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My father used to get drunk and abuse us constantly. My mother decided to flee to the city, with only the clothes she stood up in, taking her children with her. With no money, no relations or friends, she arranged for a cellar for us to live in and her work as a domestic servant sustained us.
Yet, one day, mother fell sick and doctors could not diagnose what was wrong with her. She stayed in bed, with her body paralysed, and in great pain. My elder sister was seven at the time, and she cooked for us until the food ran out. She went out with my brother to gather the remains of food in garbage bins. Together with the bones that she got from the butcher's she made them into a soup, which did for all our meals. Every day it was the same story.
One day my sister gave my mother a little book and said, "Look what I found in the garbage bin." She wasn't to know that that book would change our lives forever.
On the deathbed, when our mother read the New Testament, Christ touched her life. Suddenly, she got up, moved her legs, and, weeping, said, "Jesus has cured me..." Nobody had ever knocked on our door to speak of Jesus. And, with no one teaching her, she knelt and offered a prayer of thanks to God, asking forgiveness for her sins. With her face bathed in tears, she put her hand against my head and prophesied, "This son of mine will live to speak of this Book".
God confirmed my mothers wish and, at 25 years of age, I took on the role of being called to preach the gospel.
My son, be attentive to My words; incline your ear to My sayings. Let them not escape from your sight; keep them within your heart for they are life to him who finds them and healing to all his flesh. (Proverbs 4 v 20 - 23)
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