They Shall Not Hurt You

I remember it as clearly as if it happened yesterday.

I was about sixteen years old—young in age, but deeply hungry for God. I was the kind of believer who took the Scriptures seriously, almost dangerously so. When I read the words of Jesus, I wanted to believe them exactly as they were written, without dilution, without explanation, without excuses.

I had just read where Jesus said:

“Behold, I give unto you power to tread upon serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy, and nothing shall by any means hurt you.”

Those words settled in my spirit like fire.

I remember discussing that Scripture with other young believers. We asked ourselves what we would do if we were actually confronted by serpents or scorpions. In my youthful zeal, I was absolutely convinced that I would not be harmed. Another believer, Peter, agreed with the promise but added quickly and wisely, “You shall not tempt the Lord your God by deliberately stepping on a snake or a scorpion.”

That answer didn’t sit well with me at the time.

In my mind, the Scripture said tread upon them.

I did not know then that faith is not proven by seeking danger, but by trusting God when danger finds you.

Etsako, where we lived, was known for scorpions—especially the dreaded brown ones. They hid under logs, stones, and tree trunks, waiting silently.

Some time later, I went to the farm with my mother to help with cultivation. I left home very early, as usual, to work while the morning air was still cool and the sun had not yet turned fierce.

I was digging ridges, focused and steady.

Then I stepped under a burnt tree trunk and lifted my hoe to turn the sand.

Suddenly—

A sharp, burning pain shot through my leg.

I looked down.

It was a large brown scorpion—the most feared kind—firmly fastened to my left leg. Its sting had already gone in.

For a moment, I felt the pain. I could feel the venom trying to rise.

But fear never came.

Instead, I quietly laid my hand on my leg and prayed.

I killed the scorpion, placed it on the large stone my mother used for cooking when she was in the farm, and tied a piece of cloth around my leg while praying—simply to slow anything that tried to move upward.

Then I went back to work.

The pain lingered for a while, but in my heart I was convinced that God had heard me. I chose to act in faith—not by denying the pain, but by refusing to let it define the outcome.

As I continued working, I forgot completely that I had been stung.

It was my mother who noticed.

She saw the scorpion on the stone and screamed, rushing toward me in panic. Her eyes caught the cloth tied around my leg.

“What happened to you?” she cried.

I calmly told her I had been stung by a scorpion but that I was fine.

She looked at me in disbelief—Are you sure? This venomous brown scorpion?

It took time to calm her down. I kept assuring her that God had healed me.

I finished my work in the farm.

I ate.

And I began the journey home—as though nothing had happened.

It was when I got to the river to bathe that the enemy tried one last time.

A whisper came:

“Put your leg in the water and you will know what real pain is.”

For a brief moment, fear tried to rise.

But I responded the only way I knew how.

I began to speak in tongues, strengthening my faith, steadying my heart. Then I spoke out loud:

“Jesus said I will tread upon serpents and scorpions, and they shall not hurt me.”

I stepped into the water.

Nothing happened.

I bathed peacefully and went home, full of gratitude.

Not because I was strong—but because God was faithful.

Not because of boldness—but because of mercy.

Not because of knowledge—but because His Word is true.

That day, I learned that God honors simple faith—not reckless faith, but trusting faith.

And I learned something even more important:

When God keeps you, the testimony belongs to Him alone.