Archives for September 2012

“I cry out to the God most high, to God who will fulfill His purpose in me.” ~ Psalm 57:2

Many of you may remember me talking about a very dear friend of mine, Mem {She has even guest posted some of her delicious recipes to Comfy!} Well,  this past Summer during our Ladies bible study, Mem shared a part of her testimony that left many of us that night in tears, speechless, and with renewed faith. Ohhh…if you all could have just been in that room that night! Still thinking about what she said, I asked her if she wouldn’t mind sharing it with my reading audience …she was more than willing to do so.

Mem has such a deep love for our Lord and for all people. Being a native of Thailand her heart aches for her homeland and for those who are still searching for “The Creator of All Things”.

{Our Ladies bible study this Summer- Mem is in the front, next to me. I’m so grateful for all the times she shared with our group this Summer-The Lord speaks through her in such a unique and pressing way….What a blessing her friendship is to me!} 

Here is her testimony….  

I was seven-years-old when my mother and I were without a place to live. We were Buddhists at the time, very poor, and had just been dispossessed of the jungle house in southern Thailand where we had been living. Not unlike many others in this country, we felt that our lives were controlled by forces that were bigger than ourselves. It wasn’t that either of us wanted to move in with my mother’s sister, but we had no other options. Thus it was that necessity obligated us to live with my aunt for two years—the two darkest years of my life. Not only was my aunt heavily involved in the occult, she was also mean-spirited and vindictive. Little could I have known just how deep her resentment was, nor how nefarious were the spiritual forces she served, which resided in her house.

My aunt and her husband regularly conducted séances, and many times I would hide close by in a corner to witness the terrifying phenomena that invariably accompanied these events. Sometimes my aunt and uncle would begin trembling violently as a demonic spirit would take possession of them, and they would then commence speaking in an unnatural voice.

Their occultic practices, however, were not just limited to séances. People were often brought to them for “healings,” and I saw miraculous phenomena that, had it not been so frightening, could have easily convinced me to follow in my aunt’s footsteps. The sick or injured victim would come in for a “healing” during which time either my aunt or uncle would lay hands on the individual and begin uttering some incantation in a language I could not understand, after which the “patient” would often go into convulsions, or fall to the floor at the touch of their hands. Afterwards, that same individual would leave fully recovered.

I remember one such healing performed on a victim of an automobile accident who left the house completely well. I also remember one who came hobbling into the house with a broken leg, unable to walk. By the time my aunt and uncle were finished, however, this same person stood up, expressed his amazement, and walked out of the house normally. People who were healed often departed praising my aunt and uncle saying, “You’re better than any doctor I ever went to.”

There was just one thing I couldn’t understand, however. The healings these people received never seemed to be permanent. After several days, their symptoms would recur and they would return only to be charged money again for a “remedial” treatment to get them feeling better and on their way again. Such occurrences left me puzzled after having witnessed the miraculous phenomena that I had seen earlier with my own eyes.

The most troubling aspect regarding living with my aunt during this time, however, was the palpable “presence” of the spirits that resided in their house. On more than one occasion did I hear footsteps in an adjacent room, only to discover when I raced around the corner to see who was there, that the room was completely empty. Regardless of whatever room I entered, I could feel their dark company, knowing somehow that they were watching me and that they disliked me. At times, I was convinced that I could even feel their malevolent presence brushing by me, taunting me, and reminding me that they were watching, that they knew who I was, and that they had a “right” to my soul.

On one occasion while living with my aunt I actually saw these demonic spirits at night in visions that left me absolutely terrified. The apparitions were vivid and macabre in the extreme, one of which extended a ghoulish tongue to ghastly lengths while engaging in acts of morbid dismemberment. One demonic specter made an ostentatious display of gouging out an eyeball while another tore out its insides in a highly visceral manner. Never before had my eyes ever beheld images even remotely resembling the chilling sights that paraded before me. Shaken, fevered, and soaked with perspiration, I sought refuge in the only place I could find, which was under my bed. Not until morning would I emerge covered with spider webs, dust, and filth.

Coincidently, this visitation occurred when my mother was out of the house, having decided the earlier to visit a relative for a couple of days. It was then, after I went to bed for the night, that I was awakened in terror by the apparitions before me. I began screaming hysterically, and my screams awakened my aunt who merely banged angrily on the wall between our rooms demanding that I stop crying.

“I’m so scared of these ghosts,” I finally managed to utter, sobbing uncontrollably and longing desperately for my mother.

“Go back to sleep, and don’t wake us up again or I’ll make you sleep outside.” This was no idle threat, yet it only exacerbated my fears. I desperately wanted my mother, yet there was no sympathy in this house, nor any attempt to show compassion.

“I miss my mother,” I sobbed. “Where is she?”

“She’s not here,” someone screamed. “She left you, and she’s not coming back.” I don’t know if this lie was intended to quell my crying, but I was almost paralyzed with fear. Never in my life have I felt such a tangible presence of evil. While vainly seeking sanctuary under my bed, I desperately prayed to Buddha, as well as to every idol and spirit I could think of, without relief. It was then that I made one last desperate appeal to One whom I had never before invoked.

“Oh, Creator of all things! Please help and deliver me.” I didn’t know by what other name to call such a “Creator of all things,” but a strange peace covered my heart and I finally fell asleep.

Oddly, such demonic experiences never occurred at any other time in my life. Of one thing I am certain, however: It is impossible that I could ever hate a place as much as that house. I learned something, however, that would serve as a vital reference point in my spiritual odyssey. The “gods” whose help I had invoked had merely shown their impotence when I sought their help, but the One whose name I did not even know—this “One” who had created all things—had extended grace to me. Thereafter, I prayed to Buddha less and to the “Creator of all things” more, and I hoped that someday He might reveal His identity.

I were truly in a spiritual battleground, and because I were far “behind enemy lines” at the time and had never known liberation, I knew no better. Appeasing the spirits was just one of the facts of life, and I accepted it as such. It had been to satisfy them that my mother had almost given me away to her sister years earlier when I was deathly sick as a little girl, and it had been only by the providential hand of grace that I had recovered in time. It was this deliverance that spared me from being given over as property to a practicing medium in a home that was controlled by these demonic spirits. I was slowly coming to realize that the “Creator of all things” was responsible for my protection. Why, and for what purpose? I did not know. These questions would remain unanswered for years, but the question as to the identity of this “Creator of all things” to whom I had been increasingly praying was about to be answered.

One day, after two years living with my aunt, my mother and I discovered that she had evicted us and had thrown our meager belongings out of the house. It was at this point in my life that my mother and I moved to Bangkok to stay with my oldest sister, Kali and the rest of my family. A few years later, Kali became a Christian, and claimed that at last she had found what she had been looking for in life, and I could see a noticeable change in her. She exhibited a kindness and gentleness that we had never before witnessed. When she shared the story of Jesus with us and invited us to pray to accept Christ, no one refused. I cannot judge the sincerity of the others in my family who prayed that day, but I know one thing as it pertains to myself: On that day I fell in love with Jesus and discovered at last the identity of the “Creator of all things,” to whom I had been praying. 

It was at this time in Mem’s testimony that every one of us women in the room needed a tissue. We kept imagining Mem as a small child, never knowing the name “Jesus”, yet praying and having faith in Him. Our loving and compassionate Father saw his little girl under that bed, covered in dust and cobwebs and revealed who He was and changed her life forever. Praise Jesus.

Thank you SO much Mem- you are a HUGE blessing in my life and in the lives of so many others. You are living a life “Well Done” my sweet friend. LOVE you! 

Mem has been on the radio series “Unshackled” and is in the process of writing a book. Please feel free to ask her any questions you may have, she is more than happy to answer them.