My Testimony!
The best testimony I can give you is that I’m saved, sanctified, baptized and filled with the precious Holy Ghost! God
has saved me from a life of sin and death. He’s done so much that I can’t count them all. If I had a thousand tongues,
I still don’t think I’d be able to praise and thank Him enough. Everyday He allows me to wake, to breathe another
breath, function with the use and activity of my limbs, remain joyful in the midst of the storm, I am truly blessed and
grateful! The gift of Jesus Christ is the best blessing God could have given us. If He never did anything else for me,
sending His only Begotten Son down to earth to die for my sins and the sins of all mankind, is more than enough and
an act of love I can never fully repay. However, I can live a life devoted to His glorious will and serve Him fully and
unconditionally. That’s what I live to do—His will. After all the smoke clears and the dust settles, when my time on this
earth is done, I want to hear Him say, “Well done my good and faithful servant.”
I truly love and thank Him for all things great and small. Following is just one example of a true story of how good the
Lord is, delivering me from the crutches of death!
IT’S NOT OVER UNTIL GOD SAYS IT’S OVER!
My eyes opened to the loving smile and teary-eyes of my wife and family. I was stretched across a hospital bed with
tubes inserted in my nose and throat. I was asked, “Did you see Heaven?”
Immediately, my mind drifted into another dimension. Why would my family ask me something like that, I wondered? If
I had of seen Heaven, I really don’t think I would have wanted to come back here. Still, I knew there had to be a
reason for the question. I struggled to talk, but couldn’t. “Don’t talk,” they whispered, “wait until you get out of
recovery.” Instead of pulling those tubes out—which is what I really wanted to do—I took their advice. I wasn’t in good
shape, but I knew God was with me. As I drifted back to sleep, the question about Heaven remained active in my mind.
Born with Sickle Cell Disease (a blood disorder that causes tremendous pain in different areas of the body), I began
suffering from it around the age of eight or nine. I’ve dealt with pain crisis all my life, in the which, I’ve been
hospitalized more times than I care to remember. But no crisis before would compare to the one of November 2002.
Not even knowing how sick I was, I went to the hospital emergency room for some minor pain on the left side of my
chest. Once diagnosed, I was told that I had a small amount of fluid on my left lung. I was given a prescription and
advised to follow-up with my doctor in a couple of days; I did as instructed.
She (my doctor) reviewed my chart and the hospital records. I was asked how I felt and I said that I felt fine; the
medication was working—or so I thought. She then asked if I wanted to get a couple of vaccines: Flu and Pneumonia.
Since my immune system is weaker than the average person, she said that it would be a good idea. I didn’t think it
would hurt, so I agreed with her. I don’t remember which vaccine was which, but as soon as she gave me the one in
my right arm, I immediately went into the worst pain crisis I had ever felt. I had to be rushed to the hospital emergency
room where I was treated and then diagnosed with not just the pain crisis from Sickle Cell Disease, but with three more
illnesses: fluid on both my lungs, Pneumonia, and Tuberculosis (T.B.). Two full weeks were my accommodations at
the hospital (including Thanksgiving Day). I was losing weight and getting weaker by the day. The prayers of the
righteous touched God’s heart and He brought me through. But, that ordeal was just the “starter” of what was yet to
come.
Because of the severity of the pain and the other illnesses, it was also diagnosed that my Spleen was the major cause
of what was going on with me. It had grown three times bigger than it should have been, and on top of that, it wasn’t
functioning like it should. Well, I have to be honest with you. I fought the counsel of removing it—all the way. So
much so that they (doctors) consulted and agreed to bring my family into the situation. I still fought it, but after talking
with them, I ended up agreeing to the surgery.
It was the twentieth day of March 2003 at nine a.m. when I was rolled into the operating room. The Surgeon came and
stood next to me. “Take care of me,” I said. “I will,” he responded. I was “put” under and when I woke, it felt like my
“insides” were on fire. The Surgeon was standing next to me. “I’ve got some bad news,” he informed me. “What’s
that,” I weakly asked. “We have to go back in,” he alerted. “Will it stop
the hurting?” I moaned. “Yes,” he assured. I nodded my head up and down, giving my approval for him to do what he
needed to do.
When I woke again, my family looking down at me—their eyes full of tears—asking me if I had seen Heaven. I couldn’t
wait to get out of that recovery room to ask them the reasoning behind that question. It was almost a full day in
recovery, but the time finally came when the tubes were removed and I could ask. Mustering up enough strength, I
proceeded. “Why was I asked that question?” “You were “gone” (as in dead), Maurice,” they softly replied. “What?” I
shockingly asked. “Gone,” they repeated. “You stopped breathing for thirty minutes.” I couldn’t believe what I was
hearing. According to the testimony of my sister, mother, aunt, Surgeon, and the saints of our church (because I don’t
remember a thing), I not only had to have two surgeries, but also a third one (all in one day) because I wouldn’t stop
bleeding. My body just couldn’t take anymore of the cutting, so it shut down. My heart stopped beating for ten
minutes after the second surgery and twenty minutes after the third. That third surgery was the final one that my body
was going to take. For twenty minutes I lie on the operating table not breathing (ten minutes before that). My family
was told that it didn’t look good and were advised to call in the rest of our family because the chances of me making it
through were slim to none. There was nothing else the Medical Staff could do, medically. But, glory be to God that
the saints did not accept that report! The saints began to call upon the name of Jesus so “tough” that—from what I
understand—a lady who was there asked if they could pray for her husband because he was having surgery, also.
According to testimony, a few minutes later, I began to breathe again. Glory be to God! It seems that God had other
plans for my life, and He saw fit to answer the prayers of the saints once again and “rebuke” death from me! Only
God has the power to tell death to stop in its tracks!
I was released a week later (prematurely), but had to be rushed right back to the hospital emergency room in less
than two full days because I was still bleeding (internally). Another surgery was needed to remove the blood (you
know I fought it all the way—especially after the first ordeal—but, my family was told that I wasn’t cooperating once
again; and once again……... If you’re keeping count—you guessed it—that’s four surgeries in a little over a week.
This time my Kidneys shut down, and it was yet again diagnosed that I wasn’t going to make it. And, yet again, the
Lord manifested His glory by showering me with His precious blood. [O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is
thy victory?] -1 Corinthians 15:55. For every one of us, there is an appointed time to leave this earth—and I will be
ready to be with my Lord and Savior when my time comes. But as for now, my testimony is this: IT’S NOT OVER UNTIL
GOD SAYS IT’S OVER!
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