Chapter 1: The Day Everything Changed

Psalm 40:2–3 (KJV): “He brought me up also out of an horrible pit, out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings. And he hath put a new song in my mouth, even praise unto our God: many shall see it, and fear, and shall trust in the LORD.

When I thought of “church,” the images weren’t inspiring.  A cold village building where we occasionally went for Harvest Supper.  In my teens, turning up slightly drunk at Midnight Mass after the pub. My mother had worked as a cathedral guide, and while I admired the stained glass and the hymns, church had never spoken to me. So why, in September 2023, did I suddenly ask my friends if I could join them on a Sunday trip to East London?

The three of us weren’t churchgoers.  None of us claimed any particular faith, which is why we laugh now at the absurdity of our decision.  Their road to East London was as strange to them as mine was to me.  That morning, we caught an early tube, yawning into our coffee cups, and walked down a street where, even at 10am, we had to cross the road more than once to avoid drunks and addicts.  After a half hours walk from the tube station instead of a steeple, I found myself at a conference hall beside a football stadium. Already, it felt surreal.

Inside, everything changed. The room was filled with people from the very island in Asia where my grandparents had lived in the 1920s and 1930s, where my father had been born, and about which I had grown up hearing stories. I had always longed to visit, always felt a pull toward that place. My friends had no idea about this connection, so the discovery stunned them as much as me.

For an hour we sang worship songs, some in English, some in their language. The melodies were unfamiliar yet deeply moving. I stood there weeping, unable to stop. It felt as if my grandmother was right beside me, and I was overwhelmed by a love I had never known before.

Then a Prophet entered, and the atmosphere in the hall changed instantly. This wasn’t a vicar in robes, but a man whose very presence electrified the room. I had no idea what to expect, but I was transfixed. For another hour he spoke on just a few verses of the Bible, yet it was as if the words themselves were alive. At eight years old in prep school, I had endured Scripture lessons from a teacher whose monotone droned on and I’d have defied anyone to stay awake, but chalk was thrown at us if we were caught not paying attention.  That morning, I understood everything. And more than that—I hungered for more.

At the close, newcomers were invited forward. My friends had warned me this might happen.  He paced in front of us and then approached me.  Placing one hand lightly on my head and the other on my stomach, he grew silent for a moment.  Then he said quietly and firmly “A blood disease has been healed in your bloodline.  What is your connection to Poland and Eastern Europe?” I was baffled. My father’s sister had died of leukaemia, but I knew nothing about Eastern Europe beyond a handful of work acquaintances.  We were, or so I believed, a dynasty of the quintessentially British.  He was certain it ran deeper, that the truth would come to light.  I left shaken but strangely energised, questions swirling in my mind.  

Four hours had passed, yet instead of fidgeting – as I normally would – I wanted to do it all again. My friends and I were buzzing with energy. They confided what the Prophet had said to them on their first visit, words no one else could possibly have known.  Had they told me this before the service, I might have scoffed.  But now, with my own encounter echoing in my heart, scepticism had been stripped away.   

Something enormous had shifted. I suddenly felt a hunger and thirst for more. Within days I was travelling across London to more services – sometimes on Sundays in the East, sometimes on Thursday evenings in the North. I couldn’t get enough.  I longed to be in that environment, singing those worship songs, hearing the Word of God from the Bible, taught in a way that set my soul alight.   

After a few more services, I joined others at the front to say the Salvation Prayer. With no hesitation, I made Jesus Christ the Lord of my heart, I received his love, I received his forgiveness, I received all that he died to release into my life, I received eternal life, righteousness and I received the Holy Spirit. I cried openly and unashamedly from the feeling of complete and utter unconditional love I felt.

Later, curiosity drove me to take a DNA test, partly out of fear—my father was suffering from dementia, and I wondered what might run in our bloodline. The results stunned me. On my father’s side—the same line as my aunt who died so young from leukaemia — it showed our ancestry traced directly back to Poland and Eastern Europe. The Prophet had been right.

That day in September 2023 became one of the most important days of my life. It gave me breath—literally and spiritually. From that moment, the longing that had shaped me for decades began to find its answer. The Verse leading up to Psalm 40:2 reads “I waited patiently for the Lord; and he inclined unto me, and heard my cry”.  How merciful is our God – it was He waiting patiently for me and He had heard my cries.

This was my rebirth. The beginning of true transformation. The discovery of the One who could satisfy the deepest longings of my heart.

All glory goes to God.