I grew up on Long Island, New York, as a part of an Italian and culturally Catholic family. Christmas for me was mainly about Santa Claus, antipasto, and pretty lights on houses. I had no faith in Jesus Christ by any means, and attending church wasn’t often on the agenda.
Even at a really young age, I used to be aware of the spiritual realm. At home, there was a number of conversation about ghosts—how they might play with the lights and knock things off the shelves. My sister told me in regards to the time her pals got together and used an Ouija board, assuming it was an innocent game. The girls asked the board who amongst them would die first, and so they got a solution. Not long after, the girl in query died of suicide.
I used to be only 12 once I began receiving what felt like psychic attacks. I had two dreams that included predictions about events that ended up happening. These premonitions were nothing profound, but they were actually very creepy.
The door to demons was thrown wide open when, at age 13, I had my first experience with tarot cards: a personal 15-minute session with an (allegedly) expert reader and her cardboard cards, filled with weird pictures. The reading left me intrigued. I didn’t understand how an ideal stranger could know a lot about me. I started in search of out more readings and eventually getting my very own tarot cards.
My sister and I began performing tarot readings for one another. It was so addictive, like eating potato chips. Throughout my teens, I delved into other divination tools like numerology charts, astrology charts, angel cards, and runes.
But the further I went down that road, the more it seemed demons were surrounding me. At the time, I wouldn’t have known to call them demons, but I experienced so many moments of fear. I felt them touching me, and I could see them manifesting as shadowy figures, animals, and what looked like human beings.
One day, I used to be sitting at my kitchen table with my head resting down on my arms. I looked up, and standing in the doorway to my bedroom was a demon masquerading as a person, tall and lean. He stood there briefly, giving a dauntingly cold stare, after which he was gone. Another day I used to be thrown off a chair while sitting in my family’s computer room. My dad was in the following room, and he heard the thump.
At this point, I used to be getting and giving tarot readings frequently. Often, once I encountered people, I’d just receive details about them (from nowhere particularly) after which ask to share it. They were amazed at what I knew, and I used to be amazed at my “power.”
In my early 20s, I had my first apparent communication with a dead person. In a dream one night, a young man with blond hair let me know that he died in a automotive accident. At the time, I used to be a single mother, and my daughter’s dad would visit her twice every week. Somehow, I knew that the person from the dream was connected with my ex’s recent girlfriend in a roundabout way.
When I told my ex about this dream, he was equally perplexed and decided to say it to his girlfriend. Per week later, he told me that she understood the dream perfectly; she knew the young man and will confirm all the small print I had given. He then asked if I knew the young man’s name, and we were each floored once I stated it immediately.
After this, I went to go to a psychic medium. She told me that I too was a medium and that my gifts got here from God for the aim of helping people connect with departed family members. I left the office with a business card of a divination group leader, and I called as soon as I arrived home. The group exposed me to guided meditations and false tools of protection against darkness, like burning white sage and imagining white light around myself.
Meanwhile, my very own tarot readings were gaining popularity. I gave them at local coffee shops or at home within the basement. I also began doing group readings at other people’s homes, either collectively or through a series of personal 15-minute sessions.
Often, while driving home from psychic readings, I’d see familiar spirits in my rearview mirror and on the highway. One night, while doing a person reading, I had an alarming experience. I began “channeling” for information in regards to the woman before me, and the demon I channeled was pretending to be her uncle who had shot her and her brother after they were kids. I felt sick, and this woman checked out me with daggers in her eyes, as if I were the uncle myself.
Eventually, I began my very own divination group. I taught a wide range of New Age techniques like chakra balancing, tarot reading, psychic mediumship, meditation, smudging, and past-life automatic writings. I had my students make vision boards to visualise what they were manifesting.
I loved the considered helping clients attain the desires of their heart and communicate with their family members. But I lived in constant fear of bad spirits and what they might do to me. In my mid-30s, at a moment of especially intense fear, I suddenly cried out the name of Jesus Christ. Not my spirit guide or a deceased person or an angel—Jesus!
I didn’t know why this name got here to my lips. But almost immediately, to make use of biblical language, I felt a peace that surpasses all understanding (Phil. 4:7). This began my journey to full Christian faith. I didn’t know I used to be a sinner in need of a Savior. And I had no idea what the gospel was. But I knew I didn’t need to be a psychic anymore.
Image: Rodrigo Cid
I stopped giving psychic medium readings for some time but then began again. Things really modified ten months after the moment I cried out to Jesus, once I invited a superb friend over for dinner. We had met years prior in a divination group and grown close. But I hadn’t seen her shortly, and I used to be shocked when she began talking about Jesus and a church she was attending. She invited me to come back, but I politely declined.
Four weeks later, on a Sunday morning, I woke up with a robust desire to go to that church. So I went, curious to know what a Bible-based church was actually like.
I used to be singing together with the worship music when the lyrics Jesus saved me flashed on the screen, immediately transporting me back to the moment I had cried out to Jesus Christ. I began crying with joy, because I knew in my heart that he saved me.
When I got home, the Holy Spirit immediately called my attention to the Word of God. I needed to know what the Bible said about my occupation.
I didn’t have a Bible readily available, so I asked Google, “What does the Bible say about psychic mediums?” And I used to be shocked to seek out verses answering this query throughout God’s Word—verses like Deuteronomy 18:9–13, which condemn anyone who “practices divination or sorcery, interprets omens, engages in witchcraft, or casts spells, or … consults the dead.” Since Jesus had saved me, I’d should pick up my cross and follow him, even at the associated fee of quitting my job.
In the ten years since, Jesus has modified my heart and my life as only he can. I’m now not caught within the hamster wheel of New Age techniques, endlessly in search of peace, joy, and success without finding them.
Today, I proceed to share the gospel every time I can, partly by devoting myself to exposing the demonic darkness I served for a few years and warning others against following the identical path. Through God’s grace, those years usually are not wasted, and I can use my cautionary tale to serve him and his kingdom.
Jennifer Nizza is a speaker and Christian content creator living on Long Island, New York. She is the writer of From Psychic to Saved.
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