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Guest Blog Post by
Pastor Christopher Visagie from Durban, South Africa
“My Testimony”
I was raised in a place called Wentworth which
is one of the suburbs in Durban, South Africa. I’m the eldest of four siblings.
We are three brothers and one sister. My dad was a postman working for the
General post office and my mom was a housewife. We lived in a block of flats
with six apartments, having two apartments on each level. Those flats were
designed with the front doors of the apartments on each level facing each
other. My father’s family lived in the apartment opposite ours. There was
hardly any privacy because of the way these apartments were designed. Not only
did the apartment doors face each other, but each flat was also close up
against each other. The way they were structured was frustrating enough, let
alone the fact that we were living in a so-called coloured area. Those were the
days of the apartheid regime. 
Being a so-called coloured living in a coloured
community that was known for drug abuse, alcohol abuse and violence both
domestic and gang-related violence was one of the worst environments to be
raised in. My father’s family already had a reputation for being violent.
Listening to the stories that my mother told of the Visagie family, it was
obvious that violence was passed down from generation to generation through the
bloodline. It seemed inevitable that I became who I was.
Growing up in such an environment where my
uncles were never a good example, encouraging me to stand up for my self. I was
constantly in fight with peers from as far back as grade one. Almost every week
I was taking trouble home with me. Looking back, I know now that I was being
groomed by the devil.
Looking at our home environment, the abuse took
its tole in awarding us with a fair share of its influence. It was strange if
there were no arguments between my parents for one day. They argued every
single day. At least twice a week argument turned violent. Arguments ranged
from a crease in my father’s work uniform to accusations of infidelity. When
arguments turned violent, you would swear that my father hated my mother for
reasons unknown. When you talk about a man possessed with a spirit of violence,
my father is the first that comes to mind. We were traumatized by his behavior.
It happened so often that it was normalized within our family circle and close
community. In those days family violence wasn’t as sensitive as it is today.
While growing up, there was a certain experience
that seemed to play over and over in my mind. It was a violent experience
without any specified detail. All I could remember was my mother screaming and
I was pushed up into a corner behind her. On a certain day, she was talking to
someone and this story surfaced. She was explaining how ant the age of two I
hit my father with my little hands in an attempt to protect her. Without a
second thought, my father who was supposed to protect me booted me. In those
days the type of footwear that my father wore to work had a metal toe-cap.
After he booted me, my mother grabbed me, backed me up in the corner to protect
me and received every blow from her violent abuser. My mother is a tiny woman.
Image a tiny woman bracing herself in a corner, protecting her two-year-old
baby who felt it right to attempt to protect his mom from her violent abuser.
That mental trauma of that experience haunted me for a long time. That devil
that possessed my father wanted me dead.
Years later, my father managed to get a
government subsidy to purchase a house. We changed locations, but those devils
moved in with us. When we thought things would get better, things quickly
deteriorated. My mother took up the courage to protect herself from the abuse
by taking up a weapon. Every time he hit her she broke the bottom end of a
bottle, grabbed a knife or whatever else she could get out of desperation and
she used it. We were forced to grow up in such an environment. By this time I
was suicidal and attempted to end my life on more than one occasion. I was full
of hatred and violence to the extent that I almost killed my own father by stabbing
him repeatedly. All I wanted to do was to die.
About this same period, my granny on my father’s
side was exposed for using witchcraft in an attempt to break up my parent’s
marriage. The logic behind it was she felt that her son should be supporting
her instead of supporting his own family. When this story surfaced, it was as
though hell was let loose. Everything that could go wrong went wrong. Many
nights we slept in the streets because we were kicked out of a place we called
home. With all this going on, a work colleague of my father advised him to
consult a witch doctor. We all had to take part in a ritual in an attempt to be
cleaned of this curse that plagued us. I’m not sure how much my father paid
that witch doctor, but whatever he did never worked. After a while, my mother
lost her mind to witchcraft. She started hallucinating. She sat flat on the
floor in the lounge corner, talking to little short men that she alone could
see. Our only hope to survive was ripped away from us. I can’t explain the emotional
strain that we endured as children.
All we did was cry until the tears dried
up. This went on for a few days. She was eventually taken away by her eldest
sister for someone to pray for her and her sanity was restored. I have no
clarity in where they took her or who prayed for her, all I remember is she was
back to her senses.
Beside her episode, I’ve had many episodes where
I came under the attack of devils. I was hearing things, seeing things move and
feeling the presence of evil all the time. I was also becoming more and more
violent as time past. I’ll never forget the day when I dared my best friend
just to start a fight. When he refused to respond, I stabbed him to provoke
him. The devil had me on my way to hell.
The situation eventually deteriorated to the
point that my father spent more money on alcohol than he spent on his own kids.
At times we had to ask neighbors for sugar to make a glass of sugar water to
relieve the dryness of the bread we ate. It came to a point where, if you got
up too late that morning, you might go hungry the whole day. Living under such
conditions, my mother was forced to start an illegal business. She attempted to
find a job but employment was hard to come by. She started selling alcohol
without a license. Doing that in an attempt to survive, it caused the situation
to worsen. Now we were attracting all types of ugly people. By this time she
also turned to alcohol for relief. Having one parent drinking was bad enough,
but both parents drinking just escalated what we thought was bad. Things were
out of control. The devil was running a racket in our home and we could do
nothing about it.
Remember that where chaos reigns, corruption
rules. When corrupt people saw an opportunity to take advantage, I had to stand
up and protect myself. From defending myself at the age of 14, I also started
inflicting harm. Violence begets violence.
Here's the irony. My parents were born again at
one time in their lives. They backslid and attempted restoration a few times,
but they failed. The God of Christianity that was introduced to me was a weak
God who helps nobody. We were taught to pray, but there was no answer from a
God we were told loved us. We were stuck in a situation of hopelessness, having
no family or friends who offered to help remedy the situation. My parents tried
pastors and social workers, but things just seemed to deteriorate. By this
time, my life was a mess. At the age of fourteen, being the eldest I was
helpless. Because I increased the already existing problems my mother had she
kicked me out of the house. I had to grow up quickly. By this time I had
already moved away from believing in the existence of God.
At the age of sixteen, I moved in with my
girlfriend who is now my wife, Pastor Elaine Brenda Visagie (Below Left). I never knew that she was backslidden when I
met her. I never really bothered anyway, because I converted to atheism. I was
always found debating the existence of God with friends and family. My
foundations were set and I believed that nobody could change that. I collected
enough evidence to discredit God who I believed was a figment of the
imagination that acted as a crutch for the weak.
After a few years of dating, my girlfriend decided
to go back to church. When that happened I attempted to get her into an
argument to change her mindset that I thought was corrupted by religion. At
this juncture of my life, I was so into what I believed, I started
demonstrating the power of the mind and mind control. There’s no way that I was
ready to be deceived into following a God that I thought did not exist. I was
stuck and the devils thought he had me. The truth is, the devil was grooming me
to serve him. While all this was going on, for some reason I started hating
where I was in my life and started desiring change. I hated the person I became
but had no power to change who I was. I convinced myself that I was on the
right track, but could never find comfort in the part I chose. All I longed for
was peace. There was a time that I broke down in tears because I was stuck, yet
I was one who never cried. My heart was too hard to share tears. A war started
in me. I attempted to restrain the emotional breakdown I was having. I hated
that I started feeling weak.
A little while after my girlfriend started going
to church, she invited me. I was dead set on not going with her. I felt that
going to church was a waste of time. The first time I agreed to go was when I
got up that Sunday morning with a bad hangover. The night before, I spent all
the money I had on alcohol. I knew that she had money, so I asked her to buy me
two beers to cure my hangover. The term we used for a hangover in those days
was babilas or babi. She told me that if I wanted money for two beers, I must
join her in church. She already complained previously about me not joining her.
I thought to myself that it won’t hurt if I sat in church for two hours to
please her, get the money, then go sit with my friends, having two beers to put
on the table. I was too proud to go empty-handed.
When we got to church, I sat at the back. I
refused to be a part of what’s happening because I thought that going to church
was a joke. After the singing and all the theatrics, the preacher was
introduced. He was a guest speaker from another church. After he preached
(don’t ask me what he preached because I wasn’t listening), he started praying
for people. He then stopped and said that God was speaking to a young man, in
this place, but that young man is refusing to listen. He then looked at me and
said that he can come right to my seat, but he wants this young man to come up
on his own. When he said that, I didn’t know what conviction was at that time,
but I felt the resistance in me leaving. He said it the second time and it
became obvious that he was talking to me because he was looking at me. I didn’t
want to look like a bad person, so I went up for prayer. That prayer never
stopped the plans I had. As far as I was concerned, that experience never
happened. The prayer meant nothing because I felt nothing. The strange thing
is. After that experience, I felt different. I couldn’t explain it but denied
giving credit to prayer. I never believed in prayer anyway.
The second time my girlfriend invited me to
church, I went because she won the argument. She told me that she goes where I
desire to be, but I refuse to go where she desires to be, yet I was suppose to
love her. It also became a little easier because the resistance seemed to be
wearing off. Church took the same direction as the last time I was there. After
the praise and worship and all the theatrics. The preacher was introduced. The
preacher was a short little lady whose name was Shiela. She was from a church
in Capetown. After she preached, she started praying for people as usual. She
then said the same thing that the first guest speaker said. The moment I heard
it, I put my head down. I thought to myself this is not going to happen the
second time. After a while, things were quiet. I picked up my head to see what
was going on, and noticed that she wasn’t at the pulpit All of a sudden, I felt
a smack on my shoulder. I turned quickly and looked into this little lady’s
face. She demanded that I get up because she was led to pray for me. She told
me that God was attempting to speak to me, but I was stubborn. After she prayed
for me, I went straight home, sat on the bed of out one-room outbuilding.
Facing the tv set on top of a small table, I noticed the bible on top of the
tv. For the first time I picked up a Bible having interest in its content
because of a conviction. I asked a question, opened the Bible and miraculously
found the answer on the page I opened to. I asked another question, did the
same thing and found an answer again. It was a little scary because I know that
it was impossible.
On the third Sunday that I went to church with
my girlfriend (now wife), I experienced the same thing. There was a guest
speaker set up by God who followed through with the same statements that were
directed to me by the previous speakers. That caused me to practically
interrogate God because of all the things I didn’t understand. At that point, I
hadn’t made a commitment to God because there were still uncertainties. When
God dealt with the uncertainties, I was led by my Pastor, Blake Crouch, who has
gone to be with the Lord. My life took a dramatic change for the good. That day
I was Born Again. I got baptized and Christ gave me the power to become a son
of God.
Since the day I was Born Again, I've been
ordained into Ministry. I’ve traveled to eight countries, seen thousands of
miracles, had the privilege of seeing what I prophesied come to pass on many
occasions, I’ve received good revelation from God, I completed seven books and
published one. Presently, I’m working on publishing the next three by February
next year, then another three in July.
This dramatic change in my life was unbelievable
for many who knew me. They couldn’t believe that my life could change in the
way it did. On two occasion I was approached by guys I associated in the world.
Both guys said that they believe that there is a God because of what He did in
my life. There is nothing impossible with God.
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