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Christian Testimonies

Be Careful Little hands...

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“Be careful little hands what you do...” runs a line in an oft-sung children’s hymn/chorus.

When I left school I applied to join the Police Cadets (no longer such a position). If successful I would spend two years learning the job, before finally entering the police-proper. It was
an ambition because my father was, at the time, a Special Constable. But, at age 16, I was quarter of an inch too short!! Yep – a quarter of an inch.

Okay then, I’ll go on to my next choice, and follow my Dad into the Parachute Regiment.

But, at that age a mother can have a very strong influence (such as “No you are not!”).

So, that idea was scuppered!

By age 18 I was saved, so many considerations entered my head – any job had to be both useful and consistent with my Christian beliefs and behaviour. For example, I was offered to enter the financial sector as a financial adviser. The pre-choice part was very tough and thorough, but I passed the tests. And, though I passed all the biometric tests as well, by the time I was about to join the company I withdrew... for several weeks my thoughts rejected the job. It involved persuading people to spend their money on all kinds of financial packages and, frankly, I just couldn’t do it, especially if a contract meant people were spending more than they could afford. My heart, then, led, and I had to pull out. I realised that such a job, for a Christian, at least for me, was unacceptable, because it was useless, even though the financial rewards would be considerable. (That is, I was to be driven by ‘results’ and contracts, so my income would depend on getting people to sign up).

So, at that stage I was looking for jobs that were useful, even if not well paid.


Testimony: An alcoholic responds to the call to repent and follow Jesus Christ

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Heading for Home - a former Alcoholic's Testimony

My life up until this year had to me seemed to me to be near to pointless. My father was dead (through alcohol), and at times, my mother might as well have been. Our family did not function in any fashion whatsoever and the only thing on offer was anger and hatred. Every one around me seemed to have a chip on their shoulder and it wasn’t long before I got one too. In 1988, the day before the Lockerbie bombing, I left the so-called family home vowing never to return. Soon after, I married Sharon, my partner of 6 years.

After I left home and split from my family, things, materially at least, got better. I got out of a dead end job at a car dealer and now have ended up at in a comfortable, better paid position. I holidayed abroad, culminating in a fantastic vacation in the Maldives a couple of years ago. If you get the chance, go there. It is the closest you will get to paradise on this earth. Why? Chiefly because mans’ interference is at a minimum and nature flourishes. We even bought a new car albeit a Vauxhall Corpse, sorry Corsa. I bought a new PC, we bought our own home, I pursed many hobbies etc. etc. and yet a huge invisible chunk was missing.

Those that I thought should have been my closest allies, my family, had become wrapped up so much in their own problems that the anger and frustration just blew us apart. I was missing those that many can count on and perhaps take for granted. The death of my father back in 1999 brought us all back together briefly, but the old resentments were simmering beneath the surface. After a gap of a decade it was more or less back to how it used to be. I am now out of the family circle altogether.