A Journey of Faith: From Darkness to Light

Svein Åge Mathisen

This is the story of my journey from a life of darkness and despair to one of hope and redemption. It's a testament to the transformative power of faith and the incredible love and grace of Jesus Christ.

Childhood Struggles

Life seemed meaningless and I felt unwanted. As a young child, I attempted to end my life multiple times. School was a catastrophe, and I dropped out early, questioning the need for education.

Turbulent Youth

Things spiraled out of control. I fell in with the wrong crowd, got into drugs, and was driven by hate and rebellion. Cape Town in the early seventies was not an easy place to survive, with widespread problems of poverty, apartheid, and the border war trauma.
"I never knew the warmth of a loving family. The streets raised me, teaching harsh lessons of survival."

the Border War

At 17, I enlisted into the South African Defence Force (SADF). The brutal realities of the Border War further scarred my already wounded soul.
The violence and loss I witnessed during my service left deep emotional wounds. I returned from the war a changed man, struggling to find my place in civilian life.
"The horrors of war etched themselves into my mind. I came back a shell of who I once was, lost and searching for meaning."

Life at Sea: Merchant Marines

Seeking escape and adventure, I joined the merchant marines. The vast oceans became my new home, and I found a temporary respite from my troubled past.
For five years, I sailed the world's seas, visiting countless ports and experiencing diverse cultures. Yet, the emptiness in my heart remained.
"The sea offered freedom, but I was still a prisoner of my past. No matter how far I sailed, I couldn't outrun my demons."

Rock Bottom

My journey led me to Norway, where life spiraled downward. I was imprisoned in five different countries due to my lifestyle and behavior. I lost everything, including my daughter, and no amount of medical or psychological intervention could fix me.

Divine Intervention

It was here, at my lowest point, that I encountered the transformative love of Jesus Christ.
In October 1991, Jesus found me and gave me a new life. Felt loved for the very first time.
"In the land of the midnight sun, I found the true Light. When Jesus reached out to me, offering forgiveness and a new beginning."

A New Life in Christ

Embracing my newfound faith, I began the journey of healing and restoration. The scars of my past became testimonies of God's grace.
Today, I serve in a local ministry, helping others who are struggling with similar backgrounds. My life is a testament to the transformative power of faith and the endless possibilities of a life redeemed.
"Where once there was darkness, now there is light. My past no longer defines me; I am a new creation in Christ."

Redemption and Family

Three years later, I regained custody of my daughter Nadia. Later, by a miracle, I met my beautiful, God-fearing wife Ingun. We married and have rarely been apart since. I now have the family I always longed for as a child.

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Welcome to my story!

I've been asked to share my journey, and the powerful testimony of how God changed my life.It wasn't easy. My life started with neglect and abuse in South Africa, leading to a downward spiral of addiction, crime, and despair. I felt lost and hopeless, caught in a cycle of darkness that seemed impossible to escape.But God had a plan. He reached into my life at the age of 31, giving me a new chance. Through his love and grace, I found freedom from addiction, destructive habits, and the fear that had haunted me for so long. It was a life-changing transformation that filled me with peace, joy, hope and love.My journey has taken me through many twists and turns, but through it all, God has remained faithful. He's been with me every step of the way, guiding, protecting, and teaching me.
I am forever grateful for the gift of salvation, and I am committed to sharing the same hope and freedom with others. I believe everyone deserves a chance to experience the transformative power of God's love, no matter their past or present struggles.Read on to discover my story, and how God brought me from darkness to light.

Into a world

Born in Larvik, Norway, on November 20, 1960, my mother soon departed for South Africa, returning to her parents for reasons unknown to me. At that time, she was pregnant with my sister, Solveig, while our father was to join us later. They traveled separately by ship, which must have been a challenging experience for both of them.They attempted to establish a life in Cape Town but faced significant difficulties adapting to a new culture, transitioning from Norway to Africa. The life of a sailor is inherently restless, and the call of the sea ultimately led our father to leave, marking the end of their relationship.Consequently, my mother found herself alone with two children in her early twenties, a challenging situation for a young woman yearning for freedom. She reverted to her previous lifestyle, which included drinking and its associated troubles. Strained relations with her parents exacerbated her situation, leading her to the streets of Cape Town, where she fell into a dire state.Ultimately, we were abandoned by our parents after Solveig's birth and left at an orphanage in Cape Town. I am uncertain how long we remained there until our grandparents eventually took us into their home.
The truth was never disclosed to us, as we were deemed too young to understand. The burden of guilt and shame was difficult to bear, yet it was never our responsibility.I remember her as someone who occasionally came to spend the night, entering through the bedroom window, often resulting in conflicts with her mother. My grandmother was a fierce individual, quick to react in ways she likely regretted later.My mother eventually felt the need to escape, disappearing for many years before returning with a new child, Shaun. His father was a severe alcoholic, often referred to as "white trash," a term denoting a failure in society.Short while after she disappeared again, and years later returned with her new family, we were never to be included in her life.Years later, I learned from Shaun the eldest of three brothers and our little sister, that during her drunken episodes, my mother had mentioned having another child in her teenage years, a truth that was also concealed from us.
There were whispers of an older brother or sister somewhere in the world. Interestingly, even while living with my grandparents, they never alluded to this child.

Childcare

During that period, our grandparents had to toil relentlessly to make ends meet in a foreign land. My grandfather embarked on a new career at the city power station, as opportunities in the music industry in Cape Town were scarce. My grandmother found employment as a saleswoman in a clothing store.Throughout those years, we were cared for by maids, who were often local coloured people, inexpensive labor. However, when left alone with them, they had the freedom to act as they pleased. Their primary responsibilities included looking after us children, which encompassed feeding and cleaning, among other tasks. They also had to manage household chores and prepare dinner before our grandparents returned from work.
Unfortunately, these caregivers rarely stayed long, as they often resorted to theft and exhibited little concern for our well-being. After all, why would they care? They were themselves victims of the oppressive apartheid regime.Our grandparents had to leave home early to catch the train into the city for work. They had no family or close friends to rely on in this foreign environment, a situation I can relate to from my own experience in Norway. Trusting that someone would come to the house each day was a challenge, especially in an era without mobile phones.We often found ourselves confined to a baby chair for extended periods, sometimes up to ten hours, left in soiled diapers and hungry, with no one to attend to our needs. Yet, I firmly believe that God witnessed our suffering and saw our tears.
I can even recall instances of sexual abuse that began when I was around five years old, perpetra ted by a young couple. At times, we went without food, as our meals were given to or shared with their children, who accompanied them. What could one expect from individuals who were impoverished and underpaid? They took whatever they could.

Meaningless Existence

Throughout my childhood, I often contemplated ending my life. I recall an incident where I attempted to leap from a cupboard onto a pair of scissors, using sheets to elevate the scissors on the bed. On other occasions, I ran away from home; once, I was discovered riding my bicycle with training wheels along the motorway at night, long before I was of school age. I felt an overwhelming urge to escape. Life appeared profoundly unjust and distressing, and I yearned for my parents. I despised my existence. What did we do wrong to deserve this life.

Why Education?

The year I was set to begin school, my grandmother made the decision to leave her job to care for us, a choice that must have posed significant challenges for my family due to the reduced income.
From my very first day at school, I developed a strong aversion to it and frequently attempted to flee. I was bullied from the outset, a frail boy with freckles and a name that myself and others struggled to pronounce, hailing from a divorced family, which was uncommon at that time.
Additionally, I lacked basic literacy skills and was under-stimulated due to neglect. Our inability to afford new school uniforms further fueled the bullying, as did the fact that I lived with elderly grandparents.
I never grasped the purpose of education. All I desired was the freedom to play; was that truly a crime? Back then, it certainly seemed to be.
Even during my first year, I found myself in the principal's office, receiving corporal punishment (a maximum of six strokes), which was merely the beginning of a series of such experiences throughout my schooling.
I ultimately failed my first year and was forced to repeat it, a humiliating experience for a seven-year-old. I felt as though the teachers held a disdain for me, and my grandparents were never available to participate in school meetings. It was a dreadful experience to be left behind, especially knowing that my classmates were younger, and even my little sister was now at the same academic level.I recall being taken to the hospital to have all my baby teeth extracted, as my grandparents could not afford to stay awake with me during my toothaches due to their work commitments. Being toothless became yet another reason for me to be bullied at school. Subsequently, I resorted to stealing pens and sharpeners from my classmates, which ultimately led to my discovery. The teachers visited our home to retrieve the stolen items I had concealed atop my wardrobe. They requested that my grandparents impose punishment on me for my actions.I did everything possible to avoid returning home after school, neglecting my homework and frequently finding myself in trouble. I began stealing small items from local stores, such as candy and matches. However, this was merely the beginning; I escalated to stealing larger and more valuable items, breaking into buildings and clubhouses to vandalize and take what I wanted. I felt no fear; it was thrilling and addictive.I even started several significant forest and bush fires in the area. The police eventually came to our home to warn my grandparents, insisting that they discipline me severely. I was out of control, acting without thought.At the age of eleven, I had to repeat the same year in primary school for the second time. I felt like a foolish failure, unable to grasp what was happening in class due to my dyslexia and lack of interest. Now, I was two years older than my classmates, which was deeply embarrassing, and I struggled with the shame of it all. While my peers were advancing to high school, I still had two years left in primary school, feeling as though I would be an adult before I ever graduated.I remember getting into fights with high school boys while still in primary school because they mocked me for my perceived failures.
Once again, I returned home with a torn uniform and missing buttons on my shirt, which led to yet another confrontation with my grandmother. The cycle of trouble seemed never-ending.

First encounter

As a young child, I was compelled to participate in the Roman Catholic tradition, attending catechism classes on Saturday mornings and church services every Sunday. The catechism sessions held at the monastery on certain Saturdays resembled a form of Sunday school, where scary nuns and priests donned black garments, and the atmosphere within the buildings was often cold and eerie.However, one particular Saturday during catechism, we were shown an old black-and-white film that profoundly impacted my life. The narrative centered around a young orphan boy residing in a monastery. He was frequently bullied and unjustly blamed for the misdeeds of other boys. In search of solace, he discovered a hiding spot in a dusty, cluttered loft that served as a storage area, filled with various church items, including chairs, tables, and even a life-sized crucifix.On one occasion, while the boy sat in that loft, overwhelmed with sorrow, something extraordinary occurred. The figure of Jesus on the crucifix came to life, lifted His head, and gazed at the boy. As He spoke, my heart raced, and I realized that Jesus was indeed real and alive. It felt as though He was addressing my very existence, opening my eyes and instilling a deep belief in God within my heart.At that moment, I became certain that Jesus would always look after me in some manner. My faith was firmly established in Him, and I knew I could never doubt His existence, regardless of the circumstances.

Reckless, rebellious boy

The government initiated the construction of a new highway just up the road from our location, cutting through the boundary that separated the white community from the colored community. During the excavation process, a substantial ditch was created for the highway, which subsequently filled with winter rains, transforming it into a lake. We constructed rafts from polystyrene sheets and engaged in imaginative play as pirates, with the colored children. We engaged in mock battles using clay balls attached to sticks, which were flicked like a catapult. These projectiles had considerable range and could inflict significant pain upon impact. There are troubling memories associated with how the colored community was treated; they were abruptly removed from the area, and a few of them had been our friends. Over time, I developed a fascination for exploring their abandoned homes, which were poorly constructed and easily destructible. At that age, I was unaware of apartheid and the broader national tragedies. However, as our white neighborhoods expanded, the local residents were increasingly marginalized.

Adventurous spirit

At the end of the road stood an old winery featuring a tower, which was in such disrepair that it was surrounded by a fence to prevent entry. The government’s waterworks offices were located nearby, resulting in considerable activity in the area, in addition to the presence of watchmen. This heightened the risk of trespassing, yet I discovered a means of access. Inside the tower, an old wooden staircase spiraled upward along the walls, extending about eight stories high. Several steps were broken or missing, and the structure appeared precarious, ready to collapse at any moment. Pigeons inhabited the space, easily startled and capable of alerting the watchmen. At the top, one had to leap over a gap that extended downwards, a thrilling yet daunting experience. I spent considerable time there, often accompanied by a friend. I relished the thrill and excitement of engaging in activities deemed forbidden. Today, there is no trace of the old tower.

First arrest

At the age of eleven, I found myself apprehended while attempting to break into a man's house through the roof, mistakenly believing it to be unoccupied. My intention was to seek adventure in the vicinity of an old winery located nearby. Inside one of the storage rooms, I discovered two cars—a sports car and a vintage model—which I inadvertently damaged. The thrill of the act, coupled with a sense of danger, fueled my actions. As I descended onto the table in the living room through the opening I had created, the homeowner appeared, brandishing a large machete and visibly furious. He transported me to the police station, insisting on my incarceration. In a moment of panic, I provided a false name and address, inadvertently implicating an innocent individual named Gerald. As a result, Gerald faced significant repercussions, including punishment from his father due to my misdeeds. I escaped with minimal consequences but never returned to that house again.

Burning desire

My initial experience with fire occurred in my bedroom when I ignited my toy box. Upon hearing my grandmother approaching, I panicked and shoved the box under the bed, leading to my bed and curtains catching fire by the time she entered the room. This incident resulted in a severe reprimand.On another occasion, I stole matches from a store and, while playing in a forest where numerous pine trees had been felled for a library construction, I decided to ignite a pile of logs. The flames quickly escalated, and I fled home, pretending nothing had transpired. However, someone witnessed the event, and municipal authorities arrived at my home, demanding punishment in front of my grandparents. It took eight fire engines to extinguish the blaze and protect the new library.Another incident occurred on my way home from school when I noticed resin oozing from a large pine tree near the tennis courts in Meadowridge. I lit it, and the flames rapidly engulfed the tree, resulting in a widespread fire. This experience was terrifying, yet I managed to evade any consequences.On another occasion, we engaged in the reckless act of playing with matches in a parched field of tall grass. As we carelessly flicked the ignited matches into the dry vegetation, a sudden gust of wind ignited a fire that rapidly spread throughout the area. Tragically, someone lost their dog that day. After the fire brigade arrived, we returned to assist in extinguishing the flames, fully aware that Stephen's parents were aware of our involvement.

Itchy fingers

I recall the incident of breaking into the Scout club located on Ladies Mile Road, where I managed to gain entry by climbing onto the roof. Inside, I discovered a storage room filled with sweets and cola, which felt like paradise during that time. I took some sweets to school, which temporarily won me friends. I returned several times until they eventually discovered the break-in and secured the windows.My foray into crime began at an early age, well before I turned fourteen. I was adept at concealing my activities, feeling neither guilt nor remorse. I do not believe I possessed the intelligence to have a conscience, and I perceived nothing wrong in my actions. I was capable of lying, stealing, and deceiving, showing no respect for others or their belongings. I felt invincible, presenting an innocent facade.

A new beginning

During my teenage years, I encountered various denominations that were markedly different from what I had previously known. We were permitted to attend youth camps with friends and visit other church youth groups, such as the Methodists and Baptists.
These youth camps served primarily as opportunities to forge new friendships; I never engaged deeply with the evangelical aspects. They were excellent venues for meeting girls and making acquaintances.
At the age of fifteen, I left my grandparents in Cape Town to live with my mother and her new family in Johannesburg, specifically on 8th Avenue in Bezuidenhout Valley. This transition felt like a fresh start, and I sensed that life held new meaning. That summer was the most enjoyable of my life; two lovely girls lived across the street and expressed a desire to befriend me. My new best friend, Vanessa, introduced me to music and romance, and I fondly remember her as the one who gave me my first kiss. Although she was my first girlfriend, I was still quite immature and lacked understanding. I later enrolled at Queens High, where I joined the first rugby team, gaining popularity and numerous friends. Then, quite suddenly, we moved to Kensington, a transition I barely recall.
One day, I accompanied my mother and Jack to The Valley Baptist Church in Johannesburg. The sermons were filled with passion and energy, and I sat in awe during the services, which were a stark contrast to my experiences in the Catholic Church.Pastor Piesley possessed a deep concern for the lost, a sentiment shared by the congregation. My experiences at summer camp were among the most memorable of my youth; I received my own Bible and even took the initiative to underline several verses.One day, while riding the bus to Queens High, a fellow student stole my pack of ten cigarettes. A few days later, he approached me, visibly distressed, confessing that he felt guilty for stealing from a Christian. He expressed a desire to be saved that very day, so after school, we made our way to the pastor's house. We prayed for him in the garden, and he accepted salvation. I recall that one of the elders present gifted me a New Testament Bible intended for soul winners, which I still possess. This marked the first occasion on which I led someone to Jesus; his name was Stephen Tayler, and I believe he eventually returned to England. I often think of him and hope he continues to serve the Lord.Later, after a rugby match, my mother informed me of my grandfather's passing. That evening, we traveled to Cape Town to be with my sister and grandmother, and it felt as though my life had come to an end. From that moment on, my life began to descend into a troubling path, as I was told that had I not left Cape Town, my grandfather would still be alive, and that I had broken his heart.

Bad decisions

Following my grandfather's funeral and returning to a place filled with memories, life appeared devoid of purpose; my days of glory seemed to have concluded.I enrolled at Norman Henshilwoods, seeking an escape from the familiar faces of my childhood. This institution offered a more liberated atmosphere, allowing me to reinvent myself in anonymity. As the first year of high school progressed, everything appeared to be going smoothly. Despite the requirement to engage in sports, I had no desire to participate and found myself disliking school once more.

Higher, high

I recall the initiation into smoking, which initially brought me a sense of pleasure, compelling me to resort to theft for funds to purchase cigarettes. Shortly thereafter, while playing pinball, some individuals approached and noticed the yellow tint of nicotine on my fingers. When they inquired if I smoked cannabis, I confidently affirmed, and from that moment, there was no turning back. I had finally discovered something that filled the void in my life, along with a host of new and intriguing friends. At school, I gained popularity among various gangs, earning a reputation for being quite rebellious. I possessed a creatively mischievous spirit and exhibited a disregard for both life and death. While most of my companions were affiliated with 'The Mongrels,' I preferred to operate independently, pursuing my own path. I would wander aimlessly until the early hours of the morning, resisting the urge to sleep. It was as if I were in a trance, endlessly walking. I remember the local African community whispering as I passed, with some even remarking that I had the eyes of the Devil. I harbored deep-seated prejudices, harboring animosity towards anyone who was not part of my circle.My family and I relocated to Muizenberg, where I was granted access to a spare room situated in the back garden. In that environment, I formed numerous new friendships and engaged in excessive cannabis use. I left school at the age of sixteen, identifying as a drifter and beach enthusiast. My desire was to avoid work and seek solitude. I resorted to begging for money at train stations, fashioned cigarettes from discarded butts, pilfered milk money from neighbors, and committed some burglaries. I would often hitch rides or sneak onto trains, occasionally clinging to the exterior.Life felt like a continuous celebration, even when we were not formally invited. We considered ourselves the most popular at the discos, accompanied by attractive girls, though we were not seen as suitable partners. We embodied the spirit of the 1970s headbangers, with altered states of mind, lacking in fashion sense and responsibility. Much of my time was spent fishing, which resulted in my jeans being perpetually dirty, as I had an aversion to clean clothing.This way of life was destined to change, as I had enlisted in the army without fully comprehending what that entailed.

Muizenberg dayz

Muizenberg holds a significant place in my memories, deeply intertwined with my past. We resided in a brown house adjacent to the vlei, making it a natural setting for fishing and enjoying the beach.Throughout the week, I would often spend my time at the Majestic playing pinball or visiting friends' homes. Occasionally, my day would commence with wine on the beach adjacent to the Balmoral Hotel, a popular morning gathering spot where we would share wine and partake in a pipe.I fondly recall some old friends from that era. I would spend time with Glen and Greg Bok, along with Rod, who resided with them. Others included Aape, Willy, Careck Auld, David Redman, Herbie Meeck, Jimmy the Bullshiter, the eccentric David Carew, and Shawn McGee. I often reminisce about those days filled with smoking parcels of ‘dagga’ while enjoying great music. The soundtrack of our lives included Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin, Bob Marley, Pink Floyd, Uriah Heep, and, if fortune smiled upon us, Robin Auld performing on the front porch. We would also gather at the pavilion to play putt-putt after hours.Near the station, there was an individual who had a circus trapeze in his garden. I remember hanging upside down on it, completely inebriated, watching the trains pass by with Herbie, Glen, Careck, and Aap. It seemed that there was always something happening during those days.I recall leaving all of that behind to join the army, traveling on the troop train with Rod, which turned out to be the last time I saw him. I encountered Jimmy on the border; he was adept at getting what he desired and seemed to enjoy army life. After my service, I returned to Muizenberg, but it felt as though everything had changed—perhaps it was I who had changed.

Bully the dog

Bully was my cherished dog, a white mix resembling a wolf. We were inseparable; I often wore dirty jeans, a green parka jacket, and a light blue woolen cap, carrying a stick as I walked. He would come running at the sound of my whistle, embodying true companionship. Many expressed interest in purchasing him, but he was devoted solely to me. I recall an incident when I accidentally locked him in the restroom at Muizenberg station while we attended the 3 Arts midnight movies. Remarkably, he remained there the following evening, having been forgotten, yet his affection for me never wavered. I often explored the mountains, recalling adventures in the caves where I had to crawl on all fours, leaving candles lit to guide my way out.

Jack Veale, stepfather

Jack, affectionately known as Gunk, was my mother’s boyfriend, and together we embraced the life of fishermen. We spent considerable time around the vlei, fishing to provide for our families, with my mother being quite skilled at making fish cakes. Occasionally, we would fish through the night, sharing a jug of wine and celebrating each catch with a toast. Our evenings were filled with laughter and stories, as he recounted his experiences as a street fighter, becoming a father figure to me and inspiring my interest in the Gospel. Daily, I would venture into the vlei to pump prawns for bait, an illegal yet exhilarating activity. I attracted numerous customers and earned some money, marking the beginning of my first business venture. This income was essential for my weekend outings to discotheques at Strandfontein beach club and Fishhook beach. Indeed, those were remarkable times.

Border War 1978 – 1980

In July 1978, I departed from home to join the army. I took the train to the city and gathered at the Cape Town Castle. It was at that moment I realized I was about to embark on what I would later consider the gravest mistake of my life. We were met with shouts and curses, directed to follow orders, stripping us of our freedoms. We were informed that our lives were no longer our own; we had become property of the military, with no possibility of retreat.

Basic Training

A few hours later, we boarded a train to our designated training battalions. We were young men, ranging from seventeen to twenty-five years of age. The following day, we arrived at the 7 South African Infantry Battalion camp in Burkes Luck, located in the northern Transvaal. Within hours, our heads were shaved, and we were outfitted in brown overalls, equipped with full military gear, and thrust into training exercises. With temperatures exceeding 30 degrees Celsius, we found ourselves running through the bush while carrying a telephone pole on our shoulders. What was the purpose of this? Ah, yes! The objective was to break us down and instill discipline. It was perhaps the most challenging five months of my life.

First Border Deployment

We had barely completed our basic training when we were dispatched to the border. Our mission took us to South West Africa (Namibia) and Angola, amidst the civil war involving SWAPO, UNITA, MPLA, and FNLA. The conflict drew in various international forces, including Cubans, Chinese, East Germans, Russians, and mercenaries. The local black African population found themselves caught in the crossfire, used as pawns by their oppressors. The environment was scorching and teeming with wildlife, and we were warned that a terrorist lurked behind every rock. Our assignment on the Namibian side was to safeguard South African interests against the infiltration of terrorists who were smuggling weapons and attacking innocent farmers and their families.Our initial six-month border duty took place in Tsumeb and Tsintsabis, where we patrolled the region and were stationed at farms and schools to ensure their safety. We encountered the enemy on several occasions, and fortunately, I was not involved in the landmine explosions that occurred nearly every day.

Second tour

The subsequent deployment lasted six months in Rundu and Caprivi, during which we conducted patrols in the no man's land region and searched the border for tracks. Our patrols along the Okavango River included encounters with the enemy across the river, resulting in significant casualties for SWAPO that day. This experience marked my first exposure to combat and remains etched in my memory. The significance of this area resonates deeply within me, and I often wish to return.

Last tour

Our final assignment took us to one of the most perilous regions, Ondangwa and Oshakati, where we even ventured into Angola. Much of our time was spent on patrol, including a week stationed atop a water tower. From this vantage point, we observed rockets being launched from within Angola towards South West Africa.

Terrible accident

A tragic incident occurred while we were gathering wood for a fire; we witnessed a group of boys herding cattle across the border from South West Africa into Angola. Accompanied by Alwin, as we were never permitted to wander alone, we shouted a warning to the boys and fired shots over their heads to frighten them. Unfortunately, one boy, approximately fifteen years old, was struck in the back of the head. He lay there, gravely injured, and we were faced with a dire situation, far from civilization and without assistance. We had to act quickly to end his suffering. One shot concluded his pain, leaving us with scars that would last a lifetime. This was the first moment I found myself pleading with God for help, fearing we might lose our sanity due to this incident.

Going home

As our seven-month tour drew to a close, our base camp was struck by a rocket, hitting the storage bunker where my belongings were kept. I lost my South African ID card and several rolls of film. We were now on our way home, no longer boys, but changed individuals, marked by our experiences for life.

Believe and be Baptized! – 1980

One Friday evening, shortly after returning home from military service, I was walking along the road with the intention of purchasing drugs. Suddenly, I felt an overwhelming force from God that compelled me to turn back towards a church I had just passed. Upon entering, I was taken aback by the lively atmosphere; people were raising their hands and speaking in various languages. I found a seat towards the back, but before I could fully comprehend the situation, I noticed something on the wall at the front of the congregation that would profoundly alter the course of my life.For a brief moment, I perceived what appeared to be a film projected onto the wall, which was draped with a curtain. However, I could distinctly see a hill adorned with three crosses, radiating a brilliant white light. As the congregation engaged in prayer and worship, I felt compelled to approach the front to discern the nature of what I had witnessed. I was curious if they were attempting to deceive me with visual effects. When I shared my experience, their excitement was palpable, and they inquired if I wished to be saved.Saved? I was puzzled by their terminology, but before I could respond, they placed their hands on me and began to pray fervently. Following this, they asked if I had been baptized. Baptized? I had never encountered that concept before, so I agreed to participate.The following week, I was scheduled to return for my baptism. I invited my grandmother, who, being Catholic, expressed her disapproval and cautioned me against proceeding. I then asked my mother and my stepfather, Uncle Jack, to join me; however, my mother was unavailable. Uncle Jack, a believer himself but not yet baptized, agreed to attend.I donned white garments in preparation for the baptism and was escorted to a room at the front of the building, where I entered the water alongside another individual. As the curtain separating the congregation was drawn back, I was delighted to see Uncle Jack seated among the attendees. The very spot where I had experienced my vision was the same location where I was baptized. And just like that, it was accomplished, though I did not fully grasp the significance of what had transpired.Upon returning home to my grandmother, Nana, I found her visibly distressed upon noticing my damp underwear. She expressed her disapproval, stating that my actions were regrettable and that the Catholic Church would not approve. However, for the first time, I experienced a profound sense of tranquility, feeling that the events unfolding in my life were entirely appropriate.Uncle Jack was taken aback and remarked that when I emerged from the water, my face radiated like that of an angel. This newfound clarity ignited a desire within me to connect with fellow Christians. Within a week, I discarded my cigarettes into the sea and joined a group dedicated to reaching out to those in need in the slums.A significant shift occurred in my life shortly thereafter, as my father's ship arrived in South Africa the following week. After nineteen years, he finally reached out to me, inviting me to join him on the ship and offering a fresh start. With no job and lacking ambition, I accepted his offer.I vividly recall informing the church elders of my decision to leave South Africa to become a sailor and explore the world. They laid their hands on me, praying for divine guidance and protection during my travels. They encouraged me to share my experiences with Jesus with others around the globe.

A New Beginning – 1980

After a span of nineteen years, my father arrived with promises of a fresh start and a family awaiting me in Norway. All that was required of me was to arrange my documentation and receive the necessary vaccinations. My grandmother expressed immense joy for my upcoming journey, and I felt a surge of excitement. I believed I was merely embarking on a temporary adventure to work on ships and explore the world.I boarded the plane to Durban, where I was to reunite with my father and embark on the ship. Unbeknownst to me, my father had taken measures at customs that effectively eliminated any possibility of my returning to South Africa. With my South African identification card and documents destroyed at the border, I found myself unable to return home, now requiring a visa for entry.Departing from Durban harbor was a poignant experience; I pondered how long it would be before I would see my family again, a sense of unease settling in. I was entering a new world filled with unfamiliar people, a foreign language, and new cuisines, all while feeling isolated. My father was well-regarded among the crew, yet he harbored a significant fondness for vodka. After work, we would spend time in his cabin drinking, during which he would share stories about his new family. It did not take long for him to attempt to mold me into his image, insisting that I shave my mustache if I wished to be accepted into his family. He seemed oblivious to my identity, neglecting to recognize that he was the one who had distanced himself from his own family.I refused to tolerate this treatment, and at the next port, I bid farewell to my supposed salvation and sought solace in marijuana, the only comfort I knew that worked. This decision involved one of the crew members, leading to significant trouble for him. My father came to regret his decision to take me away from South Africa without understanding who I truly was, expecting me to conform to his ideals and those of other Norwegian boys.In Holland, the ship was assigned to participate in NATO maneuvers in the North Sea. During this period, I was not permitted on board, so I was sent onward to Norway. I vividly recall my arrival at Fornebu airport and taking a taxi to the central train station in Oslo. There, I boarded a train to Larvik to meet a family I had only seen in photographs.Reidun, my father's new wife, was present to greet me, though she spoke only a limited amount of English. It must have been an unusual experience for her as well, considering she was only a few years my senior. Their home evoked memories of "The Sound of Music," as everything was impeccably organized, and my new brothers seemed conditioned to respond to our father's commands. He was a tyrant, and everyone appeared apprehensive about displeasing him, which starkly contrasted with the persona he displayed to his friends on the ships. I found myself eating hamburgers almost daily, as she was unaware of my other preferences.I also met my father's parents and his sister, who could not communicate in English. In an attempt to make me happy, they brought beer. Over the years, they had tried to maintain contact by sending Christmas cards, and upon our confirmation, they gifted us jewelry. At least their efforts were evident; my father, on the other hand, never sent a single card.Reidun's younger sister, Anita, was exceptionally kind. She and her boyfriend took me on tours of the local attractions. Anita was fluent in English, which allowed us to spend considerable time together. A few weeks later, when my father returned home, we visited the government offices to facilitate my settlement as a Norwegian citizen. I felt a surge of anger when they insisted I undertake national service again, disregarding the fact that I had just returned from a war. However, I learned that if I worked as a seaman in international waters for the next five years, I could be exempted.The following week, I departed Norway for Miami, embarking on my first genuine job as a seaman. It was a relief to distance myself from my father, as our relationship was strained. He was particularly upset about the expenses I incurred, such as train and taxi fares to the airport.

The world is indeed quite small.

During my initial week in Fredrikstad, I found myself in a bar alongside several fellow sailors. A Norwegian gentleman inquired about my place of origin, and upon sharing it, he excused himself to make a phone call to a friend. He then invited me to engage in conversation with this friend. To my surprise, I soon found myself speaking with a young woman who had just returned to Norway from Cape Town. Remarkably, she had an aunt residing in the same neighborhood where I was raised, and she had also been engaged to a boy who played soccer with me on the under-sixteen team coached by my grandfather. If that isn’t peculiar, I am uncertain what is.Her name is Joy; her mother hails from Cape Town, while her father was a Norwegian whaler. Joy embodies faithfulness and love, always giving selflessly without expectation. My life would likely have taken a disastrous turn had it not been for her support. She was employed at the local bank.Joy would often appear unexpectedly, requesting to review my bills and important documents. I never grasped, nor did I attempt to comprehend, that aspect of life, resulting in a chaotic accumulation of papers. She consistently went out of her way to assist me in organizing my affairs, a recurring theme in our interactions. Due to my lifestyle, I frequently spent beyond my means, took out loans without collateral, and purchased items on credit without repayment, all while harboring the notion that I could simply escape if my situation worsened.She even arranged for me to secure an apartment in town with some friends of her mother, who were also from Cape Town. These elderly individuals had lived through the war and imposed numerous rules for residing in their home. While we maintained a cordial relationship, my lifestyle made it challenging for me to stay there, and I believe they were relieved to see me go.One day, Joy visited a house that was set to be auctioned. She believed that I could handle the responsibility of owning a home and that it would be a valuable lesson for me. To my surprise, I won the auction and purchased the house without ever stepping inside to inspect it. I was drawn to it because it featured a new roof, was constructed of brick, and was conveniently located near a bus stop. This house became my own sanctuary, free from external control. I even displayed my South African flag on national holidays. It is truly mine, and I owe my gratitude to Joy. I will always appreciate her kindness towards someone who felt lost in an unfamiliar place.

Rebellion.

Rotterdam 1982
I resided in an apartment in Fredrikstad with my girlfriend, with whom I had reconciled. The expectation was that my first paycheck would be sent to her to cover rent and other expenses. However, that evening, I received a fax from her indicating that she had left to join another ship at sea.After consuming a few drinks, I found myself walking along the pier towards the city, filled with anger. I resolved to spend the rent money on drugs and a tattoo when, unexpectedly, I felt a divine presence urging me not to proceed, advising against marking my body in such a manner. In defiance, I raised my fist to the heavens and proclaimed, “I will do as I please.” I went ahead and got tattooed, marking the beginning of a series of tattoos, each carrying personal significance. My ambition was to cover my body entirely. I took great pride in them and often showcased them, feeling no shame.While in Texas, I received a certificate stating that my new tattoo was guaranteed for ten years post-mortem. After five months at sea, I returned to Fredrikstad, expecting my girlfriend to arrive a week later. That week turned into two, during which I squandered a considerable amount on drugs and a hedonistic lifestyle until she finally returned. She appeared emotionally distant, and the following morning, I learned that she had been assaulted while visiting another ship in port. My ill-chosen words led to my expulsion from our home, and I found myself on a downward spiral.Being perpetually high dulled many of my emotions, prompting me to leave after a few days to join another ship.However, after experiencing salvation and gaining a renewed sense of conscience, I deeply regret not heeding that divine warning at the time. I recall pleading with God to remove the tattoos from my body, but that was not to be. Today, they serve as unsightly reminders of a life that I have largely left behind, for which I am grateful to God.

Divine Intervention

In 1982, I found myself in a state of despair, grappling with the aftermath of a disastrous relationship. Stranded in a foreign country, I felt utterly alone, with no one to turn to for support. Reluctantly, I sought assistance from my father, as the government refused to aid me due to my inability to communicate in the local language and my origins from apartheid South Africa.Isolated and disoriented, I was relieved when my father arranged for me to board a ship within a few days. However, my relief was short-lived; shortly after, I received a letter from him expressing his disappointment and instructing me never to return to his home.In a moment of despair, I resorted to alcohol, contemplating ending my life. While attempting to escape the ship, a crew member intervened as I sat on the gangway, intoxicated and despondent, wishing to plunge into the water. The following day, I took a taxi boat to shore, armed with another bottle of whisky, consumed by hatred for my seemingly meaningless existence and questioning the purpose of my life.As I sat on the beach, where drinking was not prohibited in this Muslim country, my anger boiled over. When a group of British marines approached and made an insensitive remark, I was provoked into a violent confrontation, which escalated to the point that the Jordanian military police had to intervene.I found myself imprisoned in a dark dungeon, surrounded by unsavory individuals. Hours later, I was escorted down a corridor at gunpoint and brought into a room filled with military officials. Handcuffed and battered, I stood before them in nothing but jeans, harboring disdain for my captors, still clinging to a sense of invincibility.However, during my trial, the conversation unexpectedly shifted. I began to share my experiences with Jesus, recounting a vision I had and my baptism, despite my limited knowledge of the Bible. Then, in an instant, everything changed—what had just transpired?
I lost consciousness entirely.Today, I firmly believe in divine intervention, and on that day, I witnessed the hand of the one true God come to my aid. There was no chance that those individuals would allow me to escape. It was not uncommon for bodies to end up in the sea or to vanish without a trace.In the next moment, I found myself in the back of a jeep with several soldiers, who then pushed me out while the vehicle was still in motion. They discarded me in the harbor area, hoping I would make my way to my ship. I was barefoot, clad only in a pair of jeans, and extremely thirsty. Instead, I walked back to the hotel resorts to quench my thirst, now pondering what had transpired over the past few days. However, my memory was a complete void.I returned to the harbor area, only to find that I had just missed the last taxi boat of the evening, which departed right in front of me. I shouted for it to return, but received only an obscene gesture in response. I hurried up the steel stairs behind me to the harbor tower, where I could oversee the area. Upon entering the room, I implored the man inside to call the taxi boat back for me. He laughed and refused to assist. At that moment, another man entered the room and locked the door behind him. Recognizing the dire situation, I lost my composure, seized a chair, and hurled it through the window. Grabbing another chair, I threatened to inflict harm on the two men, feeling like a cornered animal with nothing to lose. They eventually called the taxi boat and allowed me to leave. As I began to descend the stairs, they started spitting on me. Infuriated, I rushed back up, intent on confronting them, but then I heard the horn of the taxi boat waiting for me. They were fortunate; I needed to escape this place swiftly.Upon my return to the ship, I was summoned to the captain's office. He was visibly upset, as the crew had believed I was dead. They had made attempts to locate me, but to no avail; no one knew my whereabouts. I recounted my ordeal, and since they had known my father for many years, when I presented them with the letter he had sent me, they fully understood my reaction.
By the grace of God, I find myself still present, and the journey continues.

A journey back home.

I recall watching the news broadcasts here in Europe, where the level of propaganda was so overwhelming that discerning truth from falsehood became nearly impossible. Reports indicated that a massacre was imminent, with claims that all white individuals would be slaughtered. My concern for my family and friends compelled me to return home.I exceeded my bank account limit when my salary was deposited, knowing that if I acted swiftly, I could withdraw my entire paycheck at least twice from different ATMs. The following day, I secured a ticket to South Africa and departed.I planned to surprise my grandmother by unexpectedly appearing at her back door with a bottle of scotch whisky. We would share a few drinks and engage in pleasant conversation. She had always treated me kindly, and recently, I discovered numerous letters she had written to me during her time at sea. I believe she loved me in her own way, though I failed to recognize it at the time. I never reciprocated her affection, as I was unaware of what love truly meant.As was often the case, I felt restless and needed to venture out again. Steven, one of my closest and oldest friends from childhood, shared many of my interests, including the use of marijuana, referred to as 'dagga' in Cape Town.Having been away for several years, I noticed that the landscape had shifted; dagga alone was no longer sufficient unless it was combined with 'mandrax' pills. This new combination offered a heightened experience, albeit a more perilous one. To acquire these substances, we had to venture into Grassy Park, which lay beyond the border into the colored districts of the Southern suburbs. It was a notably hazardous area for white individuals, yet we seldom considered the risks; our primary focus was on obtaining what we desired. We also had acquaintances in these neighborhoods, and much of our success depended on knowing the right people.Life resembled a continuous celebration, and we often felt invincible. There was a particular incident where I found myself in significant trouble, resulting in my imprisonment, while Steven was discovered severely beaten in Grassy Park. It remains a mystery how he managed to survive that ordeal. Years later, Steven tragically lost his life in a motorcycle accident, and I must express how much I miss him. He was genuinely a kind and lovable individual, and it feels profoundly unjust that he is no longer with us.

A Narrow Escape

Cádiz, located near the border of Gibraltar, is one of my cherished destinations from the early 1983. I was captivated by the ambiance, the stunning views of Gibraltar, and the invigorating scent of the sea. The local cuisine and coffee were delightful, and the culture was refreshingly relaxed. Making friends was effortless, and the vibrant nightlife, filled with indulgence, was reminiscent of a sin city. During my time there, I lived without regret, harboring secrets about my experiences that I would never disclose.One unforgettable day, I was engaged in a deal with some Spanish individuals. As we were finalizing the transaction, an unexpected hand appeared, snatching the money and fleeing. We pursued him through the streets, and as we descended the stairs leading to a cemetery, an instinctive warning halted me. I immediately stopped and urged my companion to do the same. It was then that I noticed a gang waiting for us within the cemetery. We quickly turned and fled back into the town, with them in hot pursuit. Reflecting on that moment, I often believe it was divine intervention that saved me; had I not hesitated, I might have met a tragic fate. Once again, I was spared for another day.

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They had faith in God on my behalf.

After spending several years at sea, I found myself aboard a ship in the Cayman Islands, specifically Cayman Brac. The Caribbean waters here are remarkably clear, even at depths of 100 meters, and incredibly inviting. We often dove off the bridge wing to gain momentum for diving beneath the ship while it was anchored in the bay. However, one day I suffered a ruptured eardrum and had to go ashore for medical attention, resulting in a week-long stay at the hospital.The ship departed, leaving me behind—a new experience that remains etched in my memory. There were no vehicles on the island, so a nurse kindly transported me to the airport on her scooter. The airport consisted of a small landing strip for tiny planes, and I recall sitting on my bag during the flight to Grand Cayman. The subsequent flight to Miami was similarly small; we did not ascend to a great altitude, and the aerial view of the Caribbean and its islands felt surreal.While I was still hospitalized one Sunday morning, a group from a local church visited to fellowship with one of their members, a young man around my age. As I lay in bed assembling a puzzle, an elderly woman approached me, inquiring about my identity and origin. Before long, the entire group gathered around my bed and prayed to God on my behalf. This was an unprecedented experience for me; they were all of African descent, and I could genuinely feel their compassion for me, a stranger with a background shaped by apartheid. Typically, individuals were wary when encountering someone from South Africa, as we were often perceived as racist, which created a palpable tension.Even now, I reflect on that day and wonder if their prayers were instrumental in my salvation. It remains one of those unanswered questions: who was it that prayed for my deliverance? The name of that hospital continues to bring me joy.
FAITH Hospital. Glory!

He never abandoned me – 1985

This was to be my final voyage at sea; I had just boarded the 'MS Vikara' in Sweden. My life was in disarray, so securing employment once more was a welcome relief. As we began our passage into the North Sea en route to Buenos Aires, Argentina, I returned to my cabin that evening after dinner, only to encounter an experience that would profoundly alter my life.He appeared to me! As I closed the door, I was suddenly transported to a different realm. Lying in my bunk, I perceived that I had exited my body and found myself at the feet of Jesus. He was magnificent and radiant, seated upon a throne. Beside Him stood a well-groomed man, reminiscent of a preacher. Jesus then spoke, inquiring whether I was ready to cease my self-destructive ways and follow Him. Overcome with emotion, I wept and replied, "Yes." However, I was uncertain how to live for God, as my life was in utter chaos, compounded by my circumstances in a foreign land where I had lost everything.As I looked up, I noticed the other man beginning to walk away. When he glanced back at me, his expression transformed into one of fury and hatred. I recognized him; it was Satan himself. In an instant, I found myself back in my bed, shocked and utterly alone.In my desperation for someone to confide in, I sought out an elderly man from Australia on board. I shared my experience with him, hoping for guidance. He could only inform me that the previous occupant of my cabin had been a reformed alcoholic, whatever that meant. In my despair, I sought solace in whiskey and went to bed.In the following nights, I was awakened by vivid yet unsettling dreams. I witnessed, in intricate detail, the devastation of the earth. I envisioned myself peering out from a cave on a mountain, where colossal hailstones obliterated everything, reminiscent of images from Hiroshima post-atomic bomb. I beheld storms of such ferocity that they appeared to be funnels drawing everything into the void of outer space. How could anyone endure such cataclysmic storms when all was laid to waste?Why was this revealed to me? Many years later, I encountered these events in the Bible.Revelation 16:21
And a great hail fell upon men from heaven, each stone weighing about a talent (26 to 36 kg); and men blasphemed God because of the plague of hail, for the plague was exceedingly great.Upon arriving in Buenos Aires, the entire crew was to be sent home as the ship had been sold during the journey. We spent the night in a luxurious hotel. There, I found myself in a perilous situation with the drug cartel, facing a gun pointed at me, and I believed my life was at an end. I managed to escape, only to find myself in further danger when the mafia began searching every room in the hotel for me. I was relieved to reach the airport, where I felt a sense of safety. Returning to Norway, I faced an uncertain future.It would take six more years of hardship before I repented of my sins. God is indeed good.One thing is certain, my friend, whether you believe it or not: I am a living testament to the love of a merciful God, who sent His Son, Jesus, to save us from ourselves and from hell.Years later, Satan attempted to use this experience against me, claiming that what I witnessed was a result of being left behind after the rapture. He is a liar and the father of lies, so do not be misled by him. By grace, we are saved, and through His grace, we will persevere. Heaven is our true home.John 1:12
But as many as received Him, to them He gave the power to become the sons of God, even to those who believe in His name: the name of Jesus.The day is approaching, and I sincerely hope you are prepared for the rapture.
1 Thessalonians 4:17
Then we who are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and thus we shall always be with the Lord.1 Thessalonians 4:16
For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trumpet of God; and the dead in Christ will rise first.
Mark 13: 32-33
No one knows the day or the hour, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. Therefore, be vigilant, watch, and pray, for you do not know when the time will come.Jesus will return to gather those who have died in faith and those who are saved. Are you among them?

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Running away - wanting truth

In 1987, I returned to South Africa after spending approximately four years away. During that time, I had been employed in a factory in Fredrikstad, and with my girlfriend expecting a child, I felt the urgent need to escape. I approached my grandmother to request financial assistance for my return, as my funds were limited, and I had managed to gather just enough for a one-way flight. I had no intention of going back to Norway.My life was in disarray. When I informed my grandmother about the impending arrival of the baby and my desire to flee from my responsibilities, she became extremely upset. The most troubling aspect was my inability to endure my relationship with my girlfriend, compounded by the fact that the pregnancy occurred at an inopportune moment. Our relationship was rooted in desperation rather than love; I was isolated and troubled.My grandmother ultimately purchased a ticket for me to return to Norway, insisting that I must take responsibility for the child.Before my departure, we held a garden party with family members. My mother, Jack, and a few friends attended, and as the evening progressed, the atmosphere became lively with much drinking. However, I felt compelled to disrupt the festivities. There were numerous unresolved questions weighing on my mind, and I sought answers. Why had we been abandoned? What were the reasons behind the secrets and lies? My frustration with my mother and grandmother escalated, leading to a significant confrontation.The resentment within me intensified, leaving me feeling even more isolated and devoid of identity. I longed to return to Norway, where I felt a greater sense of belonging. I departed from South Africa with no desire to return or to maintain any contact with my family.

Nadia entered our lives.

I returned to Norway to be with my girlfriend Catharina, who was five months pregnant at the time. I regained my previous job and endeavored to make the best of our circumstances. I was employed at her father's sign factory, where I held a stable position in production. During this period, we were still using drugs, but one day Catharina suffered from alcohol poisoning and had to be hospitalized for treatment. I genuinely feared for the baby, but by the grace of God, she recovered. This incident served as a wake-up call for Catharina; she ceased smoking and using drugs, and she managed remarkably well. I became increasingly dedicated to my work.I was working overtime when I received the news that Catharina was in labor, and I arrived at the hospital just in time. I was present throughout the entire birthing process, capturing moments on camera and eagerly anticipating the arrival of our child. A few days prior, while watching the credits roll after a film on television, I had been contemplating a suitable name for my daughter, having learned that we were expecting a girl. The moment she was born, I exclaimed, "It's Nadia." I cannot explain why that name came to me, but it felt right. I remember holding her in my arms while the medical staff attended to her mother, carefully examining her because I had heard stories of parents leaving the hospital with the wrong baby. In that moment, I felt like the proudest father in the world.
Upon returning home the following day, Catharina expressed a strong desire for drugs, and we resumed our usual lives, now with the added responsibility of a child. Her family insisted on having the baby baptized, adhering to tradition, and the day of the ceremony arrived. I did not give it much thought until we found ourselves in the state church; the atmosphere felt profoundly wrong, and it brought back memories of my own baptism, a time when I lacked understanding of right and wrong.I vividly recall the first time Nadia laughed. I had been incarcerated for approximately three weeks when they came to visit. Upon seeing me, she erupted into laughter, a moment I will always remember.Reflecting on our parenting, I realize we were inadequate. We relied on drugs to cope, as stress and irritability were constant companions. Living in Norway's cold climate meant that all our hash smoking occurred indoors, resulting in Nadia growing up in a semi-stoned environment.Each day was a struggle for survival. After a long day at work, I would return home exhausted, while Catharina, having spent the day confined with Nadia, was equally frustrated. Every night, she would rush into town to obtain drugs and socialize with friends. Although she exhibited maternal instincts at times, I doubt she fully grasped the weight of her responsibilities. There were moments when the situation became unbearable for me, and witnessing Nadia's treatment was deeply troubling. I was also an unhealthy influence on her development, grappling with significant anger issues.After approximately three years, I could no longer endure the circumstances. I felt burnt out, frustrated, angry, and betrayed. Everything around me seemed to crumble. In a moment of desperation, I contacted a colleague at work, requesting to borrow his pistol under the pretense of needing it to deal with some cats we had. That night, had he not sensed my distress and refused to lend me the weapon, it could have marked the end of my life. I was overwhelmed by the urge to end it all, feeling as though I had nothing left to lose, questioning my very existence.The following morning, I reported my illness and sought assistance. I was utterly exhausted and unable to think clearly. A friend managed to secure an apartment for me, which provided significant relief by allowing me to distance myself from her. I ended up caring for Nadia nearly every weekend, as her mother desired more freedom to spend time with her friends, and Nadia's well-being was deteriorating rapidly.I cherished every moment with Nadia; we shared a unique bond. For the first time in my life, I found a reason to live, as she meant everything to me. Having someone who loved me made a profound difference.The subsequent year, I purchased our first house at an auction without having seen the interior. It featured brick walls, a new roof, and a bus stop conveniently located across the street. What more could I ask for? At last, I had my own home, something I had never owned before. Perhaps this responsibility would lead to personal growth.

Oredalsveien 49 – Fredrikstad

I acquired this house through a friend named Joy, a woman from Cape Town who worked at the local bank. Joy has always been a compassionate and supportive friend, one of the first individuals I met upon arriving in Fredrikstad. She has consistently been like a sister to me, offering help when challenges arose. I never fully grasped the intricacies of bills, finances, and responsibilities.The house, built in 1948, was old and in disrepair. The previous occupants had neglected it, failing even to maintain the lawn. I purchased it at a very low price, and my employer assisted me with the loan deposit.I transported all my belongings to the house using a bicycle, managing to do so in a single trip. However, while I was exploring the property, someone entered and stole my bicycle. Thus, my new life began on an interesting note. Later, I acquired a sledgehammer and created a large opening in the basement wall. This was my home, and I was determined to assert my independence. On national holidays in Norway, such as May 17th, I proudly displayed my South African flag in the garden.
My residence functioned as a genuine sanctuary, where individuals frequently entered with illicit substances. I rarely needed to venture out to procure anything. In the basement, I had established a bar, complete with a stereo system and large speakers that I had purchased in the Netherlands. I would play reggae music at such a volume that it caused the house to vibrate, which often disturbed the neighbors. During that period in Norway, it was common for drug users to have Rottweilers, which instilled fear in the neighbors, ensuring a steady stream of clientele at my home.We would gather on the front porch, indulging without concern for repercussions. The police would frequently patrol the area or linger nearby, seemingly aware whenever illicit activities were occurring.On weekends and holidays, I would have my daughter Nadia with me, and she grew up surrounded by unconventional individuals and users. I found it difficult to relate to "normal" people, perceiving them as programmed and dull. However, even among fellow users, I sometimes felt somewhat isolated. I was among the few who maintained employment, while most relied on social welfare. Unlike them, I owned my own home.Over time, feelings of depression, anguish, and fear began to dominate my life. I would cover the windows to prevent anyone from seeing that I was home. My sustenance consisted of late-night trips to the service station for chips and cola during the week, with grilled chicken as my only meal of substance on weekends when Nadia visited. My situation deteriorated, and I increasingly felt like an outsider in this world. It was as if others perceived me as an alien, and I was rapidly losing my sense of self, clinging to my identity by a mere thread.At one point, an English woman recognized my struggles and took me to see a psychiatrist. However, the psychiatrist dismissed me, stating that they could not assist someone so deeply troubled and from a foreign culture. He deemed me too much of a burden, suggesting that I would likely end up in the gutter. This infuriated me; how could my situation worsen when I was striving so hard for the sake of my daughter? I was in desperate need of assistance.

The commencement of a transformative journey – 1991

October 1991
This is a day etched in my memory, a pivotal moment that reshaped my identity and set the course for my future.
On a Tuesday, I found myself at home with two friends, enjoying hashish and reveling in the moment. Our conversation unexpectedly shifted to the Bible and the concept of the end times, despite our limited understanding. We had heard tales of the Devil and the Antichrist, and the ominous mark of the beast, ‘666’.
As I made my way downstairs to the restroom, I uttered a silent plea to Jesus, asking for assistance in our debate. I doubted that my request would be acknowledged, as I viewed myself as a complete failure, lacking an identity, under the influence of drugs, and grappling with poor mental health.Upon returning to the living room, I was astonished as words began to pour forth from me, captivating my friends. The Holy Spirit of God spoke through me regarding the end times and the truths contained within the Word of God, topics I had never previously encountered. I, too, was taken aback by the unfolding events.Once my friends departed, I was left in solitude, and everything appeared altered. I discovered my New Testament Bible, which I had always kept nearby but had never opened. It provided me with a sense of comfort simply by being in my home. Holding it, I reached out to Jesus, inquiring whether it was possible to find peace within my heart, not truly expecting a response.He heard my plea and bestowed upon me more than I could have ever envisioned. I experienced a profound sense of peace, devoid of anguish, fear, or any desire to use drugs.Now, I felt an urgent need to locate a church, but where to begin? There was a colleague at work who identified as a Christian, so the following day, I shared my story with him and inquired if I could accompany him to his church. That Thursday evening, he came to pick me up, and I was filled with anticipation.
I did not derive any benefit from the service, and during the altar call, I felt as though my feet were firmly anchored to the ground. Many individuals were gathered at the front for prayer. The brother then encouraged us, stating that simply lifting our foot would allow Jesus to take care of the rest. In an instant, I found myself moving forward, standing at the front with my hands raised and tears streaming down my face, not merely trickling down my cheeks. Jesus transformed my life; I knew I was forgiven and saved.No one had come to pray for me, but that was inconsequential. When I opened my eyes, I noticed people lying on the floor to my left, which was quite astonishing. My life had been irrevocably changed, and I felt a sense of belonging to Jesus.As I left the church that evening, the experience felt surreal; the night sky appeared unusually bright. Everything seemed fresh and new, as if I had never perceived the world in this way before. Hatred had been replaced by love, and suddenly, life held profound significance.The following day at work, my colleagues gazed at me in astonishment, maintaining their distance. They could see and sense the transformation within me. I had become the happiest person in the world, unashamed of my newfound experience.Grace, magnificent grace! A wretched sinner had finally returned home; Jesus loves me! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!This marked the beginning of the rest of my life; Jesus is real, and life is truly worth living.As I reflect on my initial week as a Christian, I eagerly anticipate my next visit to church. The congregation where I found salvation held meetings on Thursday evenings. The only Christian I was acquainted with, a colleague from work, along with his wife, kindly offered to drive me to their church, despite her battle with cancer at that time.Upon entering the church, the music commenced, followed by a guest preacher from America who began to share insights about his ministry. He spoke of the numerous individuals finding salvation globally, including many in various European cities through his efforts. He recounted stories of thousands who had embraced faith through his ministry. While this was indeed uplifting, I found myself questioning the nature of his message. Was it mere boasting? My friends were suffering; had God forgotten about Norway?Despite my extensive experiences on the streets, surrounded by the most troubled individuals, including criminals, drug addicts, and the impoverished, I had never encountered anyone who mentioned the name of Jesus, except in moments of profanity. Thus, I was perplexed by the preacher's claims.Midway through the service, a coffee break was announced, and I felt compelled to leave, sensing discomfort in the atmosphere. As I walked away, grappling with my confusion, two women approached me, attempting to persuade me to return. However, another woman intervened, instructing them to let me go, saying, "Let him go." In hindsight, I recognized her words as prophetic. I departed, making my way home while seeking God's guidance on where He intended for me to be.The following Friday, after work, I decided to get a haircut, remove my earring, and dress appropriately in preparation to meet my Lord. I prayed for divine direction, stepping out that evening without a clear destination in mind.
The initial location I was directed to was a substantial building that I passed by daily on my commute to and from work. I found myself questioning the reason for this choice, as there were no indications that it was a church. The sign displayed the name International Restoration Revival Missions, which held no significance for me. I knocked on both the front and back doors, but received no response.Continuing down the street, I encountered a Free Church (Lutheran) where the lights were illuminated and vehicles occupied the parking lot. I knocked on the front door, but it was locked, and no one seemed to hear me. As I circled the building, I noticed individuals through a basement window engaged in playing the piano and singing. I knocked on the window, yet still received no reply.Feeling compelled to proceed, I arrived in the city center of Fredrikstad, where I was drawn to a place called “Open House.” I had never heard of it before, but suddenly found myself knocking on the back door. With no one home, I decided to give up and light a cigarette. At that moment, a man emerged from the door and informed me that the meeting was being held in another building around the corner. We proceeded there together.I entered just as the meeting was concluding, with attendees going up for prayer, and it felt uplifting to be present. The preacher, who hailed from Colombia, was there to minister to drug addicts in Europe. I thought it would be beneficial to have someone pray for me in English, and his prayer brought me a sense of comfort.Later that evening, another individual arrived late to the meeting, Thor Polsrud, a person I had heard positive things about. He had once been one of the most notorious alcoholics in town, known for his dreadful reputation, until he found redemption through Jesus. He had just come from a prayer meeting elsewhere, where they had learned of my salvation and had prayed for me. Subsequently, we attended a small gathering at someone’s home, where I was welcomed into a wonderful group of new friends.
The following day, Saturday, Thor was scheduled to pick me up and take me to his church. I was filled with excitement when an extraordinary event occurred. The church he attended was the very first building that God had guided me to the previous Friday. I was genuinely led by God when I knocked and rang the doorbell of that same establishment, where a prayer meeting was taking place on the third floor. Believe it or not, it is true. Thank you, Jesus.

Hallelujah! I am FREE.

Radically saved by grace! Is there truly any other way? The Bible speaks of repentance; I was unfamiliar with its meaning, but I can assure you that upon encountering the Master, everything changed. I now love Jesus with all my heart. It is remarkable to realize that He was always there, with open arms, waiting for me.Indeed, it is an incredible grace that God's Son would come to this earth to suffer and die on the cross in my stead. Innocent and pure, He shed His precious blood to redeem a sinner like me. Psalm 40:2 states, "He brought me up out of the pit of destruction, out of the miry clay, and He set my feet upon a rock, making my footsteps firm."His love for me is indescribable; I should have perished years ago in my sin. Yet, He saw something in me and has a plan for my future. What a privilege it is to be saved! I am so grateful that I said 'YES' when He approached me. In an instant, He transformed me and used me as a witness. Before my first visit to His house, while I was crying out to Him for help in my own living room, He delivered me from the cravings of drugs. All I sought was PEACE—peace in my mind and soul. Peace like that of an innocent child, and instead, He bestowed upon me everything. "I love you, Jesus.”

Swearing ceased!

One day at work, while I was sanding a piece of metal on a grinder, I experienced a moment of salvation. A friend approached to chat, and unexpectedly, the metal slipped, causing me to scrape the skin off my finger. In that moment of shock, the only words that escaped my lips were “O dear Jesus.” I was astonished, as I had been accustomed to using profanity frequently, particularly in response to accidents. The transformation was unbelievable. Previously, I felt powerless to control my swearing, but now my life had taken a new direction. Hallelujah!Psalm 40:3
He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God;
Many will see and fear.

Liberated from smoking

Within two weeks, I was freed from nicotine cravings. I recall looking at my yellow-stained fingers, a visible mark of my sin. Even in church, I felt a deep sense of shame when raising my hands, as if the stains were worsening. I sought prayer for deliverance from smoking, then hurried home to dispose of all smoking-related items, placing them in the oven. I ignited them and prayed for complete deliverance, asking God that if I were to be tempted, I would become gravely ill instead. Remarkably, He answered that prayer, and I have remained free ever since. It was indeed a miracle; even the orange nicotine stains vanished without the use of chemicals. The smell of smoke now repulses me; I can detect a smoker from a considerable distance.Hallelujah! I am truly FREE!
I firmly believe that smoking is one of Satan’s initial grips on a person’s life. I have witnessed many individuals liberated from drugs, yet they struggle to overcome smoking.God has enabled me to assist others burdened by the same issue. I will share more later.The grip of Satan has been removed from my life permanently. I attempted numerous times to liberate myself but often found myself in a worse situation. I am grateful to God for His miraculous power, as Jesus sacrificed His life to set me free. Hallelujah!

Hopeless and helpless

On one occasion, a psychologist inquired about the extent of my smoking history, to which I candidly replied that I could have filled his entire office with the amount I had consumed. In Cape Town, smoking was regarded as an art form, as illustrated in the accompanying image from that era. In Europe, the prevalent substances are hashish, amphetamines, and the misuse of pills, creating a different experience and cultural context compared to my upbringing.I am immensely grateful to God for having moved on from that lifestyle and all its associated challenges. I was deeply entrenched in it, though I was unaware at the time. From the very first experience, I enjoyed the feeling of being high. Today, I mourn the loss of over fifty friends and counting, just in Norway due to this lifestyle, while the world seems to be pushing for its legalization.I am relieved that I never experimented with heroin; I held a certain respect for it, fully aware of its lethal consequences. I was not willing to descend to the level of being labeled a junkie. I had a bit of a Rastafari reputation, boasting one of the largest collections of reggae music, which played a significant role in my life.

First Encounter at the Revival Centre

Vekkelsessenteret - International Restoration Revival Centre
The initial structure that God guided me to on that Friday evening in October 1991. I recall the sensation of entering the foyer and ascending the stairs to the second floor, where the congregation awaited the commencement of the meeting. Upon entering the packed room, I experienced an unprecedented feeling—a divine atmosphere, enveloped in the presence of the living God. It was as if there was an electric energy in the air, accompanied by a profound anticipation for the forthcoming events. I found a seat on the right side and sat down, uncertain of what to expect. Strangely, it felt as though I had been there before, akin to returning home.As the music began, a large choir accompanied by musicians commenced playing and singing exhilarating melodies. At least four individuals played the accordion, alongside guitars, cymbals, and drums, creating a vibrant sound. The style and lyrics of the songs were unique, not what I would typically choose, yet I sensed a depth within them that was absent in all my previous musical experiences. The messages conveyed in the songs resonated with my needs, allowing me to find inner peace. Everyone stood and clapped along to the music in joyous celebration, which was truly refreshing.Suddenly, a man stood and proclaimed words in a language unfamiliar to me, prompting everyone to pause in reverence. Another individual then rose to translate the message, and I felt the presence of God; it was profoundly personal. The message spoke directly to me, and tears streamed down my face.After some time, another man approached the front and began reading and preaching from the Bible with remarkable fervor; the message was incredibly powerful. Although I did not grasp every detail, I found myself yearning for more. He delivered his message with such intensity that I sat, utterly captivated. When the call for prayer was made, I hesitated for a moment, observing, but eventually felt compelled to go forward for prayer. An elderly man approached me and interceded, instructing me to raise my arms while he placed his hands on my heart and head. The sensation was overwhelming, akin to standing beneath a waterfall.I experienced the sensation of water flowing through me, providing a profound sense of purification. It was truly remarkable.Following the meeting, I stepped outside to share a smoke with another individual. I confided in him about the internal struggle I felt after the sermon. He suggested that I return inside and speak with someone present, as others were enjoying cake and coffee. While I sat alone with my cup of coffee, an elderly woman placed her arm on mine and began to pray for me, soon joined by others. At that moment, I felt an overwhelming surge within me, as if icy crystals were leaving my body. Upon opening my eyes, I was enveloped by their love, and I found myself reluctant to leave this gathering; it felt like home. From that evening onward, I participated in every meeting, unable to get enough.

My Bible became a source of inspiration.

I will always remember the day after a meeting when my pastor noticed me holding my Bible and inquired if I read it. I was taken aback, as I had thought it was meant solely for use during church services, much like a songbook. His question surprised me, as I had never considered that we could read and comprehend its contents. He encouraged me to give it a try. Perhaps it was indeed time for me to explore its pages. But where should I begin?I decided to open it at random and read the first passage that caught my eye:Matthew 19:23-24. Jesus said to his disciples, "Truly, I tell you, it is difficult for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. Again, I tell you, it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.”Subsequently, I randomly opened the Bible once more and read the following passage:Mark 10:24-25
But Jesus said to them again, “Children, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a wealthy individual to enter the kingdom of God.”I found this quite perplexing, as I did not fully grasp the implications of the message. However, believe it or not, that evening I opened my Bible again and discovered another similar passage:Luke 18:25
For it is easier for a camel to go through a needle’s eye than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.The following day, I pondered the significance of this recurring theme in different sections of the Bible. After work, I went to a restaurant to have dinner with several brothers from the church. I shared my recent Bible experience with them, and one brother encouraged me to continue reading. So, I opened my Bible and read further while still at the restaurant. Suddenly, the Spirit of God enveloped me, causing me to shake uncontrollably, and my understanding of the Word of God was profoundly illuminated as I read these verses:Mark 10:29-30
Jesus said, “Truly, I say to you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or lands for my sake and for the gospel, who will not receive a hundredfold now in this time—houses and brothers and sisters and mothers and children and lands, with persecutions, and in the age to come, eternal life.”The revelation of my life left me in such a state of shock that I hurriedly exited the restaurant, compelled to return home. As I made my way, I encountered my pastor and his wife leaving the church. He recognized that something significant had transpired in my life, acknowledged the event, and quickly went on his way. The pace of change in my life was astonishing, and I felt an overwhelming desire to assist others and share the joyous news of my living Savior, Jesus Christ.I developed an insatiable thirst for His Word, dedicating every spare moment to reading. It is remarkable to consider that someone who had never read a single book in thirty-one years due to dyslexia was now fervently eager to deepen my understanding of my Redeemer. I found myself reading everywhere—on the bus, in the workplace canteen—unable to set the book aside.I recall passing the police station in town, wishing they would come and check my pockets as they had done in the past. My cigarettes had been replaced by a Bible, which became my new source of exhilaration. It felt as though my life had finally gained purpose. I no longer crossed the street until the traffic lights turned green, filled with gratitude for this new existence, a wretched sinner saved solely by grace. Hallelujah!

It is imperative that everyone knows.

I felt compelled to share the message of Jesus with everyone I encountered, believing that the rapture was imminent and that it was essential for all to be saved. While many criticized my efforts, questioning whether I aimed to save the entire world, my answer was a resounding yes.At our church, we had an abundance of tracts and a monthly magazine designated for distribution. The presses were constantly in operation, and my backpack was perpetually filled, ensuring that no one could pass by without hearing about the love of Jesus. Once timid in conversing with strangers, I now found joy in connecting with everyone.In my workplace, I discreetly included tracts in the products we shipped out and set up a stand near the punch-in clock featuring magazines and tracts. I removed all inappropriate pinups from my workspace and replaced them with images of cakes.Shortly after my conversion, another young man named Thor Ivar Grønli also found salvation. It seemed as though God had united us to reach out to lost souls and serve in His kingdom. We were fervent in our mission to share the good news of Jesus Christ, utilizing tracts to engage with people.We ventured out every day and night, regardless of the season or occasion, tirelessly distributing tracts from house to house and covering every street. We even visited nursing homes to share our experiences of Jesus and His love for humanity. On weekends, we extended our outreach to neighboring towns.Together, we had remarkable experiences, particularly one memorable Friday night in a town where young people typically dismissed tracts, viewing us as misguided individuals. However, on that evening, a large crowd gathered around us, eager to learn more about Jesus. We were fortunate to be in the right place at the right time, and many were touched by our message.On numerous occasions, I witnessed God providing unique messages tailored to each individual, imparting words of wisdom not from myself but through the Holy Spirit. Many were astonished at how I seemed to know their struggles, realizing that it was indeed a divine revelation.
A certain individual, while engaging in a conversation with two satanists, was overheard by another man in close proximity. That evening, he accepted Jesus and experienced a remarkable transformation, all as a result of his unintentional eavesdropping. The goodness of God is truly remarkable.

A Message of Hope

I wish I could help you experience the true love that is only found in a personal relationship with Jesus. He is waiting for you with open arms. He changed someone like me, who felt like garbage, and made me a prince of heaven. What are you waiting for?

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