“When Everything Else Fails – Jesus”

My name is Nizam Khan, son of Ibrahim and Rafickan, devout Muslims. I was born in

Georgetown, Guyana and grew up practicing all the principles of the Muslim faith:

praying, fasting, attending mosque, feeding the poor and performing yearly animal

sacrifice (Qurbani). Since praying in Arabic was one of the important requirements of the faith and I did not know the language, I began taking after school classes in order to understand the prayers I was reciting.

I was a good Muslim and a great student, always graduating with high grades in

my class. In 1971, I was forced to leave school due to racial conflict in my country. I

began attending private school and later assisted my father with the family business.

Things were going well for me. I had everything I needed and was living a carefree life.

This all drastically changed, however, when I suddenly became ill in 1972. I was 12 years

old.

My illness began with complaints of pains in my head and eyes. My mother

eventually took me to a doctor. One visit led to many others with each doctor giving a

different diagnosis. Meanwhile, my condition was becoming worse. One of the most

memorable experiences was with Dr. Mohammed Ali (not the boxer), who prescribed

two injections to be given in my head. I remembered screaming from the intensity of the pain as I felt the liquid from the injection moving around inside my head.

Another unforgettable incident happened a year later with Dr. Cunningham who

administered three injections, which caused my inner ear to feel like it would explode. I

later learned that Dr. Cunningham was prohibited from practicing medicine legally.

I visited so many doctors, including the top medical practitioners in the country,

that I lost count. Since no doctor to this point could diagnose what was wrong with me, it was believed that this was all in my mind. So then I was referred to Dr. Tate, a

psychiatrist. His diagnosis claimed that there was nothing wrong with me. So I was taken to another doctor who suggested I change my surroundings, for I may have been allergic to my environment. I was sent to Suriname, a neighboring country, where I spent one of the worst weeks of my life.

My ordeal reached the point where family members and friends started recommending various types of home remedies in an attempt to help. This ranged from drinking salted water and eating excessive salt with my meals to various over the counter medicines. I later learned the danger of some of the things I was taking.

When doctors, medications, vacations and home remedies failed to make things better, my mother turned to an Imam (Muslim priest). He had me close my eyes and point myfingers to a chart in a very old, worn out book. He then took a glass of water over which he prayed, blew on it, and gave me to drink. I was also given two small metal vials with a scroll inside to pin on my clothes and pillow. When these things did not help, I was taken to a Pandit (Hindu priest), who had me sit on the floor facing him with my feet folded. He muttered some words, grabbed a small clump of his hair, cut it off, and stuffed it into a small glass vial. He gave it to my mother, instructing her to throw it into the ocean any day before the sun rises. This was done, but my health continued to plummet.

In my family’s unrelenting search for help, I was taken to an Obeah woman

(witch doctor). She had me bathe in a large wooden barrel of scented water, which was

colored with indigo blue. Later, my eldest sister told me that they were required to carry a live chicken and uncooked rice for this Obeah woman. I left that place smelling like a drug store, and the only change I felt was the waning in my condition.

With no hope for me in sight, I developed a phobia. I couldn’t be left alone, so I

moved into my parents’ room and slept between them. Days turned into weeks and then months as I laid hopelessly on my mother’s bed with nothing to do all day. My situation became more frightening as the days went by. My own thoughts of death were tormenting me. Whispers of lies in my mind were telling me that I would never grow up to be 18 years old and experience the joys of life, like driving a car, getting married or having children. I was 14 years old when this unrelenting mental torture continued day and night... Then one day, one glorious day, something happened...something remarkable happened!

It was customary for me each morning to turn on a small brown radio that was

kept by the side of my mother’s bed. One morning as I was listening, a program called

“Christ is the Answer '' was being broadcast. I had never heard this program before, nor

did I know it existed. The words of the preacher got my attention that day. I remembered him saying, “Jesus can save you. Jesus can heal you. Jesus can set you free.” This was what I longed for. I needed someone to save me, someone to heal me and someone to set me free from this vice that I was caught in. I was so excited by what I heard I could hardly wait for the next day to tune in. Each day that followed left me longing for more of what the preacher had to say. Several days later when the preacher invited listeners to lay their hands on the radio and ask Jesus into their hearts, I bowed my head and repeated the prayer. In that moment, while reciting the prayer on my knees with my hands on the radio, something I can hardly find words to explain happened. I felt the surroundings in the room suddenly change. Then I saw multi-colored, rainbow-like, shimmering scales falling off my eyes before me. It suddenly began to dawn upon me that Jesus Christ really exists. Soon His presence in the room was undeniable. I was so overcome by what was happening I sprang off my mother's bed where I was kneeling, ran to the bedroom door. I was about to shout at the top of my lungs, “Jesus is real”, but then I realized at that moment my mother was in the kitchen not far away. As a Muslim she would not react favorably to this behavior, so I restrained myself. I returned to the bed where I sat for a while in order to regain my composure. 

As I sat on the bed something distinct began happening inside of me. A feeling of newness began coming over me. It was like someone flipped on a switch in me...the person I was a moment ago was now a new person. I could feel the difference deep inside of me.. I was not the same. There was an instantaneous change in me, and I could feel it tangibly.

A few weeks after this experience, as I continued to listen to various other

Christian radio broadcasts, I became convinced that Jesus, who had touched and changed my life, could also heal me. I then sought my mother’s permission to visit a Christian church. There was a long pause before she finally said, “Yes.” Not knowing anything about the Christian religion, I forced myself to push past my phobia to visit a Catholic Cathedral nearby. I went there primarily to pray for my healing. I visited this Cathedral twice and spent the time in prayer, but nothing happened. Later at home, I found a book of prayer, which instructed me to set up an altar in a quiet place with eight lighted candles on a white tablecloth and a picture of Jesus. This was supposedly called a “Sacred Octave” . I did not then understand the meaning of this practice. My objective was to pray for my healing the best way I knew how.

As time went by, I remembered two boys who attended the same public school as

I. They lived a block away from my home. I recall that they were different from the other children at school and somehow I interpreted their non-aggression to be characteristic of Christians. I decided to visit those boys one day. When I finally made it to their home, I couldn’t articulate my reason for being there, so I asked for some guitar lessons. I continued visiting their home and soon discovered that their father, Harry Parsram, was a preacher. This made me very excited. I waited for sometime before sharing my problem with him. The preacher listened patiently then extended an invitation for me to visit the Thursday morning prayer meeting at his church. I explained how difficult it would be for me to go, due to the phobia. So the preacher asked his eldest son Paul to escort me.

Thursday morning came and Paul arrived at my home. We rode to church on our

bicycles. When I arrived, the service was already in session. I was surprised by what I

saw in the building. There were about twelve people, shouting, clapping and banging on tambourines. They were extremely loud. I thought I had made a mistake and that thesepeople were mad. Muslims were not accustomed to this type of religious outburst. Things were done quietly in the mosque, with everyone standing in a straight line and behaving orderly.

I endured as much of the shouting and clapping that I could then decided to leave.

As I was heading for the exit, the noise suddenly stopped and the preacher gave an open invitation to anyone who needed prayers. Prayer was why I had come so I turned around at the door and headed down the aisle towards the front of the church. Pastor Parsram met me and had me kneel on the red carpet at the altar. Then he laid his hands upon my head and prayed.

About two minutes into the prayer, I felt a heavy weight lifted off of my shoulders

and a cool breeze surrounded me. There was no air conditioning in the building, and it

had been very hot and sunny outside that day. I knew I was not imagining this. It was

really happening. Jesus once again was touching my life in an amazing way as a feeling

of freedom and renewal flooded me. When the prayer ended, I got up. I felt free for the first time in over two years. Everything around me looked new. Even the atmosphere felt different. It was incredible. Hopping on my bicycle, I rode home.

From that day my whole life began changing as I gradually resumed the normal

swing of things. I moved to Canada and graduated from DeVry Institute of Technology; I got married and fathered three wonderful children. After migrating to the USA, I landed a great job with a Fortune 500 company, then graduated from Bible School and entered the Ministry as a Pastor. All of the things I once thought were impossible had now become a reality. All because one day in 1974 Jesus stepped into my world and gave me a new beginning. My entire Muslim family, many of whom are still alive at the writing of this testimonial, are eyewitnesses who can validate the authenticity of the events written in this account.

This life that was once shattered by sin, sickness and bondage is now a living

testimony to the fact that Jesus Christ can make a difference in anyone's life who is

willing to call on Him. As it is written in the scriptures, “Call unto me, and I will answer

thee, and show thee great and mighty things, which thou knowest not.” (Jeremiah 33:3)

*******************

If you need additional information regarding the above, do not hesitate to contact me at 718-649-2124.