Stories of Faith - Episode 45

Bill and Elaine Cook shared the following testimony:

Several high-ranking church leaders from Europe, visited a pastor in Hong Kong who took them to visit some churches. 

They found them inspiring, and uniquely Chinese, but they wondered aloud if they were seeing the real church. At their last stop, the pastor discovered that two young women had just returned from their mission station for a short visit, so he asked them to come to the hotel late, to meet the visiting leaders. 

These young ladies had become believers as teenagers while listening to the radio, and they each had felt the call to be a missionary. The pastor had tried to convince them to witness right where they were but they said, “No. The Bible says Jesus said to go into all the world. We will go.”

The pastor protested, “You have only been Christians for six months, and you are so young.” They replied, “Pastor, we have read everything Jesus said and nowhere does He ask people how old they are. We want to go.” The pastor replied, “Very well. We need some workers on Hainan Island. But it is very rough. The people there are fishermen. There are no Christians there. For young ladies it might be dangerous.” Excitedly they responded, “How soon can we go? We will go to this place.” 

They had been there for two years and were now back for a short period of time to try to get Bibles for their new churches. The pastor had not seen them since they insisted that they “go now!”

The pastor went to the lobby that night at the appointed time and waited for the ladies to arrive so he could escort them to meet the visitors. While he waited, he watched the bellboys in their crisp, tailored uniforms, and the tourists who attempted to be casual in their designer clothes. “Oh, no!” he thought, as the girls walked in. Their black pajamas and broad-brimmed fishermen hats stood in stark contrast to the appearance of the sophisticated hotel. 

Tourists ogled them with that “how quaint” look so often directed to nationals. Several people stood staring as he greeted them as politely as possible without drawing too much attention. “Come, we will go to my room to meet some people from Europe.” The women looked at each other, then apprehensively followed behind, looking down at their bare feet sinking into the carpet. They attempted to step more lightly, as though they were afraid they would sink into this beautifully colored “mud.” 

The pastor pushed the elevator button, keeping his head down and afraid to watch any of the many eyes staring in his direction. The elevator arrived and the door slid open, and the women greeted it with a look of astonishment.

Several tourists smiled at them as they stepped on. There were more “how quaint” looks. The elevator operator pretended not to notice his passengers as he asked for the floor number. The women’s wonder changed to fear as the doors closed and their first elevator ride began to ascend! Once in the room, the two European church officials graciously greeted them and motioned for them to sit down. The pastor pulled chairs toward them, so they would not sit on the floor.

The European brethren began, “Pastor, ask them how many churches they have established on Hainan.” They put their heads down and answered, “Oh, Pastor, we have only been there two years. Not many. Not very many.” Their voices were apologetic. “How many?” “Oh, not many, not very many. We have only been there a short time. The people were not very friendly. Sometimes they became very vicious. Yes, sometimes they told us they were going to drown us in the ocean. Several men threatened us. Oh, my, and because we were so young, even some of the ladies did not like us. Yes, some even called us terrible names…so, not many churches…no, not many.” The pastor interrupted and slowly repeated the words, “H-o-w m-a-n-y?” 

There was a moment of silence, then one of the women looked up with embarrassment and anguish, as though confessing to a crime, “Only thirteen.”

The pastor looked astonished and interpreted for the guests. “Thirteen.” One of them repeated the number, “Only thirteen! Oh, my, goodness, I haven’t planted that many churches in my lifetime!” One of the pastor’s assistants interrupted, *“No, Pastor, she did not say thirteen, she said thirty!”* The pastor looked at them and asked, “Thirty?” “Yes, yes, not many. We have done very poorly. Only thirty.” “How many people are in the churches?” Again both heads went down, apologizing for their failure. “Not many.” Finally, the pastor looked like he was ready to shake them and practically yelled, “How many?” “Only two hundred and twenty people. Not many, no…not many.” 

Quickly multiplying in his head, the pastor said, “Two hundred and twenty in thirty churches?” “Oh, no, in only one, but that one is a very small church, very small. There are bigger ones…” The guests repeated the numbers, “Two hundred and twenty is small? Dear Lord, I wish I had some that large. Ask them how many are in the big churches.” With a more reverent manner the pastor inquired, “And how many in the big churches? I mean, the biggest one?” They began again, “Oh, not many…” when he asked them, “Please, ladies, how many?” “Oh, less than 5000. Only 4,900. Yes, less than 5000. We have just started.” From behind the pastor came the sound of weeping. “Dear Lord, forgive us! What did they do? How did they do it? Ask them what they did!” 

When asked, they looked astonished. “What did we do? Why, nothing. Yes, we did nothing, nothing.” “You did nothing? You have thirty churches; the smallest with two hundred and twenty people, the largest with almost five thousand new believers! And you did nothing?”

“No, nothing. We just prayed.”

“I know you prayed, but what else did you do?”

“After we prayed, the Holy Spirit would tell us exactly what to do. We would keep praying and He would tell us what to do, and we would do it. Then we prayed and then He would tell us what to do. We would do it and keep praying…”

“Dear Lord, they just prayed and the Holy Spirit told them exactly what to do and they prayed…”

The pastor laid his hands on the shoulders of the two sisters. Behind him his two guests, on their knees, weeping, joined as they just prayed. 

This year and going forward...if Jesus is Lord in your life... just pray and obey the Holy Spirit

Stories of Faith - Episode 44

Narrated by Ayooluwa Adepoju-Kisha

In December of 2006, when I was in 100 level in the University of Ibadan, my menstrual period started normally, but won't stop, even after 2 weeks. By my nature, I was not worried about it. However, my then roommate, turned big sis, Dammie Tabitha, being a nurse, kept hammering on me getting checked. So, of course, I went to meet my sweet sweet Mama, Adepoju Folasade, who is also a Nurse. And that was when my plenty journeys back and forth hospitals began. 

In the year 2010, during my final year, my dear friend and brother, Tayo Odejimi insisted I went to the University College Hospital (UCH) for proper treatment. That was when I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS). That was after 4 years of excruciating pains, sleepless nights and many many embarrassing moments. The symptoms I had included very long delay between periods (6 months to 1 year) bleeding in heavy clots (whenever it came), leading to extreme pain (accompanied with vomiting and stooling.....hahaha), bleeding could start at any time or could be on for weeks on end (my longest experience was about 17 weeks or so)and just suddenly increase in the middle of no where (I always had a sanitary pad or 2 in my bag), sudden and excessive weight gain, and ultimately, infertility (which I was then told to expect). 

Well, another round of journeys to and from UCH started and all they could say was that it can only be managed. Part of the management included taking contraceptive pills 🤦‍♀️ and some other orisirisi that now made me add weight. I was also told that they couldn't help the infertility until I got married and was ready to have children, and the treatment could take 10 years before I could get pregnant. 

Plenty of money went into buying of pads, running tests and scans, buying drugs, etc. But oh! My faith was strengthened!!! Because, "Though our outward man perish..... Praise and worship was my go-to weapon. I danced into the night many times and by day break, the bleeding dried up (only to return many times). I listened to many of Kenneth Hagin's and Gloria Copeland's healing messages and appropriated them. I didn't always get the results I wanted but my faith kept growing. I would have used my last cash to buy sanitary pads and then trek to fellowship serve God in my many capacities and probably drop my last #10 😂. Then go back to my room and sleep hungry. Plenty incidences flood my mind now, including during my service year and when I started working in Lagos and had to travel to Ibadan, many times, for treatment. All these went on for 11 years. 

When I finally agreed to marry my Sunshine, Jonathan Chang Kisha (another long story 🤣😂😂), in 2016, that was the first thing I told him. He was so calm that night in April. And then, when we spoke the next day he told me that he had a good dance into the night, and He who sits in heaven laughs (Ps.2:4), so he also had a good laugh. He then told me (more like decreed), that from the day he married me, the bleeding ceased and we would have as many children as we want, when we want them. But, of course, the devil will not leave us without a fight. 

On the day of our traditional wedding, I suddenly started bleeding and I mean bleeeeeeeeeeding. Between 5am and 12 noon, I had used up like 12 pads. All those pictures you saw me smiling bah, that was Mr. Kisha encouraging (and tickling😊) me. Well, when it was time for the engagement to start, I just told myself that the devil has lost so I danced like the winner that I was. Oh! I danced that day. It wasn't just wedding excitement o. It was prophetic! That was when the torrents became trickles for that day and we had a non-embarrasing event. Suffice it to say here that while we were praying towards the wedding, one of the things God told us is that we shall not be put to shame. That shame would have been terrible, but God's word had gone ahead. 

Fast forward to when we were ready for a baby. We didn't even plan or anything o. On 19th February, 2018, exactly 6 months after our wedding, I found out I was pregnant. Of course, we were so excited. Then, the devil tried again. We lost the baby on the 9th of April. It was a lot of pain, both physical and emotional. Then fear set in. And self pity and many other emotions. Most people around me had no idea (I was new in Kano so I had only 1 friend, Aderonke Ajiboye Amehson, my Kano angel) but I could tell that my friends in other places who knew my story and who I told I was pregnant were worried. Even my parents. You know, the pregnancy looked like it happened by chance. In fact, a friend of mine, who is a medical doctor said "you had something that looked like PCOS cos you couldn't get pregnant like that (he wanted to marry me but ran for his dear life when I told him 🤣🤣🤣) . Anyway, I had work to do. I needed to enthrone Jesus above all those emotions. So, I set to work. By the time I was through, I knew I had taken hold of my soundness of mind and was ready for another pregnancy, that I was carrying to term. And so it was. 

Our baby was born, on 7th April, 2019, exactly a year short of 2 days after we lost the first one.

Stories of Faith - Episode 43

Narrated by Kajungu Boaz Kyarimpa

Before killing me, the killers decided that I should dig my own grave. As I was digging, I was also praying. “Lord, I believe you can deliver me. You can protect me from being killed by these people. I’ve preached about Daniel in the lion’s den, and about how you delivered Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego from the fiery furnace. Are you still the same God? You can show me now. Please give me that faith.”

I was hoping that God would give me wings to fly away, or that He would send fire from heaven. But God answered in a much different way from what I could have imagined.

As I was digging the grave, one of the killers picked up my Bible and was looking at it. Noticing the many markings in it he asked, “What do all these colors mean?”

“Those are my favorite verses,” I said.

Interested, the man started reading the many highlighted verses. “Are you sure you’ve read all of these?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes,” I responded. I could see that the man had some pity for me.

Turning to his fellow killers he said, “Friends, I know we’re going to kill this man, but please let me help him dig!”

The leader nodded and the man jumped into the hole with me and started digging. “Lord, I prayed, “this grave is going to be finished quickly now. What are You going to do?”

God had a plan, but sometimes we want to try and force God to answer our prayers in the way that we think is best, rather than just trusting Him.

To my surprise, as soon as we were finished digging, the grave digging killer said to his colleagues, “Why should we use the grave for this man we don’t even know? Let him go and dig another grave near the highway. This is our field; why should we bury him here?”

The group agreed, and decided to use the grave for another man they had just killed. Then ironically, one of the killers said, “Before we bury that man, why don’t we pray for him.”

I watched as the group gathered around the body of the person they had just killed before coming after me. “Mary, mother of Jesus, receive him,” they said before rolling the corpse into the grave that had been meant for me.

All of a sudden my entire outlook changed. “Lord!” I gasped, “Don’t allow me to be separated from these people before I tell them who You are! These are people who have never heard about You. They think they can pray for someone they have killed. And we are partly responsible. We never came and taught them the truth about You.”

Right after they buried that man, we moved closer to the highway. I was about to start digging another grave when the man who had my Bible asked if he could keep it. I said, “yes,” but the other killers told him “No! It’s ours—you’ll have to pay for it!”

I could see that the Holy Spirit had already touched this man’s heart, so I begged him, “Please, can I have that Bible and say something before I dig another grave?”

The man was excited and said, “Go ahead!” but another one shouted, “No! He’s our enemy. He has nothing to tell us.”

Then the arguing became very sharp, with some of the group insisting that I should be given the opportunity to speak, while others insisted that I had nothing to say. Just when it appeared that the killers were going to fight each other, one who appeared older than the others asked, “Why are you going to fight over someone you don’t even know? Those who want to listen, sit and listen; others, sit and shut your ears. When he’s done, we’ll kill him.”

So they all sat down and I started to preach.

First, I thanked them. “Thank you for praying for somebody that you have killed. However, you need to understand what the Bible says about death—the only chance you have to be saved is during your lifetime—not after you are dead. ‘For the living know that they will die,’ I quoted from Eccl. 9:5, ‘but the dead know nothing.’ I’m not going to plead for you to let me go, I continued, because I know that even if you kill me a time is coming when I will be resurrected.

“Among the people you are killing are another tribe—they are not Hutu or Tutsis. They are God’s children. You think that you’re fighting a tribal war, but you’re mistaken. This is a war between Christ and Satan. You think that the people you’re killing are Tutsis, but they belong to a totally different tribe because they have given their hearts to Jesus and they are His children.”

Then I read 1 Peter 2:9-10 to them: “But you are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, His own special people, that you may proclaim the praises of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light; who once were not a people but are now the people of God, who had not obtained mercy but now have obtained mercy.”

As I preached, I could see some of the killers were crying, and I knew that the Holy Spirit was working on their hearts. After preaching for 15 to 20 minutes I told the group, “Now I’m going to say a final prayer, and after that I will dig another grave.”

As soon as I finished praying, someone shouted, “If anyone kills this person, his blood be upon them!”

“No, we can’t kill him!” the others said. “Let him go! We can’t kill him.”

Then the leader spoke up. “I was the one who suggested that we kill this man in a very bad way. But now, we’re not going to kill him.”

I knew it was only by God’s grace that my life was spared. Who am I? I didn’t have any power. God was just kind.

During the approximately 100-day genocide from April 7 to mid-July, 1994, approximately 1 million people were killed, including my entire family. But even though I came face to face with death numerous times, the Lord always saw fit to spare my life.

Stories of Faith - Episode 42

Fulani Herdsman finds Jesus

As a Fulani herdsman, Abdul witnessed the brutal persecution of Christians in northern Nigeria, but accidentally hearing about Jesus while passing a church changed his life forever.

Raised a Fulani herdsman, Abdul heartbreakingly recalls the times his own family and friends would attack Christian villages leaving no survivors.

“You cannot count the people they killed – they would go into villages and kill the entire village,” he says.

He even admits that he was involved in orchestrating one murder himself, as he recounts with tears his old life.

In 2002 he walked past a church by chance and heard a preacher say that Jesus was the only way to heaven; these words filled his mind with questions and his journey to truth began.

He began asking those around him questions about Jesus and the Bible. The advice was always the same: “Christians are not serious people and Islam is the far superior religion. He wasn’t satisfied with the answers.”

“I was at a loss; if Jesus was the way, then why was I still following Mohammed?”

He was desperate to hear the message of Jesus preached again, even though he knew attending church was a risk.

On Christmas Day he sneaked out of his home and attended a church service. He didn’t receive Christ that day but he returned home to find all his belongings outside. His mother discovered he had attended church and kicked him out. He had nowhere to go.

The same night, he had a vivid dream about two paths, and he knew immediately Jesus was speaking to him.

“That night, even after seeing how my mother reacted, I decided to accept Jesus Christ as my Lord. It didn’t matter to me if they wanted to kill me or disown me. I didn’t care, I wanted to accept Jesus Christ.”

His family began trying to convert him back to Islam. They tried using voodoo and threatened to kill him but he would not renounce Christ.

He went to church once more and when a police officer saw him there, he warned him that he needed to escape.

“The churches in my town would not accept me as a Fulani and my family wanted to kill me.”

This is when he knew he had to leave the state.

After leaving, he prayed continually for a place to go where he would be accepted.

“I prayed to God: I want you to lead me where I will learn your Word better and where I will be embraced and accepted.”

Not long after, his prayers were answered when someone told him about YWAM. He had no money, but a pastor blessed him with finances and encouragement to go.

He is still at YWAM and knows he has been blessed, and he looks ahead with hope.

Culled from https://vom.com.au/fulani-herdsman-finds-jesus/

Stories of Faith - Episode 41

Melrose was barely twenty years old when a group of visiting missionary mobilizers visited her university in 1983. She was sure she heard the call, but her identical twin sister, with whom she shared everything in life even up until then, did not hear anything like that. Her mum, a police officer, was livid with rage upon knowing that her young English undergraduate girl had opted to be a full time missionary. 

Torn between her love for her sister and honor to her parent, Melrose knew God had spoken. After finishing her university education, she joined Calvary Ministries. Contrary to human logic and mission’s ethics (if you like), Melrose was used of the Lord to pioneer residential work of that ministry in Niger Republic. A single lady in a Muslim nation! Yes. When she was undergoing one-year mission training, she heard of the need in that country. She opted to take the challenge! 

Melrose stepped out in faith. Thereafter, God gave her a husband, Joe, and blessed their union with three lovely boys. Together, they gave direction to the work, saw university students in that country disciple for the Master and established a rehabilitation centre for prostitutes in the land. Then God called Joe home. Relentlessly, Melrose soldiers on. She mapped out a strategy for prayer, mobilizing churches all around the country, especially in Lagos area to contribute prayer to North Africa, beginning with Niger Republic. Because she had been on the field, her prayer burden for the missionaries on the field has been with serious passion.

Stories of Faith - Episode 40

Narrated by Ruth Aisha Aba 

As my husband and I stepped into full-time mission work in 2003, the thought of absolute dependence on God for daily needs came with a lot questions and fears. Is it going to be possible? How will my family feed and the children go to school? How was God going to sustain us/ Several thoughts flooded my mind and the light on my path seemed so faint. I needed God to answer these questions because I was told to ask Him every question I had; seeing that He alone could answer them and I would walk the rest of my life upon His answers. 

It’s quite easy to make up one’s mind to choose this path especially when you see some people that have gone ahead and from all indications the Lord has been faithful to them. It looks as though as soon as the Lord bids you come and you step out upon His words, the wind and the waves would no longer be a distraction to make you take your eyes of Him for a moment. But as with Peter, waves have made some not only to sink but to drown completely and I didn’t want to end that way. 

One Sunday afternoon, precisely on the 16th of October, 2005, while preparing to go out in order to keep an appointment with some sisters; I felt a very strong urge to go in and pray. I tried to excuse myself but my heart got heavier with the burden to pray. I wondered why it should be at that time of the day. The Lord in His mercy prevailed on me; so I went into my bedroom and knelt down to pray. As I got on my knees, I began to ask God what He wanted me to pray for since I was not sure of what to say. But instead of raising prayer points for me, I heard Him say, “Take up your Bible”. I did that immediately. As I opened my Bible with no particular scripture in mind, it opened to 2 Kings 25:29-30, which reads thus: 

“And changed his prison garments: and he did eat bread continually before him all the days of his life. And his allowance was a continual allowance given him of the king, a daily rate for every day, all the days of his life”. 

I was so surprised for I had never seen this scripture in this light before. I saw God, my Father, answering my questions. I heard Him saying that He had made ready a portion of a daily allowance for me. It was not going to be monthly salary but a daily allocation sufficient to meet my everyday needs, and that for the rest of my life. I was also going to be eating from His table and would not need to be the one to plan my menu for the day but to eat whatever was set on His table for me. I am particularly honoured to be invited to the table of the Almighty, King of kings. 

After hearing what God had for me, I could not get up from my knees anymore. I wanted to spend the rest of the day there but the burden had lifted. I heard Him say; “That’s all I wanted to tell you”. I felt the joy that knows no bounds. The entrance of His words brought a flood of light unto my life’s dimly-lit path as I knelt in worship and adoration of his Holy Name. It was a very memorable day for me, for He gave strength to my weak and wobbly knees and made my feet like the hind’s feet. I knew He had enabled me to go on heights. He is ever willing to clear our doubts and questions. 

From that day on, I have not had to worry and fret about what to eat and drink. The Lord has been faithful to provide sufficiently all our daily needs in whatever way He chooses. I can hang my life on Him; for His word is true. He has continued to send His word of encouragement to me. Recently, I came across Luke 12:31 (TLB): “He will always give you all you need from day to day if you will make the kingdom of God your priority”. What a sure word of promise!

Culled from More Than Rubies Vol 10 No. 2

Stories of Faith - Episode 39

His grandfather sold curses, he plants churches in India: Raman’s story 

It took a terrible accident before Raman became a believer in Jesus. 

It took healing from sickness and demonic thoughts. 

It took rejecting the faith of his family and his village. 

In short? It took a God who never stopped chasing Raman. 

Raman* is a Christian in India, and every day he believes in Jesus, he risks everything for the savior who rescued him. 

But before that? He had to deal with sickness, injury and a family that specialized in curses and magic. 

‘Why do I have to suffer like this?’ 

Raman grew up in a family where he saw first-hand the darker side of one branch of Hinduism. “My grandfather was a priest,” says Raman, who is now 29. “He would sacrifice animals and invite the gods. When people wanted to curse someone, they gave money to him and he would [place a] curse. When I was young, people would come to me and say, ‘We suffer because of your grandfather.’” 

When he was only eight years old, his father and grandparents all died within three months. When Raman’s mother refused to remarry, their relatives seized all of their property and possessions, and forced Raman, his mother and sister to leave town. The family tried to begin a new life in a new place, but it wasn’t easy. “My mother had earned her living with black magic, but when we started our new life, she had no way to get income,” Raman remembers. “We lived in a shack beside the road. It wasn’t even a real house.” 

After a year, they were able to move into a house. But at the same time, Raman became sick. His sickness made him weak, and he would frequently collapse. “At that time, I was determined that there was no God, because I was asking, ‘Why do I have to suffer like this?’” he says. 

Raman also began to hear voices whispering dark thoughts and urging him to carry out terrible acts—to attack other people, and even to kill himself. He became a danger to himself and to others, so the other people in his village told Raman’s mother to chain him up to prevent him from hurting someone. 

He was chained for months—no one knew what to do to help him. 

Then, someone told his mother, “You should take your son to church.” The Christians at the church prayed for Raman, and after a month, he was completely healed, and he stopped hearing voices. His mother and sister came to faith after this miracle—but even after experiencing this healing, Raman still wasn’t interested in God. “Because I loved my mother, I went with them to church, but I didn’t believe,” he says now. 

‘I realized that Jesus healed me’ 

It took seven more years before Raman became a believer—and it didn’t happen without significant suffering. He was riding a motorcycle, and he hit a large truck. Raman was severely injured, to the point he nearly died from the accident; the people from the church where his mother and sister attended started praying for Raman. 

For 20 days, there was no visible improvement. The doctors told his mother to take her son home and keep him in a room where he could be cared for—they said he would never be able to walk, talk or do anything outside of a bed. Raman’s mother’s family told her this had happened because she had left her Hindu faith. 

But on day 21, Raman woke up, sat up in bed—and got out and walked. “God has given you life,” the pastor told him. But that still wasn’t enough for Raman. 

“I didn’t believe that,” he says. “I was looking awful, I had scars on my face and I had to walk with crutches. I didn’t feel happy at all. When people came by to visit me, I started to argue with them about whether God had done this. 

“I told my mom, ‘If God really healed me, then I want to walk without those crutches.’ My mom prayed for me and she told me, ‘You have to start walking.’ I did. Within a week, all the strength came back into my legs. That was the moment I realized that Jesus healed me.” 

Now, in place of those evil voices that once plagued him, Raman hears the voice of the Holy Spirit. “This is such a different voice,” he says. “It gives me peace.” 

Church planting leads to persecution 

Since the day he started to follow Jesus, Raman has faced opposition because of his faith. When he first became a Christian, he lost many friends, who accused him of accepting a foreign God. “I felt upset by their response,” Raman says. “I was also disappointed and alone.” 

But that didn’t stop him from following the calling he felt God had given him. “I believe that God asked me to plant churches in Hindu villages around my own town,” he says. Raman became Pastor Raman. 

He got married and moved to a new village with his wife, to start building relationships and conducting church services. After a year, they began to rent a building where his church could meet together. “God started to touch the hearts of the people,” Raman says. 

However, others in the town became jealous because of the growth of the church. They started to disturb the services by throwing stones on the roof to make noise. This continued for several years, but Raman never stopped believing and conducting church services. 

Several years later, the persecution became more violent. Raman and his wife were expecting their first baby, when they were knocked off their bike by a member of an extremist group. “My wife lost our baby,” Raman says. “I wasn’t able to do anything. I brought her to the hospital but there was nothing they could do.” 

This was a terrible time for Raman and his wife. Somehow, they managed to carry on with their ministry. After two more years, God blessed the family with a baby girl. 

‘Thanks to you, we could go on’ 

Raman’s ministry has continued to grow. He’s helped plant churches in surrounding villages. “Right now, there are 30 places in which there are Sunday schools,” he says. “And in three villages there are church services.” 

But the persecution he faces has also continued. In March 2018, Raman came close to losing his life when his church was attacked by a group of young people, bribed by Hindu extremists. 

“One night I was praying in the church,” he remembers. “I was all by myself and locked the door. It was midnight when I noticed smoke getting in the church. By the time I opened the door, the front side of the church was already on fire. My bike, which I use to travel to surrounding villages, was burned too. I tried to escape from the church, but when I did, some burning wood fell on me. 

“It’s really God who protected me that day. I had physical issues after the incident. And even more, my bike was gone, the church almost burned down and there was no one to help us.” 

Open Doors’ local partners were able to buy some basic necessities and groceries for the pastor and his family. “Thanks to you and the practical help you gave, we could go on,” Raman says. 

A couple of weeks after the fire, the church was rebuilt, and over 500 children came to the building for a Vacation Bible School. “All the glory to God,” Pastor Raman says. With the help of Open Doors’ supporters, the church was able to buy new sound system to replace the one that was lost in the fire, so that work like this can continue. 

Pastor Raman has now recovered from his injuries, and is determined to continue taking the gospel to his nation. He asks for prayers for the children’s ministry of the church, and for guidance as he seeks to plant churches in 100 villages around his town. “I want to see India as a country free of all evil,” he says. “When India starts fearing God, people will leave their wrong ways. I know it can be dangerous. I also know that I might die. But I am not afraid.”

*name changed for security reasons 

Source: https://www.opendoorsusa.org/christian-persecution/stories/his-grandfather-sold-curses-he-plants-churches-in-india-ramans-story/