Why I believe in the living God. My story of becoming a Christian.
It was nearly 12pm, Sunday the 8th of May 1994, when we received the phone call. That day was special on many levels: It was mother’s day. It was also the last day I was to see my father alive ever again. Dad was dying from an aggressive form of leukaemia. He had only a few short weeks before, come out of hospital recovering from a prostate cancer operation, which he had been told was successful. Only to be given the prognosis a week or two later he had an aggressive form of leukaemia. My dad was a hard man. He was old school. He taught us that men don’t cry. He wasn’t harsh in an abusive way – though if we mucked up, he would only have to start to unbuckle his belt and we knew we had better stop, or cop his strap over our bare butt.
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