As a young boy we were forced into the Roman Catholic system, catechism on saturday mornings and church every sunday. Catechism at the monastery some saturdays, was a kind of sunday school. Where there were nuns and priests clothed in black, and a cold erie feeling in the buildings.
We were forced into church on sundays, the services were long enough to bake a chicken in the oven. Granddad never went into the church, heard he was a freemason. Always thought he believed because he spoke well of Jesus, and there was a new testament bible in his wardrobe. Some times after church we would drive down to Muizenberg beach where they would sit in the car while we played on the swings. Church was a lot of rituals and very monotonous, far from the joy of the Lord. One thing I remember most was that if we didn’t sit still, then we would get a slap on the head or pinched, evan from others around us. We were to sit still, as dead as the statues on the walls, an hour of torture.
But one saturday at catechism they showed us an old black and white film, which changed my life for ever. The story was about a young orphan boy living at a monastery. He was always picked on, and got the blame for what the other boys did. But he found himself a hiding place up in a dusty old loft, which was used as a storage room. The room was very cluttered with church stuff, chairs, tables and evan a life-size crucifix.
So one day while the boy was there, crying and heartbroken. Suddenly the body of Jesus which was on the crucifix became alive, lifted his head an looked at the boy. And as he spoke to the boy my heart jumped, I realized that Jesus was real and alive. It was as he spoke into my life, my eyes were opened and in my heart I believed in God.
I new for sure now that Jesus would always take care of me in some way. My faith was now settled in Him.
Now I could never doubt his existents no matter what.