He Leadeth Me: A Story of How Good Overcame Evil

By William Beckford

In this gripping and yet captivating account of a compelling true life story, William Beckford enthralls his audience with a story that will live with you - forever. He will transport you into his life and travel with him from his innocent childhood, the discovery of his nonexistent relationship with his siblings, through his depression and attempted suicide. The emotional abuse and neglect cycle started when he was a child, and continued through his teenage years.

The pages turn on their own as this compelling story exposes a tale of a black sheep, the mindset of the victim, the actions of the people he thought would love him the most, the betrayal of family and friends, and the walk towards conversion, healing and restoration. Your nights will be short as you stay awake, reading each page as quickly as possible so you may know what happened next. Intense does not begin to describe "He Leadeth Me." Williams true story reads like a best-selling thriller - but it's not fiction. His story begins as a childhood nightmare and ends with Gods miraculous and victorious deliverance and restoration.

At the heart of this book are real issues that we all face: learning to grow through pain, making decisions that will help us move forward, overcoming adversity, and trust in the power of God for healing. Centered on the people that were close to him, he brings his own cast alive with crisp dialogue and action - oftentimes breathtaking with brutal honesty. At an early age, he learned how to cope with adversity and loneliness. He found love, in other peoples homes. Never has a story been told of how a child had to fend off forces of evil and powers of the dark world. With no hope of escape from the flood of witchcraft and sorcery, he learned to trust God even at an early age.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Apr 26, 2013
• ISBN: 9781475983166

William Beckford

William Beckford (1760-1844) was an English novelist, art collector, slaveowner, and politician. Born in London, he inherited a massive fortune from his father, a former Lord Mayor of London, as well as an estate in Wiltshire and sugar plantations in Jamaica with around 3,000 African slaves. He lived in ease and luxury, studying music with Mozart and drawing with Alexander Cozens while leading a semi-open bisexual lifestyle. Inspired by a Grand Tour of Europe, Beckford published a travel narrative, Dreams, Waking Thoughts and Incidents (1783). Several years later, he wrote Vathek (1786), a popular Gothic novel originally drafted in French. He earned a reputation as an obsessive art collector and eccentric builder, burning through his fortune at an alarming rate. Throughout his life, he owned and sold original works by Turner, Blake, Velázquez, Lippi, and the Bellini family.

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Copyright © 2013 by William Beckford.

Cover Photo courtesy of Ogochukwu Agwai

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-8315-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-8316-6 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013905371

iUniverse rev. date: 04/23/2013

All Bible references are from the King James Version Bible.

CONTENTS

Preface

Ch.1   In The Beginning

Ch.2   Early Childhood

Ch.3   An Incurable Error

Ch.4   Mother Sells Her Soul

Ch.5   An Attempt At My Life

Ch.6   Mother’s Rebelliousness

Ch.7   Teenage Years

Ch.8   Boarding School

Ch.9   My Father’s Sickness And Death

Ch.10   Life After High School

Ch.11   Moving To The City

Ch.12   Riotous Living

Ch.13   A Suicide Attempt

Ch.14   My Conversion

Ch.15   Tempted And Tried

Ch.16   Looking For A Place To Worship

Ch.17   A Miracle Of A Logo Design

Ch.18   Responding To Ministerial Work

Ch.19   My Faith Is Tested

Ch.20   Family Matters

Ch.21   John

Ch.22   Colporteur Ministry

Ch.23   A Miracle On A Highway

Ch.24   Mariah

Ch.25   In My Brother’s House

Ch.26   God’s Providence

Ch.27   Youth Ministry

Ch.28   Cindy

Ch.29   The Death Of Hubert

Ch.30   A False Confession

Ch.31   Coming To America

Ch.32   A New Life In America

Ch.33   The Bowery Mission

Ch.34   Atlantic Union College

Ch.35   Meeting Nancy

Ch.36   Touch Not The Annointed

Ch.37   A Lesson For My Single Friends

Ch.38   The Bmcc Experience

Ch.39   Restored

Ch.40   Faith To Live By

Ch.41   An Arranged Marriage

Ch.42   Going To Meet My Wife

Ch.43   Final Moments

Ch.44   A Request Twice Answered

Ch.45   The Devil Was Wroth

Ch.46   Becoming American Citizen

Ch.47   Prophecies Fulfilled

Ch.48   Staying The Course

Bibliography

Acknowledgements

This is a memoir; my memories as perceived and articulated through my individual experience. Though they are in truth with what I experienced; they may not coincide with what others depicted in the story, experienced or remember. Some dramatic effect might occur to better illustrate the environment and influence events had on those involved. Therefore, in consideration of that fact, and in the interest of protecting identities and privacy, I have changed relationships, names, cities, states, and other locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental

To my lovely Wife Gwendolyn M. Beckford, and to my

Father Verian M. Phiri whom I shall see on resurrection morning.

PREFACE

After I got married to Gwendolyn, I began to think about writing the story of how God had miraculously arranged our marriage. I felt it was important that I record, in my own words, the wondrous thing that the Lord had wrought in my life.

But millions of people are married, why would the story of my marriage be remarkably different? Every married couple has a story to tell; of how they met, and what they had to go through before they solemnly and lovingly said to each other, I do.

However, after much contemplation and soul-searching, it dawn on me, that a number of extraordinary incidents had happened before my marriage. My marriage is the pinnacle of my turbulent and miracle filled life. The story of my marriage is just one anecdote among the many that encompasses my personal experiences and walk with the Lord. I therefore decided to write the whole story of my life.

Like many exceptional autobiographies, I did not write an exhaustive account of my life. Instead, I have told the story of my life by focusing on the most important incidents; Miracles. Each chapter highlights a miracle, or a series of incidents that led to a miracle. Consequently, the book flows thematically, not in a day-by-day chronology. I do not cover everything that happened in my life. Many of the people that were positively influential are mentioned, or not at all. I value their friendship, and I will always be grateful for their love and kindness.

I have three short objectives for writing this book. First, I hope to paint a picture of what it is like to be a Christian. I believe it will be impossible to reach a definitive conclusion of what it is to walk by faith and not by sight. My hope is that this book will serve as a manual or reference point, for any Bible student in this time of uncertainty.

Secondly, I write to give readers a unique perspective on Trust; how to trust the Almighty God in this time of moral declension and spiritual darkness. We live in a society that has deviated from obedience to the commandments of God and the testimony of Jesus Christ. The Scriptures must be our safeguard. Throughout the book, I explain the options I weighed, and the decisions I made. I hope this book will give you a better sense of why I made the decisions I did. Perhaps it will prove useful as you make choices in your own life.

Thirdly, I write to remind people that Satan is real. Through spiritualism, he has led many souls into forbidden paths. Many have been trapped in the belief that spiritualism is simply a human trickery or magic. Unfortunately, they have been deceived. It is not a result of human deceit, but a direct work of evil angels. This is the most successful soul destroying delusion. Christians need not be deceived if they are students of the Bible and are obedient in following the plain path marked out for them in the word of God.

He Leadeth Me: A Story of How Good Overcame Evil is based predominantly on my recollections. With much prayer and meditation, the Holy Spirit brought to my mind vivid occasions and events that occurred in my life. In addition, my mind has always been older than my chronological years, and that has had a tremendous help in my recollections.

At the beginning of every chapter, I have included either a portion of scripture from the Bible or a quote from a well-known writer. This will give a reader a summary of the next chapter. It will prove to be of great help if you read the preamble to each chapter. It will certainly deepen and broaden your understanding and will certainly make it easier for you to grasp the meaning and message in the ensuing chapter.

In the pages that follow, I have done my best to write about how I took God by His word. My faith looked up to Him. Understandably, life is a one way traffic, you cannot do-over. You have to do what the Bible says is right, and accept the consequences by faith. I have lived my life by faith and not by sight. I thank God for adopting me into His kingdom of grace and of His begotten Son, Jesus Christ. I appreciate your giving me an opportunity to share my testimony.

1

IN THE BEGINNING

Lo, children are an heritage of the Lord: and the fruit of the womb is his reward

Psalm 127: 3.

I possess limited information about my parent’s origins and ancestry. History had been passed down orally from time immemorial. However, my parent’s never took the time to tell us of their bloodlines. If they did, I was still too young to comprehend. Historically, groupings or tribes of people were categorized according to their languages. My Father spoke Chewa, and my Mother was from the Nsenga tribe. Both these groups of people came from the Luba peoples called the Maravi. The Maravi came down from pre-historic Congo region. They were direct descendants of Black Jews that came down to Ethiopia from a country we call Yemen today. It is located in the Middle East. Some people hold extreme views when it comes to Hebrew ancestry. There is a certain sect of African Americans that believe that all the Jews in the Bible were Black. There is also a general belief among Caucasians today that you cannot be a Jew unless you are White. Both views are radical. I do not succumb to such extremism. I believe that since the calling of Abraham out of Mesopotamia, there has always been people with different skin color. They will always be Black and White Jews—even today.

After the final siege and subsequent fall of Jerusalem, some black Jews migrated southward into Yemen. However, they did not stop in their southward journeys. When they reached Ethiopia, they separated. A larger group proceeded further south into Central and Southern Africa. They migrated southward into Zambia, Zimbabwe, and further down into South Africa. They eventually split into different clusters of Nyanja speaking people which included the Chewa and Nsenga tribes of south eastern Zambia.

My parents got married a couple of years before we got our independence from the British in the early 1960’s. This is when the mining industry was also thriving. Correspondingly, Zambia was experiencing a baby boom, a similar situation to the United States of America just after the Second World War.

My Parent’s generation had migrated from the country side to work in the Mines. They settled in the fast growing cities surrounding the mining belts. My parents got married in Lusaka, the capital city. They had six children. I am the fifth born. I have always lived in the city. I never got a chance to live in the country side. I visited my extended family in the village only once in my lifetime. Dad took us to visit our family in the village.

Even before I was born, my life was already embroiled in mystery. M y birth date is not left from the ambiguity. Just like any other little boy, I had asked my Mom what day was my birthday. She told me it was on August 20th. I grew up celebrating my birthdays on this day. However, when Dad died, I was looking through his private and personal possessions. I was shocked when I read his diary and found out that he had categorically stated that I was born on August 17th. I was 18 years old when I read his diary. It was rather difficult for me to choose who was telling the truth between them. Nevertheless, I believed Dad was right. But I really don’t mind what day I was born, so I kept the August 20th.

My Father was not home when my Mother was beset with contractions. She was due to give birth to a bouncy baby boy. I was eager to come out. I was zealous and enthusiastic to see what the world was like. The Ambulance took more time than usual to come. She could not wait any longer. She crawled from her bedroom into my sister’s bedroom. They were next to each other. Before she knew it, I pushed my way out. I quickly announced my arrival. A few older ladies from neighborhood came to assist her. When Dad finally came to the hospital, the Doctor might have said, Both of them are doing alright.

2

EARLY CHILDHOOD

Our notion of the perfect society embraces the family as its center and ornament, and this paradise is not secure until children appear to animate and complete the picture.

Amos B. Alcott

When I was a little boy I used to get sick more often. Luckily, we lived not too far from the General Hospital. Mom would take me to the Hospital almost every time I got sick. My fever would shoot up very easily, and most often it would go very high.

In a couple of years that followed, when I was between three and seven years old, I had been to the hospital more times than I can ever imagine. My Mom kept the medication in the house, just in case I had a high fever attack in the mid of the night. I hated the medication, it had a bitter taste.

At some point, at around the age of five, I became immune to the medication. Sometimes she could take me to the hospital late in the night when my temperature could not go down. A Nurse would give me the same medication and my fever would disappear almost immediately. This happened quite often. In the mind of a five year old, I started to think that the nurses had some magical healing powers.

I became convinced that nurses had some miraculous healing powers. It was the same medication Mom would give me at home, but how come I felt better only when I took it at the hospital and not at home? Believe it or not, that thought had a great impact on me. I told her to take me to the hospital every time I got sick. I never told her what I thought about the nurses. I don’t think she ever realized either. Before long, I developed a love for nurses. Their white uniforms appeared as robes of righteousness. They did no wrong. I didn’t see any fault in them. They had special healing powers. They appeared like angels to me. At an early age, I made up my mind that I will marry a Nurse. I imagined my wife having special healing powers. She would make me feel better just by seeing her in that white uniform.

One day, I was walking home from school. It was a warm autumn mid-morning. I was five years old then. I was in my first grade. I was walking through the general hospital’s premises. We would walk through one gate into the Hospital vicinity and come out on the other side, and a couple minutes’ walk, I would be at school or at home, either way.

But something happened that morning. I will never forget that incident. I was minding my business as usual. Naturally, I am an introvert. I am discreet, and also a deep thinker. That is my personality. Incredibly, I was born with a mind that was way ahead of me. My mind was probably ten or even twenty years older than my chronological years. Most often I found myself thinking and analyzing real life situations that didn’t even concern a five year old child.

I walked over the bridge that divided the school wire fence and the hospital boundary wall. I was kicking stones and often stopped to look at people and anything that attracted my attention. At that age, you are easily distracted and attention spans are very short. But one thing caught my attention. I went from one happy child to one angry little boy. I had not known righteous indignation until that day. I noticed a Nurse walking towards me. She was tall, dark skinned with long beautiful black hair. However, she was pregnant. I had never seen such a thing before. I didn’t know anything about big bellies, or that sometimes women have to be pregnant. I was shocked and angry at the same time. She was probably eight months pregnant. It was a huge belly. At least it appeared like that to me at that time. She was walking slowly towards me. I became indignant that somebody had hurt one of my Angels. I asked myself, How can someone do that to her?

In my five year old mind, I had never imagined someone getting hurt like that. She looked to be in pain—I was enraged. I don’t know if she noticed me staring at her. I didn’t care anyway. An angry ‘man’ doesn’t care much about what people may be thinking about him. My day was ruined. I can’t even remember if my Mom noticed that I was not myself when I got home. But just like any other little boy, I quickly forgot about it.

Like I stated earlier, my mind has always been more mature than my chronological years. As a result, Mom always rebuked me for wanting to participate in adult conversations. For example, when we had visitors from the Village, I would ask myself a question, Why do they choose to live in the bush, why can’t they all come to the city? When they were having a conversation with my parents, I would notice that they were wise. They spoke wisely. They had a better understand of life situations than my parents. They had better opinions. I always listened attentively. After listening to their ideas about life, I felt that they could contribute to the well-being of the city. A lot of people would benefit from their wisdom.

Regularly, I went shopping with Mom. We could meet people from the neighborhood, and they would start conversations with her. I always wondered why their conversations were always negative. They always talked about people being sick, or a friend of a friend who died, or something happened to someone who was a relative of somebody. I wondered how they always talked about bad things happening to people. I would wonder whether there was anything good about life. Most five year olds don’t even care what their Mothers are talking about when they meet their friends. But my mind was always inquisitive. I always tried to make sense of life. I was always conscious of how my life would be when I grow up. I was always thinking—always meditating.

I remember many memorable moments during grade school. My friends would often look for me to ask for my opinion. When two of my friends were fighting over a ball, or something, and nobody seemed to have an idea of solving the problem, or ending the fight, they would look for me. My opinion was significant among my peers. Even if there was a fight and I was not there, when I finally show up, my little friends would ask me what I should have done if I had been there.

I had two friends I always hanged out with in my first grade; Goliath and Thabo. Thabo was a nice guy. He always protected me from the ‘bad guys.’ Goliath never liked the idea that Thabo was my bodyguard. He always wanted to fight with everybody, including me. But he dared not touch, me otherwise Thabo would sought him out.

I remember one day Goliath’s Mother sent us to pick something from their home. We were walking past our neighbor’s house when a dog came out from under a parked car and bit Goliath on his right leg. I was horrified. I ran back and told them what had happened. They rushed him to the hospital. The horror was too much for me. I have never liked dogs ever since that incident. I am always scared of dogs. That incident has haunted me for the rest of my life.

*     *     *

The disparity between my age and my mind became a problem when I became a teenager, and particularly in my early twenties. I suffered a serious identity crisis. It was very difficult time period for me. Not only during that time period, even up to this very day. I didn’t know, or rather I don’t know whether I should be young and hangout with my peers, or to be old and spend time with older folks. Older folks liked to talk with me. They appreciated my wisdom. I always had fresh ideas. But I also wanted to enjoy my time as a youth. It was not as easy as you’d think. The Elders in the church wanted me to be part of church leadership. But I was a youth member. I liked to hang out with my friends.

It was grave challenge. However, one way or another, I managed to switch positions. I would quickly shift from adulthood into being a youth. I don’t know if anybody noticed. Certainly the church Elders never noticed my dilemma, otherwise they would have eased up on me and allow me to be young and youthful.

On a regular church day, I would attend various committee meetings including Church Board, and Deacon’s Board meetings. And the next day, on a Sunday morning, I would be in my little shorts playing football bare feet in the street with my friends. I could not identify myself with either group. Was I too old to be a youth, or too young to be in all those church committees? It was extremely difficult for me to determine.

In retrospect, I should just have chosen one side and stick with it. But If I elected to remain young, and resign all the positions I had, it would have sent a wrong signal to the church leadership, especially, that I had received a call from the Lord to go into Ministry. I needed the Elders to train me in Christian leadership. That was inevitable. What if I had told the youth’s I was not going to be there leader anymore because I had outgrown the youth movement? I would miss out on the fun. They would not accept it anyway. They would still want to hang out with me. And why would I want not to remember the Lord in the days of my youth, before the evil days come?

*     *     *

I had a happy early childhood. I was my Father’s favorite Son. I was the Prince in the family. Whatever time he’d come home at night, sometimes totally inebriated, he would wake me up just to give me a hug. Many a time I did stupid things, of course, as a little boy, but he often let me loose. He would just let it go without punishing me. He never spanked me. I was the Joseph in the family.

One day I threw a stone at a bird perched in a tree that was close to our house. I completely forgot about the law of gravity. I was six years old then. The stone came back down and hit the windscreen on the car parked just under the tree. The windscreen cracked. Dad was sitting on the Porch. After checking the damage, he just smiled at shook his head.

On another occasion we were driving home from the farm. Dad had just bought a farm, and he took us to see the land. On our way home, he stopped at a Country Club to see his friends. When he went into the club house, I quickly jumped into the driver’s seat. It was dark. The sun had set. I started playing with the lights, turning them on and off repeatedly. At some point, they went off and could not turn on. When it was time to leave, he tried to work on them, but the lights could not work. He tried to change the fuse, but it didn’t work either. He promised me a good spanking when we get home. However, he went to sleep immediately we reached home.

My siblings were jealous because I was my Dad’s favorite son. The hostile feelings they had towards me never really dissipated, even in our adulthood. As we grew order, the gap between me and my siblings became even bigger. They didn’t take into account the fact that it was not my fault that he regarded me as his favorite son. I was just an innocent little boy. Sometimes I could hide from my father so he doesn’t arouse the hatred my siblings had for me.

A couple of months before, Dad had opted for voluntary retirement. We moved out of the government house and we moved to a smaller house. He had a very high position in Government. He was the Council Secretary. He was the third in hierarchy from the Mayor of the town. It was very hard for our family to adjust to a lower class lifestyle.

*     *     *

On a Wednesday afternoon, after we came back from school, we had our lunch as it were. However, it was not a regular afternoon for the children in the neighborhood. Somebody came to town with a portable film projector to show a movie at one of the schools. It was a small town. We hardly had family recreation for children. A once in a while teen-time movie show was good for all the children.

But something strange and unprecedented happened that day. My siblings and I began to get ready to go watch the movie after we had our lunch. Surprisingly, however, they all asked me to stay behind and clear up the table, wash the dishes, and clean the house. That was unfair. I knew they did it on purpose. They knew that the movie man came to town once in a while. Imagine how I would feel the next day at school when all my friends were talking about the movie? Unfortunately, the consensus had already been made. I would stay home and clean up.

All the while, up to that time and age, I never fully felt the disconnection from my Siblings. I had been disengaged from the family, but I never felt so bad about it. It never bothered me. I used to think that one day it will go away. I never realized how deep-seated their animosity was towards me.

Three hours later, when all the children in the neighborhood came back from watching the movie, I pretended to be excited too. I joined the excited throng, but I could not pretend anymore. Deep down, I was hurt; the anguish was too much for my little heart. It finally dawned upon me, at that moment, that it was time to accept the fact. What would happen next? Was I to be sold to the Egyptian traders like Joseph?

My siblings didn’t like the idea that I was my father’s favorite son. Mom never liked it either. Was it a spiritual problem? Was Satan behind their evil surmising?

At that time I stopped wishing that it will go away. At six years old, I became a black sheep in the family. I had very little choice but to accept the situation. It had started earlier than that, but I just never accepted it. I was trying by all means necessary to blend in.

My life was forever changed that day. The events of that day marked a significant milestone in my life. They shaped out a path that I would have to tread without much care and love from the people I thought would love me the most. The conflict between good and evil had just begun in my life. I became conscious of the evil of hatred. The drama had just begun to unfold. A turbulent life was ahead of me.

Nevertheless, whether it was unconscious or not, I started to look for love from outside our home and family. I found comfort in our neighbor’s homes. I came to realize that I easily befriended girls more than boys. It sounds strange, but I would say my romantic side developed rather too early in my life. Nonetheless, at some stage in our childhood, we are all interested in someone. It was the common primary school crush that children experience. But are these occurrences simply childhood fascination like those we had for Spiderman, SpongeBob, or Barbie?

The whole process of children liking each other was so much simpler back then. There was none of this upsetting, adolescent anxiety. We had the courage to propose out of nowhere. We were not socially shy. We never had a feeling of awkwardness.

If human behavior is anything to go by, then something definitely goes on. Children are normal people. They have feelings; feelings for family members and feelings for other people. Some people think that children should not like those of the opposite sex. I believe they just led a boring childhood or their parents prevented them from having friends and liking other people. Consequently, they think everybody should have a boring childhood. But who made them a standard for everybody?

Around the same time I befriended a certain girl. She lived a couple of houses from ours. Her big brother and sister, Felix and Jennifer, were friends with my brother and sister. I had a crush on her. I asked my sister to help me write a letter to her. I cannot remember the exact words she wrote. I took the letter myself. I knocked at their door, and fortunately enough she came to the door. I gave her the letter and quickly ran back home without saying anything. About an hour later, her brother and sister came to our house. They laughed at me. They were surprised at my courage. I liked her and nothing could stop me from getting the girl I wanted. I wonder what her parents thought. They never said anything to my parents.

*     *     *

One thing I enjoyed the most in my early childhood was church. I liked church stuff. I could not wait for the weekend to come. Dad served as Deacon and Youth Leader. It was the same time period when the youth movement was transitioning from the Mission Volunteer movement. I loved to recite my Adventurer pledge; "Because Jesus loves me, I will always do my best."

Dad used to teach us music and make us sing as a family in church. He had a passion for music. And he hoped to pass that knowledge down to his children. Although I didn’t learn how to read music from my father, I believe, however, that I inherited some of his genes. Up to this time, I had always wanted to sing in a group setting. However, I never liked the idea of singing in a choir. I preferred a small group like a quartet or a men’s chorus. I was between eight and ten years old when he used to teach us music. I found his music lessons very boring. I always wanted to go and sleep, especially when he started teaching us the music notes; do, re, mi, fa, so, la, ti, do, on a music scale. But retrospectively, I regret not paying attention to his instructions. I am now learning how to read music.

*     *     *

Then there was another girl at church. Her father was a Politician. He was the Member of the Central Committee for the Province. He held the highest political office in the whole Province. He had the position equivalent to Governor, if it were here in the United States. I had a huge crush. Her elder sister, Esther, was my classmate. We went to the same school. Esther went on to study English and French at the University of Zambia. She became a Teacher after graduating. However, it was evident that she would become a Teacher. She was our Class Monitoress. She was so mean and very strict. She would stand at that door one minute before class time and write down the names of late-comers. I always used to be late, especially after recess. We used to play football during break time.

Mr. Banda, our class teacher, was a ruthless tyrant. He used to beat us. Sometimes he could delegate that responsibility to Esther. I used to hate the idea of Esther beating me. We used to go the same church. But she didn’t seem to care. She would beat me on a Friday, and the next day she would be smiling when she meets me at church. The only reason I couldn’t get angry at her was because I had a crush on her sister. She was the last childhood girl I had a crush on.

*     *     *

In a few ensuing months, we moved to our new house. It was not a good neighborhood. It was not bad either, but it was a low income neighborhood. Dad was a professional Architecture and Building Engineer. He designed and built all his three houses. The one we just moved into was a four bedroom house. The master bedroom was self-contained. The fourth bedroom was a guest wing for visiting friends and family. It was one of the biggest houses in the neighborhood.

When we finally moved in, we were noticeably different from the children in the neighborhood. Mom never allowed us to go outside without shoes. When it rained, we had boots to wear when playing outside. Neighbors were surprised. Their children didn’t even have shoes to wear when going to school. We were living as if we were still in the suburbs. It took us a while to adjust—we finally did.

Relocating can be difficult, especially if your move is to an entirely new community. We had lived in one place for a long time, and we developed relationships that were not so easily replaced. Getting to know your new community is a daunting task, but with a little time it can be done. Before we knew it, this was our neighborhood that we loved. In a little while, we settled well.

I hated the long walk to school. I had to get up an hour earlier than I used to. I am not a morning person. Waking up earlier than usual was plain misery. Every morning Mom would yell at me to wake me up. It took a while to adjust. Our lives had gone through a metamorphosis. Everything had changed. It was a major shift. Even when our school was not too far from home, Dad would still come pick us up. But now the distance was seven times longer and Dad had no car to come pick us up from school. He had sold both his two cars.

However, Mom still had her job. She had to walk the long distance too. Life became a drag. We came down—real down. But such is life. There are always ups and downs. Mom had to support the whole family on her salary. It was definitely not enough. That is when I learned how to steal loose coins from her bag. When she came from work in the evening, my little brother and I would pounce on her bag scavenging for change. Survival instincts kicked in. At least we stole from our own Mother. We never stole from our neighbors. Nonetheless, other bad habits crept in. We stopped studying or doing our homework. We only did our homework when Mom compelled us to do so. We started hanging out outside late at night. We started gambling, and got involved other vices. I even learned how to climb trees. I used to brag about how I can’t fall from a tree. I used to call myself Scout Master. One day I missed holding on to a branch, and fell fifteen feet to the ground and broke my arm. My brother took me to the hospital—I came back with a Plaster of Paris. My friends nicknamed me Scout Master. Nevertheless, we were still obedient children. We were still a religious family.

Dad spent a lot of time at the farm. Lots of hard work had to be done in clearing the scrublands to make way for the corn field. He came home once in a while. We were all excited about the land. We treasured the time spent together at the farm during the weekends.

Since Dad was not there to encourage us to attend church services, our church attendance started to decline. My Mom would try to force us to go, but she never went to church herself. It was not easy for her to convince us to go when she was not going.

We slowly settled and fitted in into our new neighborhood. However, our family was not the same any more. We had lived a balanced and disciplined family lifestyle. Every day we gathered at the dining table at 8:00 p.m. in the evening, and everybody would do his or her homework. It was a time specifically set aside for studying. The whole house would be quite at this time. No T.V., no phone calls.

Dad was a musician. On Friday evenings, he would teach us how to sing and read music. Most often we would sing as a family in church. We were a perfect family. There was love in the home.

However, when we moved to this side of town, things changed. Everything that happened prior to our moving had an effect on what had become of us as a family. My Father’s early retirement had found us unprepared for the hard times ahead of us. Nonetheless, I believe we would have pulled together as a family and continued the good family trends. Unfortunately, however, Dad was almost not there. He spent most of the time at the farm. It was thus, that the enemy gained an advantage in our once happy family.

3

AN INCURABLE ERROR

Be ye not unequally yoked with unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? And what communion hath light with darkness?

2 Corinthians 6:14.

When my Father moved to the city, to go to college, he stopped attending church regularly. Up until he met my Mother, he was not attending church at all. Mom came from a Jehovah’s Witness family. This is where he made a huge mistake. Even though, as a young man, he had stopped going to church for a while, he should not have married someone of a different faith. Jehovah’s Witnesses do not teach the Bible truth. They deny the deity of Christ. They teach that He is a ‘god.’ They also drink alcoholic beverages although the Bible is very clear that we ought not to put any unclean thing in our bodies because they are temples of God.

He should have gone back to his own church and find himself a wife. But just like the Satan has it, he became unequally yoked. Many who confess to be followers of Jesus Christ elect to follow their own inclinations when it comes to the subject of marriage, rather than follow a plain, thus saith the Lord, an apparent counsel from the Lord. They take it upon themselves to pick and choose a life partner. Therein lays a wrong and even a fatal mistake.

Marriage is of vital importance here on earth and in the life to come. It is a topic that should be approached with all care and due diligence. It concerns the salvation of the individual, the married couple and the fruits of that marriage—the children.

One thing I have found to be a root problem for bad marriage is the issue of dating. Dating must not be emphasized in the Christian community. Why would we trust ourselves to pick a life partner when we can heed the plain counsel from our parents and from God? Dating is the trick