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Martin’s
testimony
In the
beginning……. Like all
Catholics I was baptized as a baby, and my parents made me go through the regiments
of a young Catholic boy. I had to attend Church (as Catholics believe that it
is a mortal sin not to attend church) and also attend Catechism where I was
introduced to the life of Christ, and other “important”
characters to the Catholic Church. It was also here that it was made known to
me of the different ceremonies that marked the coming of age of a Catholic.
It starting with infant baptism, first confession and then of course
confirmation, where you would be given a name to be added to your existing
names, and in the process be a confirmed member of the Catholic church. At
least I think that’s what it’s about. You see I never
made it to my first confirmation, (I would like to point out here, that it
was through no fault of mine). My parents had decided that we had played
church long enough, and it was time to move on. Up to that point I had been a
“Catholic” for all of seven years (Cause that’s how long I
had been on this earth), all of which were spent having, causing and getting
into lots of trouble introducing myself to this world. From the age of
six to seven, it became clear to me that my goal in life every weekend, was
to find a way to get out of going to Church and Sunday school. Coincidentally
it was at this time that I heard quite frequently that I would be going to
hell. It was bad enough that I had to go to Church, now I even had to stay
back for Catechism.(I mean how much can a guy take!) No more church…but!!! But as it were
“fate” (Chinese people like to use this term a lot! ) took a
turn, my grand mother got sick…she had cancer. My father decided that
Christ was not enough for this situation, so it was decided that church did
not fit into the plans anymore. (Hey was this great or what!!) Of course I
found out my “Church free” weekends would not last, you see I
ended up spending them in a Buddhist temple. Apparently we were now Buddhists
and had to devote ourselves to all things Buddhist. My grandmother who was
very ill was also taken to the temple on weekends for “healing”.
I on the other hand was made a “godson” of one of the senior
monks and had to spend much time with him on weekends. (Talk about out of the
frying pan into the fire…I mean literally) My grandmother
never made it, and in a few months she passed away. We in the meantime kept
on being good Buddhists, faithfully attending the temple. But it wasn’t
long before my father brought news that my “godfather” monk (he
was a Thai national) had to go back to I remember my
father saying that even though he (the monk) was not around we should
continue to worship him. It suddenly dawned on me that we actually had
pictures of him rather than Buddha around the house…strange. This went
on for a while, but as with all “spiritual” things in my family
…it did not last. From that point
on I was all mixed up. I woke up some days thinking that all
“gods” were the same, and that there was one ultimate being whom
we all worshipped but in different ways, whether Muslims, Buddhists, Taoist,
Christians…what ever. And then there were some days I just questioned
the very existence of God. By the time I
was in my teens I was just too caught up having fun with parties, alcohol,
drugs and rock and roll to even bother anymore. As far as I was concerned
heaven was on earth and the game plan was to have as much fun as I could. Of course my
parents had now moved on and were into anything that would bring them
“luck”. Charm bracelets, pendants, idols, objects of witchcraft
and sorcery.. Etc. I being the “obedient” son would accept these
things when given to me as a “blessing” . (And let me tell you
they have worked) God never forgot me, nor was He far
from me…. He re-introduced Himself!! In 1976 I met
Pat (who is now my wife) through a friend of mine. We had a band and were looking
for a keyboard player, and he recommended her. It was to be a start of a
relationship with her and also someone who had been trying to introduce
Himself all this while……….Jesus Christ. You see Pat was
a Christian,….. a Protestant!! As a Catholic (somehow
I decided I was one again) we were always weary of Protestants. We were told
that they were heretics on their way to hell, and that the one true church
was the Roman Catholic Church. But that did not deter me from following Pat
to her Protestant church. (You know lah, girlfriend, in love and all that..)
For the first year or so I never uttered a word or sang a note in that
church, for fear of going to hell with all of them. The There were also
no instruments allowed and the clapping of hands was frowned upon, and we
mostly sang hymns. We attended that church faithfully for a few years and the
only impact it made on me was that church was really boring!! But I forgot God… Soon Pat and I
found ourselves immersed in the music scene, it was something that we had
always wanted to do. So from 1985 - 1989 we were part of a band that played
in all the major clubs in My father,
being that he was involved in such things, found a bomoh in Johore and said
that we could to go to him, and he would tell us exactly who had taken the
money. As it turned out the bomoh did just that. He looked into a bowl of
water and could describe the thief, right down to the smallest detail. From
the information we knew exactly who it was. We confronted the person and he
confessed. The power of Satan is real, and it became more real to us when
towards the end of our “nightlife” career, we were once again up
against it. God can use all things and
situations…. At first it did
not seem strange that we would lose our jobs for the most bizarre reasons.
But as it kept happening again and again we thought that something was amiss.
After all we were one of the more popular bands in A few days later his daughter came to the club where we were working. She looked tired and pale. She told us that her father was bedridden with a strange illness and was getting more and more sick as days went by. She said that he told her to come and warn us of a curse that had been placed on us collectively as a band. He said that he tried his best but could not ward off the curse, as it was too powerful for him. His daughter said, that in the many years her father had been “helping” people, he had never been in the conditioned he now found himself. She told us that we should take heed, and find protection for ourselves. That was the last we heard of her, and we never found out the outcome of her father’s sickness. The Prodigal Son
returns……? A
“life” threatening warning can do miracles for the soul. So for
fear of our own safety and well being, we once again ran to our
“ABBA” God, always expecting Him to bail us out. My wife’s
cousin brought us back to a Coming from the
Brethren denomination, we never moved in the Spirit and therefore never quite
understood the workings of the spiritual world, so we took the Pastor at his
word….hey and all was well again, or so we thought. Time passed,
and we attended that Church as often as we could. At first just so that God would
see that we were now good Christians, and protect us. Later though we decided
that since we were there we might as well also criticize the musicians in the
praise band, (yes the church now had a band with instruments and contemporary
music, that to me sounded 10 years too late) mercy was not spared on the
Speakers and the messages, I mean after all these years they were still
preaching in the same old boring messages in the same old boring way. The
reasons why we had to be in Church were just pilling up …… I mean
someone had to comment, criticize right? And sometimes the
“cheap” dinner provided wasn’t too bad either, and if
Christ came back on Sunday, found me in church ..hey I’d be on my
way……heaven bound. This leads me
to the reason why we got baptized. In late 1989,
we decided that we wanted to get married. We looked around for a Church hall
to book, but found out that nothing comes for free……..or does it? After speaking
to some of our “Church friends”, we found out that if we were
“Baptized” members of the Church, we would not have to pay a
cent..Mmmm…now that’s interesting. Pat had always
been putting off being baptized; I mean your hair would get wet and messy;
your makeup might smudge (even if water proof not foolproof). There’s
just so much a girl can deal with you know. I on the other hand felt that I
had already been baptized even though it was without me knowing; I felt it
was justified. I mean how many times in a guy’s life must he be part of
a “ritual” with people staring; worst still most of them will be
strangers. The first time I did it was a breeze. They did not know me, I did
not know them and anyways I could not see that far. (I wasn’t even one
year old) But you know
the thought of saving a couple of hundred dollars was just too good a reason
to pass of this opportunity. So we went to the pastor to tell him the good
news. He was overjoyed that we would take this step of faith…(at last
all those Sunday sermons were paying off, the words of truth must surely have
penetrated our hearts.) We broke the
news to Pat’s parents, they too were glad that we had finally seen the
light. The only light
that we wanted to see was the lights and air-con being turned on for free in
the Church hall during our wedding ceremony. Everyone was
glad that we had come this far…..far!..we were far alright, as far as
we could possibly be from the Church of Jesus Christ and all it stood for. We were
cheapskates looking for a handout from a vending machine
God.Give,give,give….we had missed the point. So we went through
with the Baptism. (By the way Pat was contemplating wearing a shower cap, to
which someone replied,”Did Jesus wear a shower cap when He was
baptized”). We also finally got married. (Saved a lot, and made quite a
bit of money, went to A New Beginning…. In 1989 both Pat and I decided to quit the nightlife, as
we felt that it did not offer a promising and stable career path. Also at
this time opportunities were opening up for me. A friend and I opened
production house writing “jingles” for radio and television
commercials. Jobs were coming in quite regularly, and it seemed that this
would be a better career choice. Not long after that I found myself being
introduced to the world of Mandarin Music. It was a whole new learning curve
for me, starting from the bottom, being exploited and underpaid, but things
started to take a turn once I established myself in the industry. The jobs
were plenty and the money was good, too good to resist the temptation to set
up a company, expand and to make more money. After all I wanted to live the In May 1993 my daughter Megan was born, it was a joyous occasion that led to a painful experience for both my wife and I. Pat was getting more and more depressed and was later diagnosed as having post-natal depression. It was a trying time for us. Pat began to have suicidal thoughts and as the days went by, sold herself more and more on the idea of ending her life. I was afraid for her and even the safety of little Megan. Knowing that I could not leave her alone with the baby, I had to bring her along with me to work. Working 12 to 16 hours a day was quite common, because of the workload. There were bills after bills to clear, as we had decided to build our own studio, and take on more office space. After coming back from the long day at work I would make sure Pat would get her rest, and I would take care of the baby. I probably averaged 2 or 3 hours of sleep a day. This went on for a while till one day; I remember it being the birthday of my friend Jon’s elder daughter. I was late in getting to the party because as usual, I was working. When I got there some people commented that I looked pale and asked whether I was alright. I said that I was fine, and that all I needed was a good rest. When I got home I started feeling real strange. Once again I brushed it off as fatigue and told myself that I would be alright in the morning after a good nights rest. Baptism of fear and ……. At about 2 or I’m still alive, for now anyway, but for how long? I had to get out of the room, so I went downstairs and sat at the dinning room. I’m going to die…..I’m going to die…, I found myself repeating that over and over again. By this time my wife woke up and found me missing. So she came downstairs, and found me sitting at the dinning table. She asked me what I was doing there at this hour. I just looked at her and said, “I’m going to die”. I also related the horrifying event that had just occurred. She said “don’t be silly, you’re not going to die, why don’t you go and see my psychiatrist in morning.
Hope? Unable to cope with her situation, Pat had been seeking treatment from a psychiatrist for her depression, and as the time came, I too found myself in the same clinic that I had brought Pat to so many times for therapy. In the office the psychiatrist looked puzzled, she looked back and forth at Pat and me, at which Pat told her, “ I know I’m not up for another visit” and pointing to me said it’s him! I told her what had happened, and her reply was that artistic people like me were prone to these sorts of things, as we were more sensitive. She then began to prescribe a myriad of drugs for me. I had all kinds of tablets and capsules. I had to take each one diligently and without fail, as doing so would cause me to experience “going through hell again”. Anyway I figured that with medication and if I paced myself, I would be as good as new again. The Dream lives
on… I felt I needed something to anchor on. I thought that focusing on the continuing saga that was my dream would help. The studio was completed, the office was coming along nicely, and we even had staff to fill up the office. Seeing these things lifted my spirits only for a short while. Things started to move fast, work was still pouring in, a good sign for a new company, we were diversifying our business, we needed more help, needed more space. Suddenly we found ourselves with a bigger office and more workers, which meant only one thing, higher overheads every month. Our new business ventures weren’t going as planned, it was siphoning out funds from our main business, which was music production. Stress…stress, and more stress. …..Not….. I had now been on medication for about three months, that in itself wasn’t coming cheap, and boy was I ever wrong to think that I would be back to normal by now. Things were hardly normal. I would wake up everyday with a sense of dread. Depression brought grayness into my life, like a dull irritating pain, eating away at the core of my soul, eroding away every last sense of joy, peace, will and purpose in life. Slowly but surely bringing me to the point of nothingness. This coupled with the situation at the workplace finally broke me. I was incapacitated; I just could not work anymore. I broke the news to my partners. They were very understanding and told me to take a break, rest and come back when all was well. Even with medication, everyday was a drag. Ever so often I would panic at the thought of living the rest of my life in darkness. Suicide seemed a better option than that. Depression is a sickness that carries a stigma with it. Some how you begin to feel that you are sub standard, weak, frail, incomplete, fragile, not up to the mark, a social defect. Worse still people around you don’t realize that you’re sick, because you look physically okay. They just think you’re a louse. Vertical Miracle By now desperation had set in, it had been months (lost count) and no sign of improvement. Even my wife was back to her normal self. I once again found myself with no other hope, but God. I never cried out to Him when the first attack came, never thought of committing my sickness to Him before going to see the psychiatrist. Who says God h | ||
