Posts Tagged ‘#FreedomInChrist’


When Holy Spirit Turns a Broken Life into a Testimony of Freedom

A couple of weeks ago, Holy Spirit took me back to a prophetic word that had been released over my life years ago by the late Bill Johnson of Christian International, Restoration Life, and Synergy Church in Tallahassee, Florida. In that word, he said the Lord had called me to be one of His watchmen seers, and that the way Holy Spirit had been speaking to me for several years would begin to make sense. Then his wife, Linda, prophesied over me that she saw God using me like a pen in His hand.

At the time, I received it by faith. But after close to ten years passing, as Holy Spirit brought those words back before me, I can look back and clearly to see how the hand of the Father has been woven through my life in ways I could not fully understand when the words were first spoken. Sometimes a prophetic word does not explain your life immediately. Sometimes it waits until obedience, suffering, warfare, repentance, and surrender have prepared your heart to understand what Heaven already knew.

Jeremiah heard the Lord say, “Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee” (Jeremiah 1:5). Paul said we are “His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them” (Ephesians 2:10). That means your life is not an accident. Your scars are not wasted. Your history is not stronger than His calling. The enemy may have tried to write chapters of addiction, shame, confusion, failure, and delay, but he never owned the pen.

The Father did.

Most of the time, Holy Spirit speaks to me through pictures. There have been seasons when I did not understand that. I would see things, feel things, perceive things, and wonder why my spirit was interpreting life through images, impressions, and scenes. Even when watching a movie, Holy Spirit would often unveil something deeper. I remember watching Tron as a teenager, and at the end of the movie I saw something that struck me deeply: the Creator entering into the world He made to redeem what had been lost, even at the cost of His own life. I did not have the language for it then, but I can see it clearly now. Holy Spirit was training my eyes to see Christ in pictures before I ever knew how to preach it, teach it, or write it.

Jesus often taught in pictures. He spoke of seed and soil, sheep and shepherds, lamps and oil, bread and wine, rivers and vineyards, houses built on rock, and treasure hidden in a field. The prophets saw visions. Ezekiel saw wheels within wheels. Zechariah saw lampstands and olive trees. Daniel saw kingdoms rising and falling. John was caught up in the Spirit and saw a throne set in Heaven. The Bible is filled with men who did not merely hear words; they saw by the Spirit.

Heaven Is Restoring the Sight Religion Tried to Hide

And I believe this is one of the things the Lord is restoring to His people in this hour. Not imagination untethered from Scripture. Not fantasy. Not soulish dreams dressed up in prophetic language. But sanctified sight. Spirit-governed vision. The eyes of the heart enlightened, as Paul prayed in Ephesians 1:18, so that the people of God may know the hope of His calling, the riches of His inheritance, and the exceeding greatness of His power toward those who believe.

In this season, those visions have been coming more often. And there are moments when I sit down to write and understand, in my own measure, what many Spirit-filled writers and servants of God have described throughout history: the mystery of becoming a yielded vessel. Richard Baxter once prayed that he had nothing to do with his “Tongue and Pen” but to speak to God, speak for God, and publish His glory and will. That is the cry of every surrendered messenger. Not “look what I can write,” but “Father, take the pen.” Not “look what I have built,” but “Lord, let this life publish Your glory.”

That is exactly what happened when I sat down to write my testimony of freedom from addiction in my book, Beyond the Shadows: A Journey from the Life of Addiction to Absolute Freedom in Christ. It was my testimony, but it felt as though Heaven was helping me see my story from the Father’s perspective. I was not just remembering pain. I was watching redemption interpret pain. I was not merely recounting bondage. I was watching the Cross answer bondage. I was not writing as a victim trying to survive his past. I was writing as a son learning that the Father had been present even in the places where I once thought I was abandoned.

That is the grace of God.

Grace does not simply cover the past; grace confronts it, redeems it, heals it, and turns it into a weapon of testimony. Revelation 12:11 says, “And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of their testimony.” The blood of Jesus destroys the legal claim of the accuser, and the testimony of the redeemed silences the narrative of hell. The enemy wants your story buried in shame. The Father wants it raised in glory.

David understood something of this mystery. When the Spirit of the Lord came upon him, he could take a harp in his hand and release a sound that drove torment from Saul. He could look at a giant and see not an impossible enemy, but an uncircumcised Philistine standing illegally before the armies of the living God. He could fall, repent, weep, worship, write, and rise again. David’s life was not perfect, but his heart belonged to God. And from that surrendered place came psalms that still carry fire thousands of years later.

There are times I feel that same holy assistance when I write books, blogs, teachings, and prophetic content. It is not that I am great. It is not that I am impressive. It is not that I possess some natural brilliance. The truth is, I know where I came from. I know what I was rescued from. I know what addiction did. I know what shame tried to do. I know what failure sounded like. I know what it feels like to look at your own life and wonder whether anything good could ever come out of it.

But I also know the Cross.

I know repentance.

I know mercy.

I know deliverance.

I know the Father who runs toward prodigals.

I know the Christ who breaks chains.

I know the Holy Spirit who teaches men what no classroom could ever give them.

I was not naturally educated in the way some people might expect. I struggled in school. I failed tests. I battled through things that made me feel unqualified. But somewhere along the way, I learned how to pray, “Lord, help me.” And He did. My GED, my pest control licensing, my doctorate in theology, my books, my preaching, my teaching, my ministry assignment, and my writing all stand as memorial stones of grace. They are not monuments to my ability. They are altars to His faithfulness.

James 1:5 says, “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally.” I lacked wisdom, and He gave it. I lacked discipline, and He formed it. I lacked understanding, and He taught me. I lacked purity, and He cleansed me. I lacked identity, and He called me son. I lacked freedom, and He brought me out.

This is why no man can take the glory.

Not even me.

Paul said, “By the grace of God I am what I am” (1 Corinthians 15:10). That is my testimony. That is my confession. That is the altar where every book, every message, every blog, every sermon, every podcast, and every prophetic word must bow. By the grace of God, I am what I am.

And this is the word I want to release to every captive, every recovering prodigal, every wounded vessel, every hidden writer, every rejected watchman, every misunderstood seer, every person who feels disqualified because of their past: the Father is not finished writing.

You may have been in addiction, but addiction is not the author.

You may have walked through shame, but shame is not the author.

You may have failed, fallen, wandered, rebelled, or wasted years, but failure is not the author.

Jesus is “the author and finisher of our faith” (Hebrews 12:2).

The enemy may have tried to stain the pages, but the blood of Jesus speaks a better word. The world may have labeled you. Religion may have dismissed you. People may have remembered only who you were before grace interrupted the story. But Heaven does not define a redeemed life by the chapter where the man was bound. Heaven defines it by the Lamb who broke the chains.

So hand Him the pen.

Hand Him the pain.

Hand Him the memory.

Hand Him the shame.

Hand Him the testimony.

Hand Him the gift.

Hand Him the unfinished pages.

Because when the Father takes the pen, He does not merely write information. He writes resurrection. He writes freedom. He writes sonship. He writes deliverance. He writes purpose. He writes fire.

And when Holy Spirit breathes upon a surrendered life, even the chapters hell tried to destroy become weapons in the hand of God.

— Dr. Russell Welch
A voice of fire to the Remnant, awakening warriors, restoring Kingdom identity, and calling the Ecclesia back under the government of Holy Spirit.


The Radical Road to Spiritual Freedom

When I entered into my doctoral studies through Trinity Seminary, I did so with hesitation, knowing full well that it was an ultra-Calvinist institution and sensing from the start that I would be stepping into a place where sharp doctrinal tensions would challenge me deeply. Yet looking back now, I can see that the hand of God was all over that season, because it drove me into the Scriptures with a depth, intensity, and desperation I had never known before.

What the enemy may have hoped to use for confusion, the Lord used to press me deeper into His Word, for “the entrance of thy words giveth light” and “giveth understanding unto the simple” (Psalm 119:130). I was reading, praying, studying, writing, wrestling, and pressing, and in many ways I truly believed I was pursuing truth with all my heart. But somewhere in that journey, something dark fastened itself to me like a hidden hitchhiker, cloaked in the language of zeal and conviction, yet breathing with the venom of bondage. Holy Spirit later showed me that what had attached itself was not merely theological rigidity, but the spirit of religion, subtle, cruel, and deeply parasitic.

Holy Spirit showed me years ago that this invasion did not begin in seminary, nor did it come because of the doctrines of the school itself. The real doorway had opened much earlier, when I was only around three years old, at a time when innocence should have been protected but instead was pierced by fracture and loss. My mother divorced my father, a violent alcoholic, and in the aftermath my grandmother determined that if her son could not have his children, neither would his wife.

In that storm, the enemy planted something sinister in the soil of a little boy’s heart, and through that wound there entered the spirit of rejection and the orphan spirit. It is just like hell to place doorjams in the soul of a child, preparing access points for later invasions while the heart is too tender and too young to understand what has been done. Scripture says, “Neither give place to the devil” (Ephesians 4:27), yet many wounds are suffered before a child even knows what a door is. That early pain became more than memory; it became an unhealed breach through which lying spirits would later try to define my worth, my identity, and even my picture of God.

As I grew older, Holy Spirit revealed how that rejection did not remain alone, because rejection rarely travels by itself. It opened the door to pride, and when pride joins itself to rejection and the orphan spirit, it begins to forge one of the most devastating character assassins a person can battle. It whispers that you must prove your worth, earn your acceptance, defend your value, and establish your place through performance, intellect, striving, and visible success.

Worse still, it projects that distortion onto God Himself, making you believe that when you fail, His walls of rejection only rise higher and higher against you. Of course, this is a lie from the pit, because Scripture declares that we are “accepted in the beloved” (Ephesians 1:6), not tolerated through performance and not loved in proportion to our success. But territorial lies do not feel weak when they are entrenched in the soul; they feel like truth because they have been living there so long. That is why strongholds can operate in stealth mode, hiding behind intellect, discipline, achievement, and even ministry while the heart remains shackled to a false identity.

I had powerful men in my life, men who knew warfare, men who loved God, men who carried authority in many areas. Yet because some of them themselves were bound by the same spirit in subtler ways, they could not discern it working in me. Such is the cruelty of hidden bondage: what is tolerated in one vessel is rarely confronted in another. Spiritual captivity often survives not because no one around us loves God, but because the enemy has cloaked the chain with language that sounds holy.

Religion is especially vile in this way, because it can make bondage appear like maturity, harshness look like conviction, and self-defense feel like righteousness. Jesus rebuked the religious spirit more fiercely than any other because it honored God with the lips while the heart remained far from Him (Matthew 15:8). It was that same spirit that began to ride the wounds of rejection in me, seeking to transform pain into a false righteousness and insecurity into spiritual combativeness.

So what did that look like in practice while I was spirit-filled and sitting in a Baptist setting that denied much of what I knew the Word revealed? Instead of allowing the love and meekness of Christ to anchor me, I developed a prideful warrior mentality. I was determined to prove they were wrong and I was right, not merely because I loved truth, but because somewhere deep inside I needed victory in the argument to validate my worth. Rather than laying down a foundation of truth with patience, humility, and the hope that blinded eyes might be opened, I built a defensive wall designed to protect my wounded soul.

My academic strength became a weapon, not merely a tool, and I was fighting not only for doctrine, but for self-justification. What I called zeal was in part a cry of an orphaned heart still trying to earn what can only be received. “Knowledge puffeth up, but charity edifieth” (1 Corinthians 8:1), and though I possessed truth in many areas, I was still learning how deeply truth must be married to love if it is to look like Christ.

Yet this is where I can now see the hand of God with even greater clarity, because even in the middle of my mixture, He was building something in me that would remain long after the bondage was broken. Though pride had found a place to operate, my obedience in the study of His Word was real. The long hours of reading, praying, reading again, writing, and then returning once more to prayer became the very foundation upon which I still live daily.

God, in His mercy, was using even that troubled season to anchor me in Scripture, to train my mind to search deeply, and to teach me how to tarry before Him until truth opened. The enemy rode in through a wound, but he could not stop the Lord from laying a foundation beneath my feet. What hell meant to twist into religion, God still worked into hunger for His voice, reverence for His Word, and a life formed around seeking Him. That foundation remains one of the great mercies of God in my story.

The spirit of religion is the nastiest of them all because it does not merely torment the mind or oppress the emotions; it seeks to reshape the believer’s image of the Father. It tells you that God is perpetually disappointed, reluctantly tolerant, and forever measuring your spiritual value by your latest success or failure. It teaches you to labor like a servant in the house while never resting as a son in the Father’s embrace. It will let you preach, study, argue, labor, and even suffer, so long as you never come into the freedom of beloved identity. But Scripture does not say we have received the spirit of bondage again to fear; it says we have received “the Spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father” (Romans 8:15).

Beloved identity is terrifying to the spirit of religion because once a son knows he is loved, he no longer needs to perform for affection or strive for approval. The orphan heart says, “I must become enough,” but the beloved heart says, “In Christ, I am received, and from that place I now obey.”

The freedom itself came instantly in 2016 through a face-to-face encounter with the Lord. In that holy moment, the chains were broken, the lie was exposed, and the power of those spirits lost their grip under the weight of His presence. What years of hidden bondage had built, one encounter with the living Christ shattered in a moment, because whom the Son sets free is free indeed (John 8:36). There are deliverances that unfold slowly, but this freedom came as a decisive act of the Lord, sudden, undeniable, and deeply personal. He did not merely inform me that I was bound; He met me and broke what had held me. It was not theory, and it was not emotionalism, but a real invasion of divine mercy into the history of my soul. In that encounter, the prisoner in me met the Deliverer face to face.

Yet while the freedom was instant, the revelation of that freedom, especially the revelation of beloved identity, has been a nine-year unfolding that is still continuing even now. The chains broke in a moment, but the renewing of the mind, the healing of perception, and the deeper understanding of what it means to live as one accepted in the Beloved has been a sacred process. “Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God” (1 John 3:1), and I am still learning the depths of that love.

The Cross did not merely forgive my sin; it shattered the lie that I had to spend my life proving my worth, and ever since then Holy Spirit has been teaching me how to live from sonship rather than striving. So this testimony is not merely about being delivered from the spirit of religion, rejection, pride, and the orphan spirit. It is about being brought into the lifelong unfolding revelation that the Father is not holding me at a distance behind walls of rejection, but has drawn me near in Christ, called me beloved, and is still teaching my heart how to live free.

I wish that school were still in operation, though it closed down during the Covid season, because there is now a part of me that would gladly return, not to win an argument, but to reveal the love I wish I had carried back then. I would not go back to prove them wrong, nor to display what I believed I knew, but to lay before them the same mercy that Christ has so patiently laid before me.

Where I once came armed with a wall of defense, I would now desire to come clothed in humility, tenderness, and truth wrapped in love. The heart of Christ is not driven by the need to conquer men, but by the desire to open blind eyes and call hearts into freedom. I look back now and realize that while I may have had truth in certain areas, I did not yet carry it with the fragrance of the Father’s heart. And if given that opportunity today, I would count it an honor to return and share not only truth more clearly, but love more deeply.

Stay tuned, the journey continues…..

— Dr. Russell Welch

Dr. Russell Welch is a published author, prophetic teacher, apostolic builder, author, and founder of faith-driven publishing and media initiatives. He is known for crafting bold, Kingdom-centered messages that call the Ecclesia into maturity, doctrinal clarity, and governmental authority. With a passion for equipping the Remnant and honoring generational legacy, Dr. Welch writes and teaches at the intersection of Scripture, history, and spiritual governance, challenging believers to live as sons and daughters who legislate Heaven on earth through truth, holiness, and unwavering fidelity to Christ.

Be sure to check out his book: The Consecrated Firebrand: A Warrior’s Guide to Holy Living, available exclusively on Amazon … here

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