Dear readers, this experience is only about five to six weeks old, so is fairly new for me. It involves my grandmother on my mother’s side, of whom I’ve blogged about before.

I got off from work and went to the local Wal-Mart that is open twenty-four hours. I was actually hungry and trying to find something quick to pick up, fix, and eat around 230 in the morning.

As usual, my first stop is always the electronics section, to see what new movies are out. As I searched through what was on the shelves, I had the feeling that there was something else I needed to get, but for the life of me couldn’t remember what it was. I am used to going to Wal-Mart, or anywhere else for that matter, and forgetting what it was I went for, so not remembering this time was not unusual, I simply tried to shrug it off.

I couldn’t shake it from my head, so I decided to walk over by the books, maybe something on the way would spark my memory. I knew it couldn’t be candy or chips, because although hungry, I would never forget candy or chips, it just doesn’t happen. Anyway, at the book section, I perused a moment, and ended up in the section where the Bibles and devotional books are. I browsed a moment, and then decided I was so hungry I had to grab something and go.

I walked across the front of the store and hit the produce section first. I have a bad tendency to buy a bag of ‘hearts of romaine’ lettuce, a bottle of salad dressing, and bacon bits (Oscar Meyer – the hickory flavored are the bomb!). Sorry, see what I mean?!?

Ok, back to what happened. Instead of grabbing the lettuce, I kept hearing grapefruit. Grapefruit? Yeah, grapefruit, and the pink kind! Ok, I walked over to the grapefruit, smiled, and said, ‘OK, I haven’t had one in years, why not.’ Then I hear “You have got to eat more fruit, or you are going to die!” I smiled and said aloud, we are all going to die sooner or later, you gotta do better than that…..but I recognised the voice, my maternal grandmother who passed away when I was a kid……awww shit. I knew she was looking out for me, and better take it serious.

“Get some oranges too, the juicy kind!” Looking around to make sure no one was around me, to think I’m nuts, lol, I spoke out loud again, which is the way I prefer when dealing with spirits, even grandma, I said, “Grandmaaaa!, they are all juicy, that’s part of being an orange.” “No,” she said firmly, “get the juicy ones.” Ok, I don’t really know how to get the juicy ones, how to separate juicy juicy oranges from regular juicy oranges, but felt around until I found the ones I thought would be the juiciest….she approved, and even for a medium, I feel like I’m going nuts.

I decided if fruit is what I needed then fruit is what I would get. I also got bananas and kiwi-fruit. During this time my grandmother switched from my shopping music being her singing amazing grace to whistling a song I didn’t recognise. “What is that you’re whistling?” No answer, just whistling. “Grandma, what are you doing, what’s with the whistling?” Finally, I’m told whistling- thank God she told me that, or would have never known, lol! Then, “Ask your mama.”

I finally get home, and yes, got my salad too! I ate my salad and a grapefruit, all after eating a kiwi on the way home. Nope, I didn’t wash the kiwi before eating it, and it was good too. I told my wife of what was going on, and later went to bed.

The next day, I called my mother, asking her if grandma use to whistle. Immediately she answered yes, especially when she went walking, or picking up pecans. “I think I heard her last night whistling a song, but I don’t know what it was.” I was nervous to bring it up to my mother, afterall, it is her mother I’m talking about. She insisted I whistle it, but that doesn’t work good over the phone, so I hummed it. My mother spoke up very quickly saying she used to whistle that song all the time, I never knew that up until now. “Power in the Blood,” she said she thought the name of the song was, but she did recognise the song. My mother asked many other questions, but suffice it to say, is not needed for this blog.

So, dear readers, I have begun eating fruit! Needless to say I believe one day I will probably die, but if fruit will hold it off for a while longer, then call me fruity instead of nutty, lol, cause I’m still eating fruit.

Dear Son,

Last night you saw your daddy in pain. With an ankle swollen pretty bad, and chest pains that even I thought was a sign of the end. I know you realised the severity of it and saw it in your little face, even when I tried to joke it off with you, or change the subject. I slept in your bed for you and brother to sleep with your momma, just in case my end was at hand, I didn’t want you to find me. It felt that the end was that close, that real. I knew if I could hold out for a few more hours I would see the doctor, instead of waiting for hours in an emergency room, so I held out on the e.r., but prayed that I could hold out, that our Lord would hold me and help me bear it until then.

As I layed in your bed, you came and wanted to ‘camp’ out with me. You told me that I needed you there, and as nervous as I was, I really did. We layed there and watched some tv (my show) until you mentioned we could watch your show, a cartoon. I was happy to say yes, and really loved seeing you light up as we watched cartoons for a little while, before you fell asleep.

The most important thing I remember is before you fell asleep, I told you that we would trust God to help me get to see the dr and get better. Your response to me cheered me, lifted me, and even now chokes me up. “Jesus will take the pain, and you will be ok, and I can wait here with you” You said this smiling, knowing that He would take care of us, you wanted help for me, and you expected it, the perfect formula for answered prayers.

Later on, I woke up, and went back to my bed, and so you wouldn’t be alone, momma come got in the bed with you. I woke up to find you snuggled right beside me. I found out you woke up after I left asking where I was, and come to be next to me again. Even walking from one end of the house to the other in the dark (which I know you are not a fan of the dark). This touched me son, that you knew to call on Jesus for help, and that you would face your own fear to be with me and supportive, and wait on Jesus to get me through the night, right beside me.

As your daddy, I want the very best for you, and want you to always trust in Jesus. Sometimes I wonder what you absorb and understand, but you have shown that the greatest lesson to learn, trusting in Jesus, and believing in Jesus, is a lesson that you understand very well. It thrills my heart and my soul to see that. I know the Lord is looking on you, smiling and proud, that you know who He is, believe in Him, and trust Him to take care of you, and know how to go to Him, unwavering. The greatest gift any daddy could have.

My son, I love you,

Love,
Daddy

Everyone has a creepy story to tell, an encounter of sorts with the paranormal, and this post will be no different. The story of the black hand is what this is about and is the beginning of many encounters that I have experienced and will share with you my dear friends. I will present to you my interpretation one day, however, you may interpret as you wish, and I even ask for your feedback. Dear readers, please never hesitate to leave me your feedback, but please be respectful, and I promise to do the same. Now, on with one of my stories, true in its entirety. Draw from it what you will, leave what you don’t like, and expect more true experiences to come.

I was around five or six years old, the exact age is now a blur to me, but the events you are about to read, dear reader, are most true, and has remained with me all of my years. One night, as I lay in my half bed, my brother in another half bed across the room, I saw a dark hand rise from the side of my bed where it was almost against the wall. Now, as a kid, I should have been afraid, but at this time, I hadn’t learned of “monsters in the closet, and under your bed,” so the idea was strange, but somehow not frightening.

I looked at the hand for a few moments, that seemed like a long time. And for a kid it really is a long time. I debated, because I knew what it was waiting for, could feel its desires as it waited. I knew, that I was being asked to shake hands, without a single word being spoken, it had told me to shake hands. I reached out and shook the hand and immediately felt a peace I have yet to feel again. While I shook the hand, I felt this immense feeling of peace and at the same time understood it’s unspoken words that I had agreed to something, and for what the agreement was would be from that point in time on. I felt the peace, and at the same time, happiness, and courage that a six year old has when he has done something great and had received parental approvement.

The next morning, when I awoke, I told my mother and step-father about the incident, and to my surprise, they were extremely upset. Frantically, they searched the house to and fro, asking me the same questions repeatedly. Who was it? Did you see them? What color were they? Did they touch you? Did they hurt you? Where was your brother? Why didn’t you come get us? Did you know you could have been killed? On and on it went, until they had very satisfactorily embedded fear into me. Fear of the hand in the shadows. Fear of ever telling them how I felt when I shook hands with it. Fear of telling them the peace and yet somehow power when we agreed.

But the fear was short lived. I couldn’t overlook the peace I felt, or the self empowerment that I could express, or even the happiness of my then secret friend. I have never since had the opportunity to shake hands with that hand again, and somehow, even now, sometimes secretly wish to meet my unknown friend that shared so much power and happiness, even in the only few moments of a hand shake with the black hand.

Dear Readers, this experience deals with my maternal Grandmother. I loved my grandmother deeply, and I feel she loved me just as much, if not more. I want to share what I feel to be one of the greatest lessons my grandmother taught me…being honest with God and develop a personal relationship with Him. That God truly wants our loyalty and faith, and a true friendship with Him.

As a child, I remember going to her house and sitting at her table as she told and taught me many things. Some I know I have forgotten completely, some have come to me through the years. Lessons of life, God, and nature were her forte, and she understood them all very well. First, let me make sure, dear reader, that you understand she was a very devout Christian woman. She believed in God whole-heartedly. She also believed that God gave us the ability to learn and understand the natural order of things, things that most would overlook and oftentimes ignore. She spoke some to me about herbs, as she called them, “Old Remedies”. She also talked to me about God, telling me that everyone needs to know Him, but everyone would need to meet God with a personal relationship, not through any other way would they be able to experience Him, but on the terms that person and God set out. She believed that all friendships, even the most sacred relationship with God, had terms for both to agree to, if the relationship was to grow. Ironically, I didn’t fully grasp that as a child, but now know and understand it completely, I believe, as I believe God and I have a personal relationship, that to others may seem odd, crazy, or weird.

My grandmother explained it to me as a kid, but again, I didn’t realise until much older what she meant. Her terms with God were simple….she would trust in Him for everything. In exhcange, she was a very expecting person of God. She believed to offer total submission meant God must totally provide….she was right!

As my relationship grows with God, and my understanding of our relationship, I wish to follow in her footsteps. When I talk to God, hard as it may be at times, I offer up myself and my family to Him. I speak rather frank, cutting to the chase, even with Him. I feel if it’s in your heart of hearts, you might as well say it, get it off your chest, then let go and let God. Funny thing, people have heard me call out to God, especially when angry (whoops) and say “God, I am so pissed right now, you have got to do something!” Many have criticized, saying that it was disrespectful, but I personally feel comfortable to simply tell my God how I feel. I believe He knows, as I do, that no disrespect is meant, but I am simply getting it out there the best I can so He can do what He needs to do, according to His will, and deliver me from whatever is on me at that time.

Yes, I know, many would rather spend hours on end reciting some long procession of what they need, but not me. I believe God already knows my troubles, better than I do, so why waste time trying to be pretty…..just put it out there! I know many may or may not agree with this attitude, but that is the relationship I have with God, it doesn’t fit for everyone’s relationship with God, it shouldn’t.

Now, that you have an understanding of how I approach things, even my spiritual relationship with God, I encourage you to sit back and analyze your own relationship to Him. Be honest, it’s just like any other friendship, it must be continously developed and nurtured in order to grow.

“Coming Off the Death Bed”

by:  Jeffery Moore

This event took place when I was around 16-17 years of age, which coincidentally is about 17 years ago. I was attending a local Church of God church, looking for my spirituality, trying to find my ‘place’ to worship. I have many fond memories of that Church. It was small with very few members and that made for a very close knit bunch. The local pastor was also the Bishop, in fact he was the representing Bishop for the US. Now, understand this is a small ‘sect’ of the Church of God, but his knowledge and his power as the US Bishop was amazing, and at times could be daunting, especially for someone like me about to expose a gift and not fully knowing how it would be accepted. Excommunication, while better known in the Catholic Church, is still practiced by many Christian denominations, and I definitely wasn’t going to be looking for that.

It was a Sunday morning, and worship was well underway, when we all stood to sing. A visiting Bishop was standing next to Bishop Ware just to the left of the pulpit/stage if you were facing the pulpit. I was center of the right aisle, on the other side of the Church.

As I stood to sing, I felt a little different, I wasn’t for sure what was going on, but stood anyway as the singing was starting. Immediately, once I was standing completely, I realised that I needed to speak to the visiting Bishop. I didn’t know his name, or where he was from exactly, it was the first time he was at the Church. A brief introduction happened earlier, but I didn’t really pay attention (sorry).

The longer I stood there, the more I knew I needed to speak to this Bishop. Inside my head, ideas were racing, including calling myself a complete nut. There was absolutely no way I was going to walk across the Church floor to go speak to a visiting Bishop that I didn’t even know! I was convinced I couldn’t do it, and even closed my eyes to stop looking in that direction, but the more I looked, the more I felt drawn to go over there and speak to him. I didn’t even know why I needed to speak to him, or even what I would say. I stood there, slightly swaying, with my eyes closed, and a full argument with myself in motion. A voice calling out to me to go, it wouldn’t relent, it insisted I must go, but I was fighting as hard as I could.

“What is it my son?” I heard asked of me, with my eyes closed. Shocked at hearing this different voice, I opened my eyes and realised that I WAS standing in front of the very Bishop that I had been arguing with myself and the voice of not speaking to! He looked down at me in concern and reached out his hand. I took his hand, scared to death, not knowing of how to explain it all to him, much less Bishop Ware!

As we took each others’ hands, I immediately began to cry, tears streaming from my face. He again asked what was wrong and at that very moment I felt a change in me. It almost felt as if sitting inside myself, as I could see him and hear what I was saying, but it wasn’t me! This is the message that I heard coming from me, but not me:

The Lord, Your God, has heard your pleas, and even now will answer your prayers. Your wife is on her deathbed, but the Lord says she will walk again.
Now, how do you explain yourself after those words come out of your mouth? His wife wasn’t at Church, I had never met her, didn’t know for sure he was married, never even thought to wonder. Yet, these words did come from me, and to my surprise, his hands began to tremble in mine.

As I “regained” myself, I looked up at the Bishop, and realised tears were streaming from his face too! All I could think was, “Ok, you’ve don’t it now, their gonna kick you out, call you a devil worshipper, and possibly more!” Strangely, I felt at peace at the same time my brain was running over one hundred miles an hour. Then, I realised the music had stopped. The visiting Bishop had held up his other hand, and stopped the music, now I was scared.

This visiting Bishop proceeded to tell of how his wife wasn’t there with him, that she had been sick for a long time, on her deathbed. He told that he had only mentioned that she was sick only to Bishop Ware, and yet received a message through me that she would walk again. Ok, a small sigh of relief, before the real worry set in. The entire Church was immediately in a celebration spirit, and I breathed a sigh of relief again, but still had some worries!

“Ok, so let’s say she doesn’t walk again, where am I at then?” I asked this and many, many more questions of myself on my way home and even more as I got home. I decided that going back was not an option, so the next Sunday, when Bishop Ware called to make sure I was coming, I made up some lame excuse. Then, two Sundays after the event had transpired, Bishop Ware called again. Once again, nervous, I made up another lame excuse. Bishop Ware, I believe realised my hesitation of ever returning, informed me that Sunday night, that night, I would be there, and he would personally pick me up–no excuses! I said ok, but I was really thinking “Awwwl Shit!” No joke.

That Sunday night, right as services were about to start, I noticed the visiting Bishop make his way to the front to sit next to Bishop Ware. I couldn’t help it, a feeling of “Awwwl Shit,” ran through my head when I saw him. Fortunately, services ran as normal, so my paranoia of being called before the Church got to run full course! I dreamed up of one million and one ways to escape, in case it got ugly. Then, right towards the end of the service, I hear it. “Jeff, would you come up to the front, please,” Brother Ware said calmly and with a grin. Yep, you guessed it, another ‘Awwwwl Shit,’ ran through my head. Reluctantly, and with encouragement from Bishop Ware, I went up front.

Bishop Ware, I noticed, smiled at the visiting Bishop, I wish I knew his name, and began orating to the Church of what had happened two weeks earlier. The visiting Bishop approached, and I believe it had to be visibly aware, I was scared. He had for some reason, gone to the other end of the Church where the doors are leading into the foyer. He was approaching me, tears streaming down his face, but smiling. He then moved over to the side, and I could see a little frail lady humbly walking behind him, he had blocked me from seeing her until they got closer to the altar.

Immediately I am crying, and so is everyone else. Bishop Ware announces that all things are possible, if we listen to God. All of us at the altar are hugging and smiling and crying all at the same time. Soon, after we all calm down some, the visiting Bishop, hugs me and says thank you. Immediately I responded without thinking, “Don’t thank me, I was only a messenger.” I explained the emotional roller coaster and debates about telling him and how, somehow, I ended up in front of him giving him the message, against my better judgement. He laughed and said that great things can happen if we listen to the Lord, but sometimes, when we protest, He’ll just take over and do what needs to be done how He sees fit, which is itself a message, one for me…

And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose. (KJV – Romans 8:28)