David Diga Hernandez - Here's What Happened When I Prayed for 4 Hours Nonstop

It is friendship with the Holy Spirit that makes the difference. We’ve seen it all; we’ve had wonderful preaching, wonderful teaching. We’ve seen demons cast out, we’ve seen the sick healed, we’ve seen people speak in tongues, and we’ve seen the spiritual gifts at work. But there’s something about friends of the Holy Spirit and the way they minister that just stands out. There’s a real peace about them, a real power about them, and a real authority about them. Now, what is that? It’s because they are carriers of the glory, and you are a carrier of the glory too.

At the early age of seven, I became very aware of the supernatural realm. I don’t say this often, but I’ll share it with you: I saw visions of hell; with my own physical eyes, I saw demonic spirits. I mention all of this to set the pace for what I’m going to say here because it was out of demonic torment that Jesus rescued me. I remember being around seven years old and having my mind harassed by demonic spirits. It wasn’t possession, oppression, or necessarily a curse; it was demonic torment. I would hear demonic voices, and I would see demonic faces. In fact, there were times when I would wake up in the middle of the night, turn around, and see certain spirits standing in the middle of my room with my physical eyes, and this went on for a couple of years. It wasn’t until I was 11 years old that I finally gave my heart to Jesus.

You have to imagine that from ages 7 to 11, I carried this weight on me, this heaviness, this sense of a great struggle around me in the atmosphere. I was aware of the spiritual realm, dealing with depression and anxiety. I remember feeling that heaviness on me everywhere I went. I would lie in my bed, people of God, I say this before you and the Lord: I would lie in my bed as a nine-year-old, as a ten-year-old, as an eight-year-old, sweating just thinking about those tormenting thoughts coming against me. I remember crying as a little boy, just wanting to be rid of this, but I didn’t tell my parents hardly anything that was happening. They would have prayed with me, I’m sure.

So, at the age of 11, I attended a Bible conference with my family. If you’re a pastor’s kid, then you know that a Bible conference is pretty much the family’s vacation for the year. We went to this week-long conference, from Monday through Friday. I remember skipping the services because, as I was standing in the worship service, these demonic beings would become agitated, and I did not want to be in the service. So, I would go back to the room and lie on the bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the service to end. I would lie there, sweat pouring down, as the torment intensified over me. Finally, I said, «I’ve had enough; I can’t deal with this anymore. I need Jesus.»

Growing up as a pastor’s kid, I had memorized scripture and learned the Bible. I knew Jesus historically, philosophically, and socially, but I did not know Him personally. To experience the real thing, I had to put my pride aside and admit that what I had all along was counterfeit, and that was truly the challenge for me. I remember when my family returned from the service, I told my dad, «Dad, I need to give my heart to Jesus. I need to get saved.» So, my dad dismissed the rest of the family; they went on a walk, and he sat across from me. There were two beds in that room, and he sat on the other bed. I joined hands with him, bowed my head, and he began to lead me in a prayer.

In Scripture, we don’t see the sinner’s prayer, but we do see sinners who pray. As we were praying, I remember I began to cry. I was crying so intensely that my mouth was shaking, and tears streamed down my face. I couldn’t even say the words because I was so overcome with emotion. I was trembling and crying; I could feel the heat of my tears on my face. As I prayed with my father, inviting Jesus to be my Savior, surrendering my life to Him, I sensed Jesus walk into that room. When Jesus walked in, every demonic spirit walked out; I believe they ran out, and the power of God filled that room. I remember sensing what felt like pulses of euphoria, joy, peace, and love coming from the center of my body. I met Jesus, the Son of the living God, and that torment, that heaviness, was broken off of me the instant I gave my heart to Him. I was saved—gloriously, born again, redeemed, saved by Jesus Himself.

At the age of 11, I began to seek the Lord. I immediately wanted to know more about this Jesus who set me free. I had heard so much about Him, and now I was like, «Wow, I heard about You, and now I get to meet You, Jesus.» I remember digging into the Scripture; I would pray for four to eight hours a day. I would read 20, 30, sometimes 40 or 50 chapters of the Bible in a day, and this continued for two years.