Shadows Over the Bed: A Mother’s Warning from Hell

Jana Lorraine Mitchell was 29, a fierce single mom in Christ Church, New Zealand, who had built her life on one unyielding vow: she would never be like her mother. Growing up, Jana watched her mom beg and cry, shrinking under her father’s abandonment. “I’ll never need anyone,” Jana swore. She graduated with honors, landed a marketing job, and raised her son Elijah alone after his father walked away. She attended church Sundays, sang hymns, and smiled through services, but her heart was walled off—high, thick, impenetrable. She called it strength; God called it rebellion.

Pastor Marcus offered to pray over her home and anoint the doors for protection. Jana brushed him off politely. “We’re fine,” she said, her voice controlled. Brother Thompson tried to mentor Elijah, suggesting father-son time. Jana cut him short, arms crossed. “I know my son.” Her mother called, pleading for her to let someone in. Jana snapped, “No thanks, Mama. I won’t end up like you.” She hung up, stirring dinner with shaking hands, convincing herself she was protecting Elijah from disappointment.

Elijah’s nightmares began—first weekly, then nightly. He’d wake screaming about shadows in the corner. Jana checked closets, bought nightlights, played soothing music, but dismissed it as imagination. She handled it alone, with logic, never praying with authority or seeking help. “We’re strong on our own,” she’d tell him.

March 22, 2024, was a Thursday. Jana had a late meeting. She kissed Elijah goodnight and drove into the rain-slicked motorway. Her phone buzzed—a text. Glancing down, she overcorrected, tires skidding. The car spun, crashed into the barrier. Metal crunched, airbags deployed, and darkness swallowed her.

Jana floated above her wrecked car, watching paramedics work on her lifeless body. Panic surged—she was dead. Then the pull began, downward into suffocating heat. She landed on cracked, glowing stone, air thick with smoke and weeping. Shadows stood motionless, isolated in regret. “This is hell,” she realized.

A presence spoke into her soul: “You called it strength, but I called it rebellion.” Visions unfolded: her rejecting Pastor Marcus, snapping at Brother Thompson, hanging up on her mother. “You built walls to protect yourself, but you locked out my covering.” Jana saw her home spiritually exposed, shadows hovering over Elijah’s bed as he trembled. “You removed the covering, and your home became vulnerable.”

The voice revealed her rebellion’s cost. She thought independence empowered her, but it isolated her, teaching Elijah he wasn’t needed. Visions showed women she mentored, now struggling, repeating her mistakes. “You led them astray, wrapping rebellion in scripture.” Jana saw her future: bitter, alone, her son confused. “This is where rejection of my order leads.”

She collapsed, sobbing. “I was wrong. I see it now.” The presence showed thousands of women in hell, trapped by the same pride. “Submission isn’t weakness—it’s protection.” Jana begged, “If I return, I’ll submit, seek covering, protect my son.”

Light shattered the darkness. A hand pulled her upward. Pain exploded as she gasped in the hospital. “She’s back!” Nurses shouted. Jana wept, alive but changed.

Two months later, Jana anointed Elijah’s room, praying for God’s covering. Nightmares vanished. She called Pastor Marcus, confessing everything. He agreed to cover her spiritually. Brother Thompson mentored Elijah, teaching godly manhood. Jana stepped down from leading Bible studies, apologizing to women she’d misled. She rebuilt with her mother, attended new studies, and shared her testimony.

Now, Jana warns: “Hell doesn’t care about your pain. If you’re rejecting covering, fearing submission means weakness, reconsider. Protect your children. Choose God’s order today.”