.

My brother called out to my mother. Mom, something’s wrong with Debbie. She doesn’t look right.

My mother walked over to the kitchen table, picked me up from the chair, and carried me off to my room. I screamed out loud as she headed toward my bedroom, with my head moving from side to side, kicking and shouting all the way. She placed me in my bed, tears and sweat collected around my neck and clothing. I could see the concern look on my brother’s face.

Mom, what’s wrong with her?

Nothing. My mother pushed my brother out the bedroom door and closed it. I laid in my bed, sobbing. I didn’t understand what was happening to me. I didn’t know then, but I know now. It was the Holy Spirit sent by God to protect me from the evil that was headed in my direction. Mahalia Jackson’s voice, orchestrated by God, released the Holy Spirit. God knew I would need the Holy Spirit as my protector. Living in Chicago, our dwelling place, at the time was the dangerous Robert Taylor Homes. As a child of the 1960s, growing up in a decade of strife, conflict between ethnic group, rebellion, and violence open the doors for Satan to establish his covenant in Chicago, Illinois.

Living in Public Housing (the project), my sibling and I faced molestation and physical abuse from babysitters and lewd remark from neighbors. Because my mother decided to have an alternative lifestyle after she divorced my father, she was now a lesbian, whose lover really didn’t like kids. Chris only tolerated the four of us. Her desire was for my mother only. She was cold and unkind, a high yellow black woman who had a mean streak. On many occasions, she was aggressive and physical with my mother and with us. I could always tell when there was some type of disagreement between them. Chris would volunteer her time to help me with my schoolwork. She would pace back and forth behind me like a caged animal. If I made a mistake and pronounce a word wrong while reading, she would slap me upside my head. It took me many years to get over this phobia of someone standing behind me while I’m sitting…

I can vaguely remember about our living arrangement before the Robert Taylor Homes… My mother would mention from time to time. It was some crummy basement apartment on the west side of Chicago with a community bathroom. She would also mention that she married beneath her class. I guess being