Tag: personal encounters

Jesus Heals And Saves Afghan Girl Brought Up By Taliban 

Jesus Heals And Saves Afghan Girl Brought Up By Taliban 

Sameera* grew up in a fanatically fundamentalist Muslim family who had actually been leaders in helping establish the Taliban in their native Afghanistan. They strongly believed the whole world should be ruled according to Islamic Sharia law, and anyone not following Sharia must die.

During their official reign of terror in Afghanistan (1996-2001), the Taliban murdered thousands of people and destroyed countless churches and temples. When the US-led forces attacked Afghanistan in 2001, Sameera was seven. Three of her brothers died in the assault, and her older sister went missing.**

 Taliban fighters in afghanistan (EPA)


Their mother, completely undone by the tragedies, soon developed heart problems. As her heart began to fail and knowing she faced imminent death, she begged her husband to take their remaining children—Sameera and her four-year-old brother—and flee Afghanistan at any cost and in any way. Like many in their country, they believed Christians were behind the invasion, aiming to destroy both their nation and their religion.

So right after the mother died and without even taking time for a proper burial, Sameera’s father fled the home with nothing but his young children. He knew it was practically impossible to escape without being seen by the invading army, but also knew he had to try.  

The young family hadn’t gotten far before being captured by armed forces in a military truck patrolling the streets. Sameera’s father felt certain they would be killed.  But when the soldiers saw the innocent little ones with him, their hearts melted. Sameera has a clear memory of the men then joining hands and actually praying in the truck, eyes brimming with tears. She heard the words ‘Lord Jesus’ over and over. While she had no idea what they were saying, she memorized the name ‘Jesus’, somehow keeping it lodged in her heart.

When the truck reached a deserted area, the soldiers touched each of them kindly on the shoulders and told them to get out and flee. Knowing the family couldn’t understand English, they did their best to make themselves understood by gesturing and pointing to the children. One of the men tearfully tried to explain how they all had small children like Sameera and her brother at their homes in America. The family did finally grasp the men were urging them to escape, and as they clambered from the truck the soldiers again spoke using the name Jesus—likely, we think now, praying their Lord Jesus would bless and protect the family.

After a gruelling journey lasting many days, the family somehow ended up in a Middle Eastern kingdom. Sameera’s father found work and labored hard to support his growing youngsters.

Whenever they thought about their brothers, sister, mother and other dead and missing relatives, their rage towards Christians, the supposed invaders, grew. So they pledged to fight them to the death. Every day they prayed to Allah for strength and courage for the battle. Sameera’s brother figured his best option was to leave home and join forces with ISIS, which he did four years ago.

Eight months ago, Sameera’s father died in a tragic accident. Being so close to him, the shock of the loss proved near unbearable. Her emotional and mental anguish further increased when her brother didn’t show up for their father’s funeral. No one knew where he might be, or even if he was still alive.

Sameera grew increasingly disturbed and even violent, to the point she had to be admitted to a psychiatric hospital and confined to a separate room.

As divine Providence would have it, one of the hospital staff ‘happens’ to be a member of the Assembly of Loving God (ALG) Church and a voluntary evangelist with Bibles for Mideast. She loved and cared for Sameera like a sister, praying for her and spending time with her in her isolation. She often shared her testimony of having once been a Muslim, her decision to leave Islam, and the message of the gospel.

As their friendship grew, one day she prayed over Sameera in Jesus’ name. Sameera flashed back and remembered the soldiers in Afghanistan who prayed over her as a little girl, using the same name. The very men who had showed her family such unexpected loving kindness and had helped them escape the battle zone.

As she slept that night, the Lord Jesus Christ appeared before her in a dream.

“Daughter, you are not alone,” she heard him say. “I am always with you as your eternal Father and Comforter.” He showed her his nail-scarred hands and the wounds in his side. “I have suffered all of these—have been crucified on the cross of Calvary, died and rose from the dead—for YOU and your salvation. By my blood you are washed and by my stripes you are healed. You are no longer a patient. Believe in me and follow me.”

She awoke immediately, jumped from her bed praising the Lord, and tried to pray by herself in Jesus’ name.

Early the next morning she asked to see her beloved friend. When the Christian staff member arrived, Sameera joyfully shared what had happened. The friend praised and thanked the Lord and then, as they held hands, led Sameera in a prayer to accept Jesus Christ as her own personal Saviour and Lord.

The staff member later introduced Sameera to her pastor, who began visiting and praying for her as well.

When discharged soon afterwards from the hospital, Sameera had nowhere to go. The owner of her family’s house had repossessed it when she entered hospital and been unable to pay the rent. So the pastor arranged for her to stay with some Bibles for Mideast women, where she remains, studying the word of God and ministering alongside them.

She shared her testimony with her new church and has committed the rest of her life to the Lord’s ministry. At her request, the pastor baptized her. 

We of course don’t know whether her brother will return. If he does, we cannot guess how he will react to his sister becoming a Christian. So please pray for Sameera and also for her brother’s salvation, if he is still alive. Pray also for the safety of the women she lives with and other workers and believers with Bibles for Mideast and the ALG Church in that region.

Please keep all the missionaries and ministries of Bibles for Mideast and the many ALG churches in Asia, Africa and Middle East in your prayers. We could not do any of this without your help.

Name changed for security reasons
** Even after being ousting from official power in the U.S-led invasion of 2001, the Taliban—with ISIS and others—continue to terrorize, murder and destroy in Afghanistan and beyond. 

Source Report: 

Bibles for Mideast and an Assembly of Loving God (ALG) church in the Middle East

Evil Encounters: A True Tell Of Demonic Possession 

Evil Encounters: A True Tell Of Demonic Possession 

The unwanted guest: A true tale of demonic possession.

After a career managing hotels and resorts across southeast Asia, Howard Stanton says that nothing has ever matched the strange and terrifying events that unfolded when he took on his first job. Many expats tend to dismiss or even mock local beliefs, but Mr Stanton says he will never again be one of them after what he experienced…

Although I’ve told this story many times, it has never lost its power to set my skin crawling as I remember the most terrifying experience of my life.

Before I go on, I should mention that I’m legally limited to what I can say after signing a strict undertaking never to reveal the name of the hotel at the centre of this story.

I had been working in Malaysia for about 10 months setting up the recreation facilities of a new five-star beach resort. This included building a golf course, developing a jungle reserve and attending to the 1,001 other things necessary to create a world-class holiday destination.

There were just six weeks until the opening of the resort. I had employed 32 full-time staff, three assistant managers and a whole army of workers – Malay, Indian and Chinese – from the local area. Of the 457 staff at the resort, I was the only ‘orang puteh’, or white fella.

Things were coming along nicely, with riding stables, water sports centre, gym, massage rooms, swimming pool, kid’s club, obstacle course, nature centre, tennis courts and much more taking shape. I was loving the job, but it was hard work, and a lot of responsibility to heap on my 22-year-old shoulders — it was actually my first proper job.

One day I was teaching some staff about the complexities of Japanese etiquette. For my team, the intricacies of bowing, business card presentation and noodle slurping were all new, and there was a lot of fun and laughter.

I was just hitting my stride when – oomph! – something hit me like a sledgehammer. It felt as though some force had ripped out my insides and left me a hollow shell. I leaned heavily on the table, determined not to collapse. I couldn’t speak, and stood, struck dumb, in front of the confused faces of my staff. I seemed to lose all sense of time. Had I been standing there an hour, or just for a second? When I managed to find my voice, I asked my assistant to take over while I went to my office to recover.

I soon felt better, but had no idea what had just happened. I was about to return to the training when my walkie-talkie burst into life. It was my immediate boss, Mr Lee. “Where’s Tommy? Where’s Tommy?” he demanded. “I need him over here. Now!”

Something major was going on. As I approached Tommy’s team, he immediately ran towards me with a look of concern, as though he knew exactly what was happening. I thought the worst – what had he done? He was normally such a cheerful chap, but he fell into step beside me with hang-dog look.

As we walked I asked him what was going on. “Tommy, unless you tell me, I can’t help,” I said. “What’s happened?”

He stopped, and gave me a sidelong look. I could see he was struggling to find the words. “You know when you felt strange just now, well it was…”

Before I could ask him how he knew that, it was Mr Lee again: “Where’s Tommy! Come on, make him run! Get here now!”

The horror begins to unfold…

We were both out of breath when we rounded the corner and saw Mr Lee straining for the sight of us. Without a word, he gestured for us to follow him into the hotel’s housekeeping department.

As we approached another ear-splitting scream erupted from beyond the door.

By now I was sure that Tommy – always so kind and gentle – had done something terribly, terribly wrong.

When we entered the room I saw several senior members of staff standing in silence and staring down at the floor. I followed their gaze, and saw a young girl from the housekeeping staff lying on a duvet. Her eyes were drawn up backwards into her head and she was writhing around as though in great pain. Now and then she would arch her back and throw her head from side to side, gurgling some incoherent phrase again and again. 

As I was taking in the scene, Tommy rushed forward and made the sign of the cross over the girl and began to mutter in a gentle but insistent tone. Then he moved to a corner of the room where three other staff members were waiting. The four joined hands and began to chant, moving in a clockwise circle.

With a jolt of recognition, I realised from my few years of learning the language at school that they were speaking Latin. I watched, bewildered, as their chanting grew louder and more intense, and their strange circular dance increased in speed. All the while the girl was thrashing around on the floor.

My mind was racing at 100 miles-a-hour as I finally worked out the words the girl was growling out again and again: “Give me blood! Give me blood! Give me blood!”

The situation was critical…

With only weeks until our official opening, it was the first major crisis to be faced by the hotel team. We’d all watched the girl writhing on the floor, seen her eyes rolling into her head, heard her growling demands for blood, and now we were all summoned to an emergency meeting to discuss what, on the face of it, seemed to be a case of demonic possession.

Mr Lee headed the meeting and took the opportunity to explain his background. Born in Malaysia, raised in Australia and educated at an English university, he made it clear that nothing in his experience had prepared him for such a situation. He opened the matter to the rest of the staff. They gave their backgrounds as Malay, Chinese, Filipino or Indian, and all agreed that what had happened was somehow supernatural. Their explanations were filled with talk of ghosts, spirits, demons and even Satan himself.

When it came to my turn to speak, I explained how I had attended church schools in England. Despite this religious up-bringing, I told the meeting, my interpretation of the events was rather different. “It looks to me like an attempt at blackmail,” I said. “If anyone threatened to go public with this, we’d have to pay them off.”

My colleagues – who moments before had been discussing witches and monsters – were shocked at my explanation, and some even sniggered at my “outlandish” conspiracy theory. In maintaining a “rational” approach to the incident, I was in a minority of one. However, Mr Lee conceded that all possibilities should be considered, and he adjourned the meeting until the following morning.

In the bright sunshine of a new day, everybody seemed almost relaxed about the previous day’s incident. The girl, we were told, had recovered and was looking forward to returning to work.

There was still a mountain to climb to get the hotel open and no time to dwell on what, we all hoped, was a one-off incident. That day was particularly busy for me, making sure our riding stables were ready to receive customers. Suddenly, it was Mr Lee again: “Where’s Tommy? Where’s Tommy? Get him over here now!”

Rationality started to wear thin…

This time I knew what to expect, and wasted no time in finding Tommy. By the time we arrived it seemed the attack had passed — a chambermaid was huddled in a duvet, sobbing uncontrollably.

Again, another meeting was called. Mr Lee was all business. We were just a few weeks from the opening of a 120 million dollar resort. Something had to be done to prevent any further attacks – or “whackings” as we were now calling them.

Tommy was called to the meeting, and asked to gather his church group and organise a blessing. Given the urgency of the situation, it was agreed that the ceremony would be held that very evening. At midnight, to be precise.

Mr Lee and I volunteered to let them in to the building and look after them.

I’m not sure what exactly I expected this crack team of ‘blessers’ to look like, but they were just a typical group of Malaysians – big beaming smiles and wearing smart everyday clothes. The only clue to their intentions for the evening was that some were carrying rosaries and bottles of holy water.

Taking on the forces of evil…

Tommy split the group into two teams to bless various areas of the hotel. I would go with one, and Mr Lee with the other. This was all done fairly quickly, with lots of chanting and spraying of water. By now, my cynicism had come to the fore again, and perhaps immaturely, I’d started to find the whole procedure slightly amusing.

With these initial ceremonies performed, the two groups regathered at the location of the original whacking. Mr Lee left me to keep an eye on them, and returned to his office. The room was empty apart from a chest of drawers, which served as a seat for me to watch the action. The group formed a circle in the centre of the room and started to turn slowly in a clockwise direction. In low reverent tones, the Latin chanting began and the circle began to turn more swiftly.

By now, some of the group were grimacing as though in pain. As the ritual continued it was obvious that some of them were really struggling with something – the strain on their sweat-streaked faces was awful to see. The intensity continued to build and build, until the whole group was writing and wailing as though possessed themselves.

Watching this unfold, my cynicism faded again, and I was starting to get scared.

Hedging our bets…

Another day, another meeting, and I was asked to brief the team about the night’s events. They all sat transfixed as I described the blessing, and they seemed satisfied that it was a job well done. However, everyone agreed that it should only be the beginning of the fightback, and that further services were needed. The HR manager was given the task of bringing in holy men from all the island’s major faiths.

In the meantime, life went on as normal, and there were no further whackings. After a few days, the HR department announced that a large Christian service was planned followed by a Islamic prayer session. These were held, and were quite something to witness.

The next meeting was upbeat, and it seemed all the other managers were confident the issue had been dealt with. Although it may seem that they were “hedging their bets” by calling on multiple Gods for assistance, it’s quite typical of the multi-faith nature of Borneo. It’s one of those rare places that adherents of different religions seem to rub along quite well with each other.

A final solution…

And in that spirit of cheerful harmony, life and work continued at the hotel for the next couple of days, until… whack!

My walkie talkie burst into life – same old story. I rushed to a room on the sixth floor to discover it was rather worse – two girls were lying side by side, both writhing on the floor with their eyes rolled back into their heads and their deep gurgling voices demanding blood.

The room was full of security guards and a local fella I hadn’t seen before. As the guards held the girls down, this chap took charge. Commanding the guards not to look into girls’ eyes, he produced what looked like a knitting needle. With a smooth flowing motion, he dragged this across the soles of their feet and muttered some words in a language I didn’t recognise.

Immediately, the girls lay still. As the blood drained from their faces, I could see the realisation of what had happened to them hitting home, and they both dissolved into sobbing screams.

I was then introduced to the fella, who was a local “bomo”, or witch doctor. No sooner had we been introduced, and just I was digesting the fact that the entity had doubled its efforts by possessing two people at once, my walkie talkie crackled into life. Another whacking! Somehow the thing had jumped six storeys and was attacking somebody at ground level, at the site of the original whacking.

We flew down the stairs and found the girl writhing on the floor. “Help hold her down,” I was told. “And don’t look into her eyes.”

I didn’t need reminding of this as I leaned over the girl. She was a tiny little thing, petite even by local standards. I gently put my hands on her shoulders, looking away to the side. Now, I’m a big burly bloke, and back then I was at the height of my rugby playing career. But as I leaned over this tiny girl I felt myself being lifted by her. I had to lean forward with all my weight and even then I could barely hold her still.

Knowing that her eyes were directly below mine, and hearing her growling demands for blood I finally gave in to pure terror and began to pray.

Fortunately, the bomo was on hand with his magic knitting needle, and the girl was soon free of possession, and sobbing hysterically.

At this point things felt pretty bleak. It seemed that somehow all our efforts had made this thing stronger. Fear was hanging heavily in the air, and I wasn’t the only person wondering if it was the end of the road for the hotel.

If this was a Hollywood horror film, there would now be a final showdown, with a group of terrified staff somehow trapped in the hotel, being picked off in increasingly horrible ways by possessed chambermaids. But no, it all ended rather suddenly after Mr Lee had a brief meeting with the bomo.

Rather sensibly, he advised that as the entity was demanding blood, then that is what it should be given. Not human blood of course, but three water buffalo should do the trick. He also advised building a ‘datuk’ – a small free-standing shrine – at the hotel entrance.

This was done, and that was the end of it. However, the entity wasn’t destroyed, merely encouraged to move house.

In this case, the bomo told us, the spirit had relocated to the top of a nearby hill that overlooked the resort. A site that we had big plans for. It was the ideal spot for a restaurant joined to the resort by a cable car.

However, after talks with the local government, the decision was taken to seal off the site in perpetuity. Trees were felled across the road, and the construction work already completed was simply abandoned. To the best of my knowledge, nobody has been up there ever since.

As for myself, I signed a legal undertaking never to reveal the location of these incidents, so I hope I’ve not given too much away in this account.

Strangely, it was only at this point that I remembered the very first day of the horror, when I was leading that class in Japanese etiquette. I remembered that feeling of a sledgehammer hitting me in the guts, leaving me dumbstruck and winded. Perhaps I had been the first target of the entity? I’ll never know for sure.

But continuing to live in Borneo as I do, I always have consideration for the unseen world. At my new resort, I was recently planning to create a small paved area at the foot of a beautiful jungle stream. I just know my guests would have absolutely loved relaxing or cooling off there. Unfortunately, a local wise womon (my mother-in-law, as it happens!) advised me that the site was the abode of a spirit — so that was that. I never want to put my guests through the sort of terror that I have witnessed.

Howard Stanton is the owner/manager of Tampat do Aman, a jungle resort and beachside restaurant at the Tip of Borneo, Malaysia. (This is NOT the hotel mentioned in this story).

Islamic Cleric Encounters Jesus In Mecca, Saudi Arabia.

Islamic Cleric Encounters Jesus In Mecca, Saudi Arabia.

Mohammed finds Jesus in Mecca!

Mecca! Mohammed shivered with excitement. To think he was really here, at the heart of Islam in Saudi Arabia, the birthplace of the great Prophet whose name he bore—the dream of a lifetime!

Although Mohammed served as an imam (pastor) at his local mosque on the island of Sumatra, Indonesia, he had never before made a pilgrimage to Mecca, as all devout Muslims must do at least once. This first hajj in May 1992 fulfilled Mohammed’s commitment to the fifth and last pillar of Islam. He went full of expectation that the trip would represent the spiritual climax of his life.

On his first day in Mecca, Mohammed signed up for a bus tour of some outlying holy sites. The next morning he arrived early for one of the many regularly scheduled departures, and he sat right behind the bus driver to get a good view out the front window. He was glad the coach did not fill up and seats nearby remained empty.

The bus shifted into gear and headed down the road towards the city of Medina and the shrines they would visit. In Medina, the Prophet Mohammed had established his theocratic state after fleeing a murder plot in Mecca in the year 622. With Medina, more than 200 miles north of Mecca, Mohammed the Cleric had plenty of time to strike up a conversation with the bus driver.

Above the drone of the engine they exchanged chit-chat, using English as a common language.

“Yes, this is my first hajj,” Mohammed told the dark-haired driver whose face framed deep, penetrating eyes. “I’m from Sumatra, a Malay—one of the largest Muslim people groups in Southeast Asia.”

The driver swiveled his head sideways enough to see Mohammed. “You know, you really shouldn’t have spent all your money coming here.”

Mohammed figured he had misunderstood. He leaned forward to catch the driver’s words. “Excuse me?”

Coming here on pilgrimage is really a waste of money,” the driver repeated unmistakablyp

Stunned, Mohammed  could only listen as the man went on to point out issues he had never considered. For over an hour they conversed as the bus rumbled on through the desert.

“The truth is,” said the driver, turning to look straight at his passenger, “God wants to know you personally, as a friend, not just at a distance through rituals. Islam can’t give you that kind of relationship.”

With their destination approaching, the driver slowed and downshifted to park at the site. Everyone disembarked, but Mohammed’s head spun with new, unthinkable thoughts. In a daze he followed the tour group, yet now everything seemed confused.

What did the driver mean? Where did he get such a perspective? How could I possibly run into a person like that in the Holy Land!

After the tour, Mohammed hurried back to meet the returning bus, eager to get a seat by the driver and resume their conversation. But when he boarded, he looked up to see the face of someone new. His spirits sank.

“What happened to the earlier driver?” he asked the man behind the wheel.

He got little more than a shrug in response.

 Intense pleas to Allah for forgiveness in Mecca


Mohammed found a seat and stared out the window. During the trip back to Mecca, his heart burned with the words of the man on the morning bus. He felt he could recall the whole conversation from beginning to end.

Mohammed’s hajj lasted more than a week, but the excitement and anticipation he had brought with him fizzled like air from a leaky tire. Everything he saw and did etched fresh questions and doubts into his mind. As he continued his pilgrimage, he scanned all the buses lined up at each tour site, but never saw his driver again.

Back at home, Mohammed’s family wondered why he had not returned bubbling with joy from his spiritual zenith. In the solitude of his thoughts he pored over the events of his hajj. He could not forget the driver’s words or his face. Yet Mohammed’s spirit grappled with perplexities. If Islam is not the true faith, what is?

A few days later, Mohammed dropped by the home of a neighbor we will call Mr ‘A-Ching’, a Chinese Christian, to borrow something. Mr ‘A-Ching’ welcomed him inside with customary Indonesian hospitality. As they chatted, Mohammed’s eyes lit on something hanging from ‘A-Ching’s’ wall. There within a picture frame he saw the face of his bus driver from Mecca!

Mohammed gasped, pointing to the picture. “A-Ching! Do you know this man?”

Yes, I do,” came the reply. “That’s Jesus. You know Him as Isa.”

Mohammed sat still as a stone. Isa! The second-highest prophet in Islam—the Christians’ Messiah! Could it be …?

When he found his voice, he spoke up quietly. “I have a story to tell you, A-Ching.”

His neighbor, just as shocked at the tale, listened in silence. When Mohammed finished, he began to choke up, suddenly overcome with conviction of his sin. A-Ching explained the truths Jesus had declared about His own identity and purpose.

“Mohammed, you can receive salvation as the free gift of God through Jesus Christ,” A-Ching told him. “You can have a personal relationship with God.”

Mohammed prayed and committed his life to Christ. When he returned home, he gathered his family and spilled out the whole account. Awed at his story and his transformation, they, too, confessed Jesus as Lord and Messiah.

A-Ching introduced Mohammed privately to the pastor of his local fellowship. Then, for their own protection, a network of believers spirited the new convert and his family to a safe house in another city where they could receive biblical teaching without risking retribution from angry Islamists.

Mohammed’s trip to Mecca indeed proved to be the turning point of his spiritual life. But he never expected a divine encounter and supernatural revelation to come through his bus driver.

How A Grandma Was Rescued By ‘A Man With Nail-Scared Hands’ From Attack By A Wild Pig 

How A Grandma Was Rescued By ‘A Man With Nail-Scared Hands’ From Attack By A Wild Pig 

Pastor Paul’s wife Mercy shares a pivotal, transformational experience in her grandmother’s life

My grandmother Eliyamma grew up in a heavily-forested area in a highrange region of India. Her family was religious but hadn’t been taught what it meant to have a living relationship with Jesus Christ. Child marriage was common in India at the time, so at the age of 13 she married a man named Mathai.

Eliyamma and Mathai lived with her family in their mud house in the forest. They had no electricity or running water, and there wasn’t a local market to buy food. Her father and Mathai worked hard to reclaim the forest for their small farm, where they cultivated coffee and spices such as pepper and cardamom.

Because the family had no pipes to get suitable drinking water to their house or even a well nearby, it was part of the women’s daily chores to fetch water from the river.

One day, when Eliyamma was 27, she walked down to the river to fill up her water pot. As she bent over the water’s edge, a wild pig charged out of the underbrush and brutally attacked her. She fought back, using the water pot as a defensive shield and weapon to swing at the pig’s head.

But as they fought, the wild pig became even more enraged and fierce. His sharp teeth ripped her legs and arms. Eliyamma knew her life was in jeopardy when blood began to flow profusely from her torn body. She cried out for help, but no one was nearby.

Suddenly a man appeared out of nowhere. He drove the pig away and then knelt down beside her to tend to her wounds. When his hands touched the torn places on her body, she was immediately healed!

Still in shock, Eliyamma’s eyes grew wide with astonishment as she saw the palms of the man’s hands. They were nail-scarred; he carried the markings of crucifixion. Reverence and awe filled her heart. Only one response came to mind as she recognized who attended her. She prostrated herself on the ground and said, “My Lord and my God!”

It was but a moment that she was face down in the soil, which was damp with river water mingled with blood. When she slowly raised her head, her Rescuer had disappeared.

After this dramatic incident, Eliyamma had an insatiable hunger to know more about Jesus. She accepted Him as her personal Savior and, as a result of her testimony, her entire family believed and received Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior.

In their lifetimes, Eliyamma and Mathai had a total of sixty-seven children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

Being one of them, I grew up knowing Jesus as my Lord and Savior. I married a man named Paul who, though Muslim by birth, accepted Jesus Christ as his personal Savior and Lord on his twenty-first birthday while studying at the university. Now we are winning souls for Christ.

My grandfather, Mathai, went home to be with the Lord when Eliyamma was 62. Thirty-nine years later, Jesus took Eliyamma home when she was 101. Up until that day, she eagerly awaited being with her Rescuer face-to-face, and she devoted her life to studying the Bible, praying for others, and glorifying her Lord as His living witness.

“The Lord is my light and my salvation— whom shall I fear?” (Ps. 27: 1)




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