About

I was introduced to Christ as a young boy, perhaps at around age ten or so, it was so long ago. We were brought into my aunt and uncle’s living room late one evening. It was so quiet and the moonlight shone through the delicate lace curtains on the windows, delicately lighting our meeting as we sat in a circle, on the floor in the middle of the living room. We were prayed over and ministered after having been given some essential scriptural references. It was just my ma, my sister and I, since my ma said that my dad didn’t really care about religion and was Roman Catholic by birth, even though he never ever practiced it.

My uncle read, “That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved. For with the heart man believeth unto righteousness; and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation.- Romans 10:9-10″

And then, we said the sinner’s prayer, and it was all done, we were “saved” and that was that, and we were even given our own little green Gideons New Testament with our name and date of salvation written therein.

Fast forward years later to a time when I struggled with peer pressure, cigarettes, alcohol, sexual issues, anger management, depression, and a house void of the God that saved me. There were many Gods present alright, statues and idols of them from my father’s nonpracticing Roman Catholic tradition, and collections of statues of ivory Buddha and Mayan idols made of ceramic and clay sacrificing to their own gods. But where was the God that supposedly saved me? We bumped into Him when we “accepted” him like it said in the “sinner’s prayer”, but we went on living how we normally did: ungodly and devoid of any biblical guidance.

It was only my ma taking us to church, a church called the Upper Room, where the preacher yelled, and people cried and wailed in worship, some even falling to the ground. But when the Upper Room closed due to a disagreement between the pastoral staff, we never went back to another church ever again, until I would cry out to the Lord to put back together my shattered life.

And this time, it was more than just bumping into Him. The invisible God who I heard about so long ago saved my life when I called His name, and put me back together again, and gave me a contrite heart after His word.

Since then I’ve been on a search for Spirit and Truth, and the miraculous regenerative power of the Holy Spirit and power of God’s grace through the sacrifice of Jesus Christ; not the satanic counterfeit that is found in the American apostate churches, but the “ekklesia” of the New Testament and there are a few true Bible believing Christians out there that follow what the Bible says, devoid of the traditions of conspiratorial influences and vain tradition passed down from paganism. They are just few and far between and very difficult to find, but they are out there, a remnant of God’s called out people. They have always been there, the true Church of the Firstborn.