Chapter 1

WHO I AM AND HOW I GOT HERE

How I Came to Know the Lord

    I was birthed in the early Charismatic movement.

I Had Cancer

    In 1969 to 1970, I was dying of cancer at age fifteen to sixteen years old—and I was afraid.

    I was born a Jew—from both my father’s and mother’s sides—but did not know that lineage until later, so instead, I was raised in denominational (Presbyterian and Lutheran) churches. Nevertheless, I did not know the Lord.

    Compounding my fears, my mother had just died the year previous from cancer and I blamed myself for her death. I was full of guilt. I felt shame. I was sad. I was terrified, yet I was torn.

    When I found out I had cancer, I felt I DESERVED getting it and DESERVED to die—since I was carelessly doing experiments with large amounts of asbestos dust in the family home basement for my Science Fair project. In my preparation and studies, I “knew,” yet “didn’t take serious enough,” the dangers of asbestos. I did it just so (in my fourteen-year-old ego) I could create a (stupid) new invention to win my State Science Fair—which I did. SO WHAT!

    It wasn’t worth hurting my mother (or me). But because of the guilt and shame, I never told anyone about the rock-hard tumor that I noticed growing in my abdomen—starting just one month after my mother’s passing.

    What I didn’t know was there were deadly curses coming from both sides of the lineage against my mother (and my family)—first, from my father’s mother, the “Jewish witch”—who was well-known and sought after because her curses always came true—who had cursed my mother to die an early painful death—which she did. And second, from my mother’s father, the orthodox Rabbi, who sat rocking in a zombie-like trance chanting curses on her until the day he died.

    You might ask why both people hated my mother so much to do these horrid things to her (and us). Fair question. But actually that is a vast story, spanning multiple generations, starting in the late 1800’s—up through those years—and more. It would take another book to begin to explain all that’s involved—maybe that could be my next book, called Breaking the Curse of the Generations—we’ll see.

    I know that sons love their mothers. But for the record, my mother was a wonderful, loving person—tough, but loving. A woman to be admired for many reasons.

    So while my experiments didn’t help the situation—they weren’t the root cause of her death. I didn’t know that, at that time, and not until many, many years later—all part of the same story.

    Back to my situation. I had no hope. I didn’t know where I was going when I died. The words “going to heaven” did not connect. I felt alone.

Vision of Clouds of Time

    During this time, I would come home from high school, sit in my family room, alone. My father was gone working long hours, and my two older brothers were away in college and the military, respectively.

    For many months, I’d close my eyes and see the same vision in my mind—over and over, day after day. I’d look from one end of the horizon to the other and see a single series of cloud puffs just slowly moving along. On top of each cloud was a scene in time.

    I would stare at the farthest cloud puff I could see, starting on the left where they began. I would watch it slowly move along until it got overhead, then I’d look at the scene on top. It was a scene in time of people and things living on—without me.

    I’d watch that cloud puff until it reached the far end of the horizon, on the right, then I’d look back to the farthest cloud puff I could see on the left and do the same—over and over and over again.

    It left me with a helpless feeling. Time was not going to stop when I died. That scared me—because I didn’t know where I was going for eternity.

    This happened nonstop every day with no end.

    Then one day, while I was sitting there, watching the endless eternal progression of clouds, fearing the future, something very strange happened.

    I heard the audible voice of the Lord.

    YES!

    I mean audible.