From every Kindred, Tongue, People, and Nation: Dominica

I was born on the island of Dominica in the British West Indies. I grew up a Roman Catholic, and did all the necessary things that they do: first communion and confirmation. When I was twelve, my father died, so my mother raised me by herself. At the age of thirteen, I was introduced to marijuana. By the time I was fifteen, I was hooked on the drug. I even went so far as to follow the Rastafarian movement. After a while I became unhappy with that movement. It wasn’t meeting my need. We spoke about God a lot but there was no behaving godly. We stole from the other Rasta’s and did things that were not righteous. So I began questioning them, “Why are we doing these things if we are talking about God so much?” By then, I was growing long hair and living on the mountainside with my uncle. I was so disappointed with the movement that I went back to my mother’s home. That is when my search for salvation began. I started reading a New Testament I had, and that lead to a lot of questions. On the Island, we had a lot of groups who have outdoor meetings. So I listened and asked questions. I did not understand what the Bible meant by being saved, and the people who answered me were also not clear enough for me to grasp. So I kept on reading and reading. I remember that my friends kept telling me I would lose my mind because I was reading too much. I remember replying that if that book was the Word of God, I would not lose my mind. So I continued to read and ask questions.

I remember on a Sunday night I went to a gospel meeting with my friends, and at the end I began a conversation with a few of the Christians. To my surprise, I found myself supporting them against my friends. My friends were very upset with me. But I said to them that what the Christians were saying was what I saw in the Bible. Then one day someone gave me a tract that was very clear. I read it and understood that I needed to be saved, so I prayed the prayer at the end, and nothing happened. A few days after, a school friend of mine invited me to a series of gospel meetings. The first night, I listened and wondered, “Where on earth does the preacher know me from?” Everything he said I saw in myself; the same thing happened the following four meetings. I told myself it must be because I smoked before the meeting, and my mind was not clear, that it seemed he was talking about me. So I decided to go the fifth night (a Friday in May of 1975), without smoking. I went that night in my right mind and it was even clearer to me that I needed to be saved. I was lost. At the end of the meeting, I went to speak with the preacher, and he explained to me how lost I was, and that Christ died for me. I had a few questions, but I remembered clearly how I knew I was lost and needed to be saved. That night I bowed on my knees on a cold concrete floor and believed that Christ died for me. Oh the wonder of it all that He died for me! There was no big boom, or any such thing, but deep down inside there was that peace within me. I was content and happy.

I left the building and went outside. My friends were all waiting for me, but I could not go with them. I went home and, up until now, I can’t remember how I got home, but I got there. My mother was surprised that I got home that early. I remember saying, “I’m saved. He saved me. Now I know what the Bible means about being saved.”