My name is Elias and today I want to tell you how I saw hell following a near-death experience. I was born in Majoken, Mexico, a rather modest place. Unfortunately, my home life was far from harmonious. My father was constantly aggressive. Violence against children leaves deep scars, and the enemy seizes the opportunity to plant seeds of resentment that eventually sprout into bitterness that sums up my childhood and part of my youth.
Times I remember with pain. I grew up in a Catholic environment. And in my search for God, I would go to church where I found only images of a lifeless Christ perpetually crucified. There was a massive statue of Christ that they would take down from the cross and place in a glass coffin. It was an imposing figure about 3 m tall, completely bloodied and battered. That image stirred a deep spiritual need within me.
I always get emotional recalling that time of bitterness and the sweetness that came later. That was how I saw Christ. Unable to help because I perceived him only as a defeated figure. I grew up drifting away from my father. By the time I reached adolescence, I began living life on my own terms. My mother could no longer control me. I became unpredictable and dangerous. I immigrated to the United States in the 1980s, arriving first in California in 1978 when I was 16 or 17.
For four or five years, I distanced myself from my family, including my mother and sisters. My younger sisters were only 8 to 10 years old when I left. Once in Texas, I sent money sporadically, but essentially I lived only for myself. I bought cars and crashed them. I made money and spent it without a second thought. I had never owned anything before, so that became my lifestyle. One day, I thought about my mother and siblings, wondering how they were doing.
I decided to return to Mexico. I found them living in a troubled area of Guadalajara, plagued by gangs that had assaulted my mother and sisters. By then, my mother had converted to Christianity and had influenced my siblings, each in their own way. I for my part rejected any approach to religion. I told my mother, "Keep Jesus if he does you good." But as for me, I didn't want anything to do with that.
It wasn't a lack of desire, but rather that if I'm going to do something wrong, I want to be the best at it. And if I'm going to serve God, I want to do it worthily. I just didn't feel up to the task. I asked them not to speak to me about the subject anymore and said, "I only wanted to visit." I saw the absolute poverty my family was living in and decided I needed to buy them a house in a quiet area.
So I traveled to Majoken and to take my mind off things. Upon arriving in Kotia, my birthplace, I met up with many cousins I hadn't seen since childhood. Surprisingly, some were quite wealthy with new trucks and pockets stuffed with cash. I asked one of them how he got so much money and he told me they worked for special people in illegal activities. I explained that I needed about $120,000 to buy a home for my mother and they got me involved in a deal that turned out poorly for me.
They stashed a package in my car hidden between the tires and the gas tank. I fell asleep at the wheel during the drive and veered off the road, landing in a meter deep ditch. The car didn't sustain major damage. Upon getting back on the road, I didn't notice that the package had popped open from the impact. When I reached the border checkpoint, agents stopped me for an inspection. An officer approached, shone a flashlight under the car, and suddenly froze as if waiting for me to flee.
But I didn't. After a few minutes, she turned around, looking confused and touching her head as if she'd forgotten what she was doing. She asked me where we had left off. I replied that she had been checking the car. She asked if she had already returned my documents. I said no. She then handed them over without another word and walked away, telling me to clear the area because I was blocking traffic.
I didn't mention the incident to anyone and continued my journey through Texas, constantly looking over my shoulder and fearing I was being followed, though nothing ultimately happened. When I arrived in Houston, friends were waiting for me. "What happened? Where have you been?" they asked. I explained the situation and they reassured me, saying they had performed specific prayers and rituals on my behalf, anticipating that I would bring the package back, although I didn't pay much attention to their words.
They confirmed the material was in good condition and paid me. With that money, I looked for a house for my mother. I found a modest duplex in a new neighborhood populated mostly by young families, free from drug problems. I felt satisfied, but the payments weren't finished yet. I had planned to do this job only until the house was paid off. I went back to working with my cousins, although I wasn't happy with the original plan.
We developed a method we considered safer. Remember the incident with the officer as it becomes relevant later on. Over time, I began associating with more influential people, and as I rose in the ranks, enemies appeared. My associates' conflicts became my own. These individuals were involved in homicides, and soon the violence caught up with us. There came a point when I had to participate in executions and settle scores with those who had wronged us.
My life grew darker. I had money, but happiness was fleeting. I never turned to drugs, influenced by the consequences of my father's alcoholism. I avoided them except at social gatherings where I didn't want to appear cowardly to others. I only used drugs occasionally. They were never really my thing. Some associates of mine did use them and committed crimes I didn't agree with. On those occasions, I preferred to isolate myself and kept my distance until they needed me.
Over time, I drifted away from my family, ashamed by the rumors surrounding my activities. I had already bought a house for my mother and continued sending money, but my visits were infrequent. Amidst all this, a younger brother of mine also got involved with people of questionable reputation, though independently of me. He worked for a company whose boss had corrupt government connections. My brother discovered something that disturbed him and decided to quit. But the boss wouldn't accept his decision, fearing he might leak secrets.
The boss threatened my brother with reprisals if he left the job. When he told me about it, I confronted that boss a couple of times at a currency exchange business. He was an elegant, wealthy man. My brother explained the threats and I advised him to stand firm in his decision to quit or, if the boss suspected he had revealed something, to take action. However, that wasn't enough for the boss. Eventually, the police detained and tortured him in Guadalajara, forcing him to sign false confessions, admitting to the theft of luxury vehicles, among other charges.
I was in Majoken, heading up into the mountains for weeks at a time to fulfill our obligations. During that period, I had started a relationship with the woman who is now my wife, the mother of my five children in Kotia. When I returned to town, the only way to reach me was via the phone at her workplace. One day, she told me that calls had been coming in from my home in Guadalajara regarding my brother's arrest. Not knowing exactly what had happened, I recalled my earlier conversation with him and feared the worst.
Later, I received confirmation that he had been sentenced to six years in prison and was facing formal charges. There was nothing to be done legally. I hired a lawyer, but he just wasted my money, telling me, "Your brother won't get out unless you pay a fortune. There are only two ways out for him: dead or with a lot of money." Determined and already involved in that world, I opted for force, explaining the situation to my friends.
Although they were good-hearted people, their world was cruel and hardened. I chose not to involve them, fearing they might end up taking lives unnecessarily. I believe God was already guiding me down a different path. It might seem like I'm boasting about being brave, but I wasn't. It was simply my nature. I felt the evil one had influence, but God was always with me. Sustained by my Christian mother's prayers, finding out where my brother's boss lived was difficult.
But I finally got his address and kidnapped him as he arrived in a car with his sister, someone I had seen before. It was a trade: my brother for him. When negotiating with the judges, they told me, "Your brother got in easily, but getting out will be hard." I replied, "Either he gets out, or this man will be digging his own grave." They threatened to kill my family, even my dog. But I warned them.
I have desires to, and because for every one of mine, ten of theirs would eventually fall. That was the fear instilled in them. Because those individuals hadn't come to negotiate, but to kill. I didn't want my brother to die. I just wanted him freed. Thank God the exchange worked. After a back and forth of threats and negotiations, they released my brother. A judge in Guadalajara warned me, "Take your family away."
I replied, "I'll take them and hide them and then I'll come back to settle the score." Once my brother was free, my family had to leave Guadalajara and we moved to the United States to settle down. During that time, an incident occurred. My friends proposed we do something. It wasn't about committing a crime. Just observing. They needed me involved so that if any of them got caught, I would be implicated too.
Even though I wouldn't actually commit the offense, I would only be a witness. I didn't like the idea. But I was so entangled in that world that I had no choice. I did participate in crimes, but deep down I still held on to certain moral principles. I thought about getting drunk so I wouldn't be fully aware of what was about to happen. I had gotten drunk before and I knew that when I did, I lost track of what was going on.
Trying to escape reality, I started drinking at a bar with my friends, but the alcohol wasn't taking effect. I felt completely sober. One of them pulled out a new drug and offered me a sample to try and promote. I took that small amount and put it in my mouth without knowing its effects. Although I trafficked drugs, I didn't use them. It dissolved quickly. And even though I tried to spit it out, it was already too late.
Embarrassed, I went to the restroom. I tried to spit, but it had already dissolved in my mouth. I cleaned myself up and returned to the bar. But then I heard an inner voice telling me, "This is the end of the line for you today. Your life is over." Fear washed over me. I felt my heart trying to burst out of my chest and felt like I was about to faint. While driving, I lost consciousness. Something—I don't know what—was driving the car.
I woke up somewhere else, very far away. I tried to get out to ask for help, but passed out again. During those moments of unconsciousness, I saw and heard nothing. It was like being blind and bodyless, yet aware of my situation. When I came to, I was in an ambulance receiving electric shocks. The paramedics were asking for my name and what I had taken. I chose to say nothing to protect the others back at my house where there were many people and illicit substances.
I thought my life was ending right there. At one point, I saw myself from the hospital ceiling looking down at my body. I wondered which one is me. Realizing I had left my physical form, I thought I was going to die, that nothing of me would remain and wondered what would become of me, if my existence would be reduced to floating eternally. It is important to note that upon waking in what felt like a dream, instead of answering the paramedics, I recited the Lord's Prayer.
Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. Forgive us our trespasses as we also forgive those who offend us. Those were the only words I remembered. Later, as I found myself floating in the air, I wondered what fate held in store for me. I felt like a balloon drifting aimlessly, floating away from the city.
I watched the lights, the streets, and the buildings growing ever more distant until I was plunged into darkness, descending toward something. Deep down, I instinctively felt that nothing good was in store. I questioned my chosen destiny and whether, having lived the way I did, it was all over. I soon arrived at a place that seemed to be on the edge of the light. I touched something solid, a dark floor, and wondered for a few seconds where I was. It was a gloomy place with no visible light.
Suddenly, an even darker presence approached me, triggering an intense thirst. I recalled the biblical parable of the rich man and Lazarus, a thirst I had never experienced before, but now fully understood. This entity, appearing part demon and part human, emanated a profound evil. I felt its hatred as if its claws wanted to tear me apart. Yet at the same time, it seemed to revel in my presence, enjoying the torment of watching a human suffer.
While alive, even when lost, there is always a chance for repentance. But there I knew there was no turning back. It mocked me, claiming it had always helped me and that I was ungrateful. I retorted that I had never made a pact with it, that what I had done I had done on my own. "What do I owe you?" It scoffed, saying it had looked after me as long as it could, boasting that it had merely administered the drug, leaving me to doubt whether that was truly the case or if it had simply influenced me.
Have a taste of your own medicine. It said a phrase I will never forget. While the demons mocked me, I was being torn apart, utterly alone and defenseless because I had not lived righteously before God. I remembered my grandmother and the advice she had given me. Advice I had never followed. At that moment, I felt I was carrying something with me, something that didn't belong in that dark place. I didn't know what it was.
But instinctively, I said, "Wait a moment. There is something that—" he replied arrogantly. "It isn't your place. Everything belongs to you." He mocked me, laughing so hard it seemed his stomach hurt, incredulous that God could hear me. I simply said, "Let's go." Resigned to my fate. At that crucial moment, I heard an imposing authoritative voice, one that didn't frighten me, but clearly intimidated those present.
They fled, leaving me in peace, and the atrocious thirst vanished. Now filled with gratitude, I reflected on the horror of that thirst. Not even all the fire in the world could compare to such torment. It is something I would never wish upon anyone. I warn everyone. You do not know what awaits you if you do not repent and return to Christ. Truly, neither the bravest nor the most wicked will find mercy there.
Recently while speaking with a sorcerer, he told me Satan had promised him everything. I warned him that nothing he received here could compare to the horrors he would face down there. When that voice resonated, it announced he wants to speak with God and he will speak with God. The demons could not bear that voice and scattered. Then a calm presence approached, enveloping me in peace. I never thought I would leave that place.
I assumed I would only have a brief exchange before continuing on my way. The gentle voice confirmed, "He is listening to you speak. What do you want to tell him?" I replied, "I just want to ask for forgiveness for having been stubborn, rude, disobedient, a bad brother, bad in every way. My grandmother, whom I always saw as a messenger from God, gave me good advice that I ignored. Here I am facing the consequences, accepting my punishment.
I know God always wanted the best for me and I carry something with me that I do not want to leave here, something I hope can be rescued." The presence replied, "You recognize your difficult situation. It is complicated, but I only came to say goodbye to God, and if my time is up, I am grateful for these minutes of being heard, and now I will continue on my way." Then he asked me, "Do you think there is anyone who loves you enough to take your place?" I shook my head, thinking of a human being, perhaps my grandmother.
I answered, "No, no one, no one who knows this place would come here voluntarily. If someone is brought here, it is through deception. If someone loved me, I wouldn't want them to come here. That would make it even more criminal." I didn't think God would care for someone like me, someone destined for hell. I told myself, "If someone who loves me were cast down here, I would be even more miserable. I'm already here. Let this chapter of my life close. I'm not going to sacrifice anyone. No one loves me enough to come to this place."
Then they asked me, "What do you think of Jesus Christ?" I understood immediately who they were referring to. In the spiritual realm, you don't need things repeated. You just know. They asked about Jesus, and I remember that in my childhood, I only knew the image of a dead Jesus, someone who meant nothing more to me than a character in a story who simply died. I replied, "I'm actually angry with him."
"Why are you angry with him?" they asked. I explained, "If he is the son of God, why did he just let them kill him? It doesn't seem like much." I said with resentment. "I would have preferred if he had faced them directly, but he just let himself be killed." I had felt bitterness since childhood, blaming a religion that only taught the image of a god who was constantly defeated and suffering, hanging there, never shown any other way.
I declared, "Jesus and I share nothing. I'm indifferent to him. I grew up in Moken. How could he help me when he had already died? When my father was mistreating us, where was Jesus? He died 2,000 years ago. What good is that to me?" Suddenly, as if a window had opened, a bright light formed a sort of circular movie screen, and I saw Jesus being beaten. I received all this information at once. I wanted to intervene, to reach out and stop the blows.
The voice accompanying me said, "He is paying the price for you there. If he didn't suffer those blows, he couldn't redeem you. The person who loves you most, the one I'm referring to is him." It shattered me inside because I had just described his death so dismissively. I understood the message. I don't know why I hadn't understood it before. I saw that every one of my sins and actions was reflected in a lash against him.
Avoiding that would mean having no path to my redemption. I remembered how even Peter in the scriptures was warned by Jesus about the necessity of his crucifixion. I realized that my own actions had contributed to those wounds. I asked what I should do. I could only accept that reality. I had never felt genuine love or affection for anyone. And accepting that love was a challenge. It moved me deeply and led me to open my heart.
"Lord, even if you later condemn me to hell, I want to live to tell others what you did for them and for me. If you send me to hell in the end, then do it. But your sacrifice is greater than my mistakes." I made it clear, however, that I wouldn't engage in theological debates about predestination. They simply asked if I wanted to do it. I replied, "Because of what you did and how you sacrificed your life, I must make it known and speak of it. For you could not have died in vain as I once thought."
I begged for forgiveness repeatedly and prayed. As I gazed into his eyes, so kind and gentle, I understood that his sacrifice was far greater than I had ever imagined. Tearfully, I pleaded, "Take me back." It wasn't so much out of fear of hell, but because I valued what he offered me more. So I returned to the hospital, though I seemed to fade out again without floating or anything of the sort.
I felt myself returning to my body and experienced an intense cold. Yet I could neither see nor sense anything beyond that. I heard voices and knew they were the doctors. A human voice is very different from that of the spiritual realm. It took a few hours to regain my physical senses. I could hear at first and gradually my sight returned. When I was finally able to open my eyes, a doctor hugged me and wept, asking, "Did you see God?"
I answered, "No." She said, "I see him in your eyes." I hadn't seen him. I had only spoken with him. I saw something, but I couldn't say what it was because I would fall apart again. She hugged me and said, "Welcome back to life. You had already left." I confirmed, "Yes, I know you aren't going to go back to what you were doing, right?" I hope not. I felt afraid to be alive again, yet also relieved because I still had things to do.
Just coming back was a huge gain. I knew I would face many people who wouldn't like my new decision. Upon leaving the hospital, I was given documents detailing the amount of drugs I had consumed. I took those papers with me, though I wish I had kept them. When I got home, I faced a dilemma about what to do. Still mired in so many problems, an intense pursuit began. I got rid of a lot of drugs I had at home, both mine and others.
Then they came and took my car, a new Jaguar. I told them, "Take it all." They warned me, "It's not enough. We're going to arrest you." My mother visited me. I was living elsewhere by then and gave me a Bible. One day, without knowing why, I opened it to the book of Job. I wasn't sure if it was the best book for someone like me to start with, but I read it and saw how hard it was for Job. I thought he was good. And look what he suffered. And here I am so bad. Why, Jesus? Did you pull me out of there? I deserved to be there.
But ultimately, I came to recognize that his love is indescribable. And I stopped worrying about why he loved me. I began to truly believe he loved me so much. And I felt I had to respond to him in some way. I thought everything would be perfect, that I would preach and do this and that. But struggles came. I was attacked by demons almost every day, even while awake. One in particular found me. He didn't tell me his name, but around 10:00 in the morning, while I was at home sitting on the bed, I got up to have breakfast. My mother was going to make something, and I noticed a gun on the nightstand to the right and a Bible on the one to the left. I sat on the bed. I looked at both and thought about my life.
I had thoughts of going to settle scores with certain people who had caused us great harm. People who wanted to kill me and had betrayed us and who deserved the retribution that applies in such situations. At first I thought, "My God, once this is resolved, I will serve you. You will even be glad when I eliminate this man." That was my mindset until I saw the Bible and reflected, "No, I cannot go back to that. The resentment I feel toward this person must be transformed into the forgiveness I received. I cannot harbor hatred because if I hate, Christ's forgiveness is rendered void. I must forgive." Yet it seemed impossible to me.
Then a demon appeared in the room. I tried to flee but was paralyzed. It threatened me, saying, "You will do what you have planned," and in a fleeting vision, it showed me where those people lived, their address clear in my mind. It insisted, "You will go and do it. I will give you everything you desire. You won't go to heaven, for you are the black sheep of your family." I retorted that God had rescued me, but it replied, "You were already about to be devoured. That is, when you begged, you made God feel pity. God is weak, but you won't be saved. You'll go back to the same old ways. You'd be better off making the most of it and triumphing in who you are. Serve me."
I was on the verge of giving in, but then I saw the image of Jesus on the cross again. I fell to my knees and cried out, "I'd rather die. Take me to hell, but I won't commit any more crimes. Even if I belong in hell according to you, I won't do it anymore." It tried to stop my heart and leave me breathless. Knowing little of the Bible, I could only say, "My God, if I die, receive my soul."
As I was collapsing, I felt a breeze. My mother, who was in the kitchen, sensed something was wrong and began to pray for me, invoking the protection of the blood of Jesus. That breeze revitalized me and repelled the demon, which left cursing, saying this isn't over. I recovered enough to walk, though still in shock, and went to my mother who was waiting for me for breakfast. She noticed my pallor and asked, "Why are you so pale?"
"I don't know. I had a nightmare," I replied. "What nightmare?" she asked. I told her what had happened as if it were a dream, even though it wasn't. She remarked, "A little while ago I was terrified for you. I prayed and cried out for you. Be careful with that dream." "Yes, Mom. Let's see what happens." My mother had always been afraid of me because of my violence and the resentment I'd harbored since childhood.
After that event, I got rid of all the drugs and changed my life as best I could. I battled demons day and night. I stood before people and threw all the drugs into the sea. I spoke to the woman who would become my wife, who was also at risk because of my past. And we married in secret on April Fool's Day in Mexico. Although she was reluctant, I forced the issue. "You're going to marry me whether you want to or not," I joked. "You're pulling my leg. It's April Fool's Day." "It's no joke. Marry me. I'll pay you well, but I need you to do it." And so it happened. We held a ceremony at home with just a few family members. I didn't want my wife to have to leave her home.
So after we married, I managed to deposit some money into an account for her that allowed me to apply for a visa, which I obtained thanks to those funds. God's hand was in the whole process. With the visa approved, I was able to come here legally instead of crossing illegally. We moved here. I had just gone through that turbulent experience. Knowing nothing of Christian churches, prayer, or the Bible, I explained the situation to my wife. "You've married a man with no money. What you knew of me was just an appearance of wealth and cars. But I have nothing left now. I gave it all away so they wouldn't kill me, and the matter still isn't resolved. You could easily become a widow soon."
She replied, "It doesn't matter. I'll follow you. Let's go." Upon arriving in Houston, I found work in carpentry, barely earning enough to buy bread and canned beans. The battle with demons continued. I found support by listening to Christian messages on TV. But the demons were relentless, a constant torment that robbed me of sleep. In desperation, I could only cry out, "Lord Jesus, help me."
The demons would leave but eventually return. Finally, I cried out, "I can't live like this. Lord, I'd rather you take me. I don't know if you want me, but I attract demons, and they'll never leave me in peace as long as I'm alive." I set a three-month deadline during which I devoted myself entirely to reading the Bible, setting aside secular music, even romantic songs, and avoiding vulgar language and bad company.
I decided that if after visiting an evangelical church I didn't experience a change, I would assume that God had helped me out of kindness, but that I simply wasn't heaven material. I dedicated those three months to giving it my all. I immersed myself in the Bible, sometimes sitting motionless for hours, whether in a chair or in the bathroom, always with my wife's support.
When I finally visited an evangelical church, I had gone a couple of times with my mother and knew they usually issued an altar call at the end. The pastor skipped the invitation that day.
That frustrated me. I thought, I have a desperate need for God, and he isn't even offering a chance to respond. I decided the pastor was going to pray for me whether he wanted to or not. I got up from my seat and instead of leaving, headed down the aisle toward the pastor. As I walked, I felt an electric current shoot through me and began to shake violently. I moved down the aisle while people watched, clearly making a fool of myself in their eyes.
I thought I asked God to do something, and it seems he really took me at my word. I reached the pastor. When he tried to place his hand on my shoulders, sparks and electricity flared up, preventing him from touching me. He urged me, "Don't resist." Confused, I asked, "Resist what?" "The Holy Spirit wants to heal you, to touch you." I hesitated, wondering if it was just another demon messing with the Holy Spirit.
"The Holy Spirit?" I asked. "Yes," he replied. Yielding, I said, "Then go ahead. Do what you have to do." I felt as though I were passing through a filter that purified everything bad I was carrying, and I fell to the ground. When I woke up, I felt as pure as a child. I told the pastor, "I want to die right now." He laughed and asked why. I replied, "Because I'm clean as a baby, ready for heaven."
"It's not that simple," he told me. "This is just a sign that God loves you and has saved you from hell. You won't die right now. Christ is more than enough. You must testify about him."
After that encounter, the demonic attacks ceased. I felt like I was on the verge of speaking in tongues, which initially scared me. From that day on, I felt I truly belong to God, marked with his seal. When the demons returned, I no longer repelled them out of fear.
They would challenge me, asking, "How many have you brought? Are there enough?" I would reply, "Bring as many as you can." They would taunt me, "And who do you think you are?" I would tell them, "I'm going to remind you of something you've forgotten. In my home, there was a clock that made a constant sound. I grew accustomed to that ticking. Do you know how to read it?" They challenged me. "Better than you," I replied.
"Every tick reminds you that your time is running out just like mine. One day we will stand in the presence of God. I am covered by the blood of Jesus. But you have it on your hands. How will you fare when you stand before him? You, the one who tortured him and mocked his death. Let's see who the real loser is. Do you want to keep listening?" Filled with rage, the demons refused to listen any longer and left.
They no longer bothered me as they once did. The encounters are sporadic and they use different tactics. I feel we can leave that part behind and share another.
Having experienced going to heaven, I recognize both places. I didn't see flames or demons, but I do know what that thirst feels like. A thirst I wouldn't wish on anyone. Simply being without God's presence, feeling that absence is like ceasing to exist. Falling into a state worse than that of a stone or a dead tree, condemned to suffer eternally. When I was in that situation, I thought that an eternity with such thirst would be unbearable. I never imagined God would give me a second chance. I am not special, just grateful. Some might think I cheated, as if just because I was there, they too could have that opportunity. But it is not up to us. It is God's will.
I grew up in a religion that did not know the living Christ, only the dead Christ. Now facing a terminal diagnosis, people have suggested folk remedies or witchcraft to me. But I reject such superstitions. My last breath here will be my first in God's presence. Wherever I land, I belong to the Lord.
Dear brother and sister, if this powerful testimony has strengthened your faith, enlightened your soul, touched your spirit, and fostered your spiritual growth, I encourage you to like this message. Please share these words with your family and friends on social media and in online groups. Share this testimony among believers and with those who have not yet found Christ, so they may experience transformation through these revelations. And so God may use this message to open their spiritual eyes, leading them to repentance and salvation in Jesus.
If this message has resonated with you and nourished your spirit, I invite you to like it, share it, and leave a comment telling me how this testimony has impacted your life. I am Brother Daniel.
And that is all for now. Until we meet again, God bless you.
