Devan Narine: A TESTIMONY
I gave my heart to the Lord Jesus Christ at the age of sixteen, that decision would forever define my life.
My drive and desire for God and for His church has always been my heartbeat since that day.
After surrendering to the Lord and following Him in water baptism I was not prepared for the events that would unfold. I had renounced my Hindu faith and accepted Jesus Christ as my new Lord, Master and Saviour.
The first conflict arose when my grandmother died and I was told to follow the Hindu rights by being a part of the ceremonies and shaving my head. I was not prepared to compromise my stand for Christ and return to the past.
I was put out of my home and sought refuge in the house of a member of the church. Brother Junior Ferriera and his family embraced me even in their own dire circumstances. I was grateful.
Shortly thereafter my mom and sisters would suffer the same plight as full chaos broke out in the home.
My mother suffered physical abuse at the hands of my dad for all the years of her marriage. Broken bones, scars and hairline disfigurements are testimony to the pain of the past. Gender inequality and the accompanying discrimination disadvantaged her. The religious and cultural biases served to entrap by extolling the virtues of submission through violence against women and domestic abuse.
I have no fear or remorse in saying that the devils and demons of Hinduism and the oppressive forces of satan was a part our lives. The many men who claimed to be pundits only seeking their own gain fueled religious fervor by powerless prayers and innocuous incantations.
This time the full fury of the devil was at work seemingly determined to destroy me, I was unaware at that time that he (satan) knew of the call of God upon my life and the fact that my ministry gifting would be used to deliver many from the diabolic destruction of demonic forces.
My mom showed up one day in the back seat of a car she was beaten, battered and bruised by father. She showed me her hands and how swollen they had become because of the dog like manner in which my dad attempted to bite off the wedding ring from her finger.
My family was scattered, we were suffering. Having gained Christ I had lost it all, my life became a struggle for survival. I did not stop serving God nor did I ever absent myself from church, whatever my state I was prepared to stand.
My sister and I returned one day to get some of our clothes which we left behind. My dad saw us walking in a distance and came out to meet us hurling threats and terror. As we got closer he forbade us from entering the home launching a barrage of boulders. The stones shattered and we were only bruised by the fragments that connected with our feet, ankle and heels.
I subsequently moved to an uncle’s home. My father came looking for me one day and I was happy to see him, but was confused that he was there. I was home alone, he spoke of reconciliation, but it was only a ploy to get my guard down. Subtly his continence changed and he reached across the table and grabbed me I was in shock. From his back pocket came a “claw hammer” it was to be the instrument of my demise.
Frail and weaken by the lack of food/nutrition. I was unable to fight back, it was an unexpected ambush. In and out of consciousness, in my attempt to escape running to the bedroom, I collapsed on the bed from the blows to my head. I remember feeling the hammer hitting my knee caps again and again and again. I crawled out of the room as my aunt rushed in and restrained him. I fainted in a nearby drain where I was rescued by neighbours. I remember lying in back seat of Brother Ferriera’s car being taken to the hospital, I survived, I was alive.
The many bruises and hammer imprints and the limp with which I walked were signs of the attack that nearly took my life. However the unseen maiming that occurred in my mind would not be so easy to heal.
One day while returning home from school on my way to enter the taxi the voice of the Lord spoke to me directly and clearly, “do not go home, go to church” tired, hungry and weary I submitted to the voice of the Lord. I did not know the reason or why the Spirit of God ministered to be so mightily in the prayer meeting. When I arrived at the place where I was staying later that night I learnt that my dad was parked in a secluded corner of the road sharpening his cutlass and apparently waiting for me.
One night I gained access to his room and found some books, candles, spells, incantations and other items. I bagged it up and took them away. I was shocked to see in my father’s handwriting spells of destructions directed at me. In the end he committed suicide, found hanging from a tree in Toco. He had killed himself.
My story does not end here there are many things that have been omitted. The details of hunger, suffering, shame, humiliation and lack, the spiritual and demonic forces that tried to kill and attack me, the battles that I fought against demonic principalities in the midnight could fill many books.
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