Author Archives: Meyers-Hanson Cynthia

About Meyers-Hanson Cynthia

I work for GOD! I write many nonfiction books that are really just scribing the history of HIS Stories. My tales are Christian based; at least one of those books points directly to HEAVEN. I explain how bad situations and good ones have the potential to bring hope and love along with stronger faith. My favorite question during book interviews is: How did you get started? The short answer is that my mother died in 1991. Some people dream of being authors; my writing began as what could be described as a nightmare! HOWEVER- as she died, mom’s experiences ran the gamut from going through all the grieving steps a terminal soul follows to having what would be called a Christian NDE- if she had lived. I was in the room most of the times that she visited with God, Jesus, or multitudes of angels and souls. Believing everything she said even during what others called babbling, I became her translator. When most of her messages from God panned out, people in Orlando buzzed with the story of my parent’s death or Cindy’s tale. My grief counselor listened to my version of the events requiring I write my first book: Mom’s on the Roof and I can’t Get Her Down. Starting in 2000 (the new millennium), God’s prophecies thru mom as found in my first book began to materialize. My story- copyrighted in 1994- was proving itself as the truth! How miraculous! Most of my first nonfiction books are about faith, God, hope, faith healing, angels and miraculous interventions. Meanwhile, when I write fiction; I use the pen name of Sydney S. Song to differentiate between my true stories and my novels based on truths, half-truths, or fibs. Finally, while working for FREE at my daughter and her husband’s Christmas tree lot, I blogged my experiences. My experiences that holiday, also, led to my first children’s books (Frasier the Fir is Forever Green). To date, I have produced 5 children's picture books.

My Writing Process

Stephen Jennison Smith invited me to do this linked blog tour; please, read his blog entitled “My Writing Process” It can be found @ stephenjennisonsmith.blogspot.co.uk

What am I working on?

I’m always working on nonfiction, inspirational, and miracle filled anecdotes.

Currently, I am writing on a nonfiction tale that I think may split into multiple manuscripts before it finishes. Initially, the story began as the final saga of the following linked narratives:

    Mom’s on the Roof and I Can’t Get Her Down

and

    My ArmOr (my life).

While compiling the final chapters, including the final deathbed prophecy of mom that is unfolding, I realized I might be compiling a book on spiritual anecdotes as well. Thus, I am considering cutting the written parts in half because my rhetoric is currently at over four hundred pages and has lost its original focus. My original intention was meant to be the witness and testimony about the remaining three forecasts from God and how they came to be. If I split my current story, one book will be called HIS Story, too; and the other will be Three’s a Charm. The latter story would cover what happened to mom’s predictions that she claimed came from her near death experience or trips to Heaven before she actually died.

How does my writing differ from other books in this genre (nonfiction- inspirational and miracle filled anecdotes)?

My books are different because I write when The Holy Spirit moves me and that ghostwriter helps me find the words God wants people to hear. Starting when mom died, she left behind some predictions that she says God directly handed her. I felt compelled to chronicle those things that other witnesses thought were mom’s random babbling. Most of what she foretold came true but three of her forecasts were unfulfilled as of the copyright date of my book entitled Mom’s on the Roof and I Can’t Get Her Down . Current events are proving that she actually spoke with a Higher Source; His spirit moved mine into believing and recording those messages for posterity. Today, I write about how some of the three unfinished forecasts have already happened; plus, I have met people with similar miraculous stories that need to be captured for future generations. Mom’s remaining predictions will complete my current manuscript- once they all occur.

There are things the reader needs to know to understand my latest work in progress. Ideally, they should read my nonfiction stories in the following order.

Mom’s on the Roof and I Can’t Get Her Down has the backdrop of terminal cancer as well as Christianity. It is a book about life after death. By the way, the unfinished prophecy mom brought from Heaven is coming to light proving God’s hand in this story.

My ArmOr describes the unbelievable trauma I endured when I almost lost my left arm. In the book, I describe the wonders of life as well as how I used my past to propel me through my limb’s rehabilitation. My ‘can do’ attitude prevailed after the doctor and physical or occupational therapists gave up on that arm. The book contains some answers to the unfinished prophecy, too.

Why do I write what I do?

I write to tell people good news. Many of my nonfiction tales are about hard and traumatic situations that turn out to be a part of grand miracles and healing from Heaven. Some people say they spoke with Him but there is no proof. Meanwhile, my mother’s babbling is proving to be from the right source or The Highest Being of Wisdom and Knowledge AKA God. I simply scribe for God.

How does my writing process work?

An event happens, The Holy Spirit moves me including helping me find the bigger picture and meaning in life with all its traumas. Then, I compile HIS Story AKA my next book. Sometimes, it seems to take forever.

You can learn more about my nonfiction and other writing @

http://mchanson714.weebly.com/

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Music to My Ears

An inspirational tale to enjoy….

Yesterday, all day, my mind thought of my aunt because I missed going to see her before the youngest kid settled back home from her college dorm. Auntie lives close to that child’s university. That older relative had been chronically ill. She is my deceased mom’s sister. I thought about her as my daughter ran back up to the campus to sell back her books. However, due to a cold, I wouldn’t be able to go with my kid and drop in on my ailing relative. I hate to make ill people sicker.

We were already late getting ready to go out for my other daughter’s 21st birthday celebration. My family celebrated a few weeks early because Jewel would be gone on a college expedition when she hit adulthood. Plus- when she returned, her sister would be gone on a different university trip. So, we decided to celebrate as a family- now- in spite of my horrible cough.

Just before the birthday girl jumped in the shower, she stood talking to her daddy and me in our great room. Nearby, in the foyer to our house sat a wood book shelf full of angels. Some of the statues had built in music boxes. All of a sudden, the three of us heard something in that area. I thought the other two kids were at the front door talking. They were late coming back from pre-checking into a hotel (our surprise gift to the 21 year old). However, the noise continued while no one came through the front door. It was like a scratchy but harmonious sound. It grew louder.

My husband asked, “What the heck is that?”
My daughter warned, “Don’t tell me the sound is coming from nowhere. That’s going to scare me!”

I boldly approached our foyer, “Oh, my! It’s this angel statue; it’s singing. It’s playing ‘Happy Birthday.’” I picked it up, “Did someone wind it- today?”

“Now, you are scaring me! That music box turned itself on?” My daughter pointed and made a face.

“Yes, this music box angel is playing out of the clear blue sky. It is singing to you.”

My husband gestured that I was frightening our kid. “Maybe someone turned it on, today!”

“Probably!”

“I didn’t!” Jewel exclaimed.

“I didn’t either but maybe your sisters did!” Daddy added.

“This angel was given to me my first birthday after my mom died; it’s from Auntie! See, she holds my birth date in her hands and plays the melody.” I explained while toying with it in my hands and examining it as if I was a detective. Then, I twisted the statue to replay the tune.

“Now, I am scared!” My kid added agitated.

“Why, it is only a birthday song from my aunt!”

When the two other girls got in, I asked who touched the angel this week. No one did!

I think it was apropos that the angel turned itself on because that week my girls gave me flowering plants for our new yard for Mother’s Day. Their garden selections were inspired by flowers their deceased grandma liked. As we planted my favorite day lily, I remembered that my mom gave me a similar one almost 17 years ago for our previous yard; I wondered what day the single bud on this new plant by the front door would open. To my surprise, astonishingly, it was in bloom as we left for dinner.

It should NOT have amazed me because the birthday girl told me 14 years ago that her grandma promised to visit her from Heaven on her birthday- but then never came. A flower would be left by our front door to prove it was grandma visiting her. Back then, she was a child full of wonderment. From age 7 and for the rest of her earlier birthdays, we all noticed and discussed that a special flower never arrived at our front door for that daughter. Since it hadn’t happened, the child became convinced that she was wrong about that promise. Also, advancing age caused her to dispel all her childish memories and predictions.

When my eyes noticed that bloom as we exited for her 21 birthday party, I knew if I brought up that prediction the girls might shudder. Even as I believed that the melodic message was from my deceased mom via God, my decision included not further scaring my daughters. I didn’t want to make them more apprehensive than the singing angel statue already did. Instead, noticing the flower, I just smiled inside. I believe God allows these messages to show He cares about keeping all love connections going. Look for the signs of His Love.

P.S. In August of 2007, I moved that angel statue so my first grandbaby wouldn’t break it. One day, when my hand grabbed a picture of that granddaughter to show off her big blue eyes to a friend, I discovered that that angel was in a worse location! My brisk movement inadvertently tossed that statue to the floor where it decapitated and broke off its wings. Sadly, the statue went in the trash. However, its story remains in my memory- forever!

My official Author Page is @
http://mchanson714.weebly.com/

There you’ll find out all about my nonfiction books, children’s picture stories, and novel ideas.

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Heaven is for Real

Heaven Opens to the Left

My lawn man explained his father’s passing this way. “All of dad’s children, grandchildren, and his wife gathered bedside. We sat vigil as he struggled while fighting passing over. The room felt highly agitated so my one year old daughter reacted by being extremely active. She wasn’t whiney just nervous busy.”

“Suddenly, for no apparent reason, my little girl stopped touching everything in sight looking at her grandfather. Both of their faces seemed to glow in unison as he opened his eyes calmly locking his stare to hers.” He continued his monolog, “The baby glowed as if she was a Cherub as my father slowly reached high.”
His story provided more details; “We thought dad wanted to hold his grandchild one last time but his arms were high and to the left. She remained to his right shining with a huge smile. He passed right after a sunny feeling entered the room; the atmosphere and my baby remained radiant for a bit after my father was pronounced dead. Then, the area went back to normal, and we felt grief stricken.”

I entered his monolog, “The Hospice nurses that cared for my mother before her death said they think Heaven opens to the left because many souls praise their Creator with hands held high into the air and that direction.”

Amazed while analyzing quickly, the man responded, “That notion makes sense because ‘no one can come to the Father except through me (Jesus).’ If the thrones of Heaven face you as you die, the Lord sits to the right of God the Father. Heaven opens to the left as the passing soul faces those thrones. Thus, the person would reach high and towards the Son because God’s mercy comes from that man’s victory over death; our chance at eternal life comes from His direction!”

In unison, we agreed, “Heaven opens to the left.”

And- eventually- it unlocks to all those left behind if we follow his direction (Biblical teachings) as well as direction. (John 14:16)

If you enjoyed this anecdote, ask to be put on my mailing list via mchanson714@yahoo.com

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His Story Continues with Angels

Bellevue

While on vacation in Seattle, we enjoyed an event that was related to a place called Bellevue. Translating from French, belle is considered beautiful. In English, vue means view. We learned more about that name while hiking to Snoqualmie Falls. My mother-in-law and I fell way behind my three girls and her husband. Lagging, we talked about the children, expectations, and goals of the current trip to Washington State.

“I’d like to see the canal between the salt and fresh water system, the farmer’s market, and Mt. Rainier. Most of my girls will vote to visit the mall but ignore them. They can do that back home!”

As we made our way to the fence warning about the falls and danger, the two of us noticed two things. The girls and their male guide disappeared from view, so we were sure they ignored the postings. We saw people on the other side of the lake being created by Snoqualmie Falls; they seemed to be walking behind the waterfall.

“Oh, no!” I exclaimed, “I hope grandpa didn’t take them there the hard way because there is a bridge to that section of the park; it’s a safer way to view the backside of the raging, descending water!”

“If I know my husband, that is them walking behind Snoqualmie!” My mother-in-law pointed out a group but they weren’t wearing the right colored clothing. Thank God.

Suddenly, a man distracted our worried minds. We didn’t remember anyone following us on the trail. Neither of us noticed him anywhere nearby as we stopped at the sign warning people to stay put or go back up the mountain. Regardless of these thoughts, he interrupted, “It’s so picturesque! But- I know where two falls are far more gorgeous!”

Turning his way, his blue eyes penetrated my soul in a strange sensation. I believed Heaven filled his thoughts. He winked without moving physically because the experience felt spiritual. Finally, my feet caught their bearings so my mouth could speak, “Really? Where?”

“I’m from Bellevue; there is a place called Twin Falls. The two cascades are a beautiful vision to behold. You can enjoy them from more than one place on the trail while there!”

Turning to my mother-in-law, I remarked, “We’ll have to see if the girls and your husband want to go there.”

Two of my kids interrupted my comments, “Grandpa and Jewel escaped over the fence ignoring the warning about the lake and falls. They are playing on some rock outcrops.”

Looking back to thank the man while worrying about my brave daughter more than her step grandfather, I noticed the man from Bellevue vanished as quickly as he appeared. There was no sign of him on the path back up to the café and parking lot nor was he passing nearby the lake. My heart and spirit kept reliving his eyes, which felt majestic or angelic.

After waving my kid back to safety and scolding their adult guide, we stopped at that café for lunch. As we sat at the picnic tables enjoying the shaded breeze, I mentioned Twin Falls and Bellevue.

“I think I know where that park is; its near Seattle or Mt. Rainier. Let’s get back on the Interstate and find it. Sounds like another fun hike!” Grandpa took the heat off his misadventure by redirecting us to the next bit of natural entertainment.

We drove to ‘God knows where’ stopping in an area that looked nothing like a state park but our driver swore we arrived at Twin Falls. It could have been the craziest thing we ever did if that stranger at Snoqualmie meant us harm rather than moving us to a beautiful view. As we exited the car, only one other vehicle appeared in the lot. However, I immediately felt safe because I heard the rushing water.

“At the very least, we found a river full of rapids,” Our male tour guide joked as all the females traipsed behind him.

We walked and walked beside the babbling stream. Then, the six of us hiked some more but no fall was in view- let alone two. Plus, the scenery felt generic to the region or nothing like I imagined. In fact, we could hardly see the brook we followed while wandering and meandering parallel to it. Then, the shouting began; it wasn’t the blue-eyed man causing the commotion. It was the majestic spot causing the ruckus.

“Oh, my God!” My youngest raced back to her grandma and me to describe the scene. “There are two falls, and the bridge you stand on to see them is so cool!”

We quickened our steps to meet the real Belle Vue of Washington or Twin Falls. The transient man was one hundred percent right! The two were Heavenly. By that I mean- the man and the falls.

As we exited, it dawned on me that we never saw the owner of the other parked car. Was it his vehicle? Was that guy a messenger of God, an angel, or just a really kind soul? We’ll never know for sure but the beautiful view was worth trusting our instincts and following the whims of the soul instead of giving in to the mind’s fears.

A mom’s anecdote

An angel might just be a human on a mission from God.

My official Author Page is @
http://mchanson714.weebly.com/

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Before Afterlife

I wrote my first book (Mom’s on the Roof and I Can’t Get Her Down) about afterlife (Heaven & God), prophecy, and miracles. The backdrop of that saga was my mother’s cancer or terminal experience. Many of my books cover faith healing: physically, emotionally and spiritually. I hear about miraculous events, and it makes me think as well as wonder. Some of my contemplation follows.

In my candid opinion, it is NOT that unique that STEVE JOBS saw something in the last minutes of his life and excitedly reacted to it with one word, “WOW!”

Even when hearing everyday tales about some presumed atheists; many people discuss how someone they know showed similar reactions in their final minutes. However, because- they are NOT famous- we hear about their deathbed events but it may not register as strongly in our psyche that they had the “wow” experience. Those individuals may be experiencing the last moments here on earth just as vividly as Jobs’ feedback but- because they are normal folks- we seem to need example after example of the 0ther soul’s last moments to find peaceful closure in death or a sense of security that there is more to life than just this place.


I think the cool thing is that an agnostic at best (Steve) was enlightened in seemingly the final minutes or seconds of his time here on earth- which shows the power of the Eternal Being in charge of all the master plans of our lives. While still alive, it is never too late to believe.

Hospice staff and many other people will divulge that patients or family and friends do things such as the following:

the dying soul raises their hands in praise,

the patient stops being restless,

that person suddenly smiles or glows in delight,

the dying individual divulges that they see someone else in the room that most cannot see

a co-witness (usually a child) in the area reacts with them to the vision that remains only visible to them,

or

the passing soul sings praise similar to, “WOW!”

Those examples are not exhaustive.

By the way, it seems that the younger soul doesn’t block the experience with terms such as: I must be delusional or that experience may be unreal or simply a nice story. As we age, humans tend to be warned of such nonsense and tune those types of visions out. However, a person such as JOBS can affect more lost souls in search of something to believe in. That is why his quote is historic. I think his tale was great to share and thank his sister for imparting his last word on this world.

My Tale starts, here.

Speaking of strong beliefs and my flights of fancy or fantasy, I’ve been on my way to Heaven twice that I can recall. The more recent one took place one night in May 2011, while I was sleeping; Angel Gabriel arrived unexpectedly in my dreams. That BEING asked, “Ready to go?” The winged guide held my hand through clouds and brightness.

I dared ask a question after realizing we were Heaven bound. “Is mom there?”

That angel responded, “She’s been there waiting and excited to see you.”

I uttered, “Me too! I’m excited to see her again.”

Suddenly, sadness enveloped me because it dawned on me that my girls and husband would experience grief due to my death. As Peter at the Pearly Gates got closer to us or we flew nearer to him, my being jolted awake. My mind, soul, and heart were praying ‘The Lord’s Prayer;’ Mom always taught us that is the perfect prayer for any situation.

I have sensed Heavenly presences especially while my mother was terminal and for months after her death. However, I had no idea who that angel really was. On the Internet the next day, I discovered that Gabriel announced John Baptist and Jesus’s birth. That angel announces prophets. Did God intend for me to proclaim Jesus or His Second coming; I highly doubted I should expect that literal event soon but am preparing just in case.

Where was Gabriel really taking me? I’m not sure but I was elated not scared during that dream sequence waking up with the notion and guidance to write another, nonfiction book.

Meanwhile, according to the prophecy mom gave me before leaving with Jesus to Paradise, I was to take care of four children including one named JOHN. Was Heaven expecting me to announce John’s arrival? I still have no idea who that boy is. Meanwhile, my mother literally introduced me to Heaven twenty years earlier through her Near Death Experience (NDE) trip to Heaven and Earth and then back to the Afterlife. During that journey, she brought me prophecy as well as other messages from God, which I chronicled it in my first book (Mom’s on the Roof and I Can’t Get Her Down) and sequel (My ArmOR).

Even while sharing any of my thoughts, I am acutely aware of the concern to discern what people say about God and His plans. Including what I write or say! “Be careful not to fall prey to false teachings and gods; the lunatic fringe is out there. Take this as a word of warning. Not everything in print is true. Just because a book says so-a newscaster says so-a celebrity says so- a friend says so- a leader says so- DOES NOT MAKE IT SO! The Bible warns us about false teachings and leaders in passages like those that follow.”

It’s a balancing act as you learn how to discern the truth from lies.

My author page is at http://mchanson714.weebly.com/

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Intro: Moms on the Roof and I can’t get her down

Fast approaching is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I’d thought about doing an anthology but only found two long cancer stories in my possession. I believe a trilogy has better roots to grow an audience so, instead I’m going to blog parts of those sagas all month starting a week early, here. This is the Introduction from ‘Mom’s on the Roof and I can’t Get Her Down’, which is available as a paperback and in most eBook formats.

Foreword- I Will Survive

When I tell people about my recent losses, they just reel back and ask me how I am surviving it. I simply look at them and say, “I don’t know.” While my parents may have left some pennies behind for the heirs to squabble and fuss over, my mother left me the story of her journey beyond this world’s process of dying. She asked me over and over again if I would be okay the day after she left. With all the strength of my soul, I affirmed her question by saying, “I think so.”

In the veil of darkness, at 2:24a.m., on Thursday, January 24, 1991, my mother’s body gave up its last round with breast cancer. In the gloom of night, at 9:15 p.m., on Tuesday, February 19, 1991, an emergency call came into my house from one of my father’s neighbors. My father had killed himself. After a routine mammogram on March 5, 1991, my doctor told me that I had an irregular mass and needed more tests. The tests revealed that it was not cancer, but I found myself thoroughly exhausted. How much can the human soul take?

One day, while at church, I heard a sermon about an African tribal leader who lost his very young son to death. The priest remarked, “At the funeral, this father seemed joyous, in spite of his loss.” Continuing, “When I asked him why he didn’t mourn the son’s death, this leader said that he could not question his God’s Will.”

Through primitive faith, the tribal leader taught the learned priest the meaning of the Sermon on the Mount, “Thy Will be done.”

The missionary priest said, “This leader of men took his orders from God. He didn’t live by, ‘My will be done.’ This man’s total acceptance of God’s Will gave him the inner peace to accept his child’s death.”

This missionary priest told the congregation he wished for faith that strong. As I wrote this book, I prayed for the same strength.

Sometimes events occur in life that do not make sense until we reflect back on them. Some of the things I will share with the reader are translations so that they will make better sense. Others are events exactly as they occurred. Many of God’s mysteries are beyond human words and concepts. Thus, I will interpret ideas into more fluid ones for the reader. Some of the translations were easy enough for me to handle alone. For other communications, I needed a parish priest to explain the symbolic idea to me. In God’s Will, my mother delivered every key for each door God would allow me to access. However, I had to find each door and open it.

The outcome of this story is not just death, but it is a story of peace. In your darkest hours, I hope this book can generate the strength you need to survive a loss. If you need to widen your faith in a loving, caring God, I pray these words can help you. Remembering I lived through it all, I hope to deliver courage as well as faith, hope, and love.

My favorite phrase is, “I am surviving!” And so will you.


My author name when my story is nonfiction is Cynthia Meyers-Hanson. When I may be fibbing in a novel way I use a pen name Sydney S. Song.

My official Author Page is @
http://mchanson714.weebly.com/

My AMAZON Author page helps find my paperbacks and Kindles; its @
https://www.amazon.com/author/mchanson714

Many other e-book formats are available @
http://www.smashwords.com/books/search?query=mchanson714

My YouTube Channel is @
http://www.youtube.com/user/TheMchanson714

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Jumping Ship

Jumping Ship – An Excerpt

“When the pursuit of love trumps obligations.”

*1975*

New York, USA

Pearl & Edward Riley

The Rileys hurriedly left a Sunday afternoon rendition of Pippin at the Imperial Theatre, on the third of June nineteen seventy-five. Edward didn’t typically enjoy spending his weekends out, much less in the rugged Times Square area, except for the sake of love. Pearl’s thirty-fifth birthday had just passed, and tenderly Edward sacrificed his sanity for an outing with his depressed wife. The two force-smiled and allowed instincts to be their guide. The crowd was lively; this somewhat prompted a reaction from the married couple. And even still, Edward had to admit that the show was good. Pearl didn’t think much of it because she couldn’t truly appreciate her spouse’s efforts.

Inside of the theatre, viewers were thrilled to be a part of the lively Broadway production. Edward and Pearl followed along, attempting to mimic, as though reality didn’t escort them into the forty-fifth street playhouse. But it was a blatant farce. Anyone could tell that their enjoyment was a fallacy. Laughter was too intense and too deep, even forced most of the time. Still the Rileys convinced themselves that they were okay, although silent pleas cascaded from robotic actions.

But now, after the show, fears and doubts reappeared. It was a difficult march from playtime; still it was one that needed to be made. Edward gazed down at Pearl, avoiding direct eye contact as much as possible. Around them, everyone scurried through. Soon it would be dark. But the Rileys carried tons of concealed baggage, so their movements were slightly slower.

Edward and Pearl had been together for seventeen years, and married for fifteen. Long enough to know how to appease each other. Yet long enough to know not to appease each other. From a mere reach of five-five, Pearl would glance up into her husband’s familiar eyes. His were usually a gentle shade of hazel. On this day however, slight aggravation caused his iris to flood with deep storm clouds. At times it was quite difficult to see them―truly see them beyond the thin, deceptive double layers of his featherweight spectacles. Especially when she needed to see him. He was several inches over six feet, and looked down to the top of his wife’s featherweight, golden blond tresses. He wanted to avoid her smoky, gray pupils at all costs. They were a sad type of shade, with hues of regret and loneliness. Hadn’t always been. Now they were. So he pecked her soft, delicately lined forehead. And nuzzled against her colorless cheeks. With all of his might, he did what he could to reject the eye-to-eye exchange so many desperately needed. It was easiest for him, in order to protect his sanity. Edward’s ultimate focus was on Pearl’s happiness, and his ability to appease his delicate wife. And he knew how to appease her all right.

They had very little to discuss, because although he’d given into her wants from time to time, her ultimate desire had not yet been fulfilled. The couple sighed in one accord as if rehearsed, and quickly clutched tighter together.

“I want a child, Ed,” she confessed. This was not a secret statement, yet she desired to treat it as such.

Trembling lips almost disappeared beneath her bite. The shine of a peach-colored blush faded almost completely from thin cheekbones. Lengthy lashes fluttered several times. Tears lingered on the brim of her lids. A stampede of sensation trampled up and down her spine. Her arms then welcomed a similar sentiment. A temporary dip in temperature played on her senses, or perhaps her mind. She shook wildly. It was the battle to calm her nerves that stunned her so.

“I know dear,” he cleared his throat, as an outbreath threatened his wife’s delicate nature. They were quite close already, but still he drew her even closer. He was constantly caught between understanding and irritation, fully conscious of the limitations between need and want. Choosing the easiest route, the sympathetic husband’s palms moved up and down his woeful wife’s arms. Her frame was petite-five, and could easily be swallowed up in his embrace. Thin summer sleeves crumbled beneath the touch. His fingers could completely lap her upper biceps. The comfort was enough to distill her qualms, at least for the time being. She allowed her shoulders to slump forward and over, resting against her stocky mate.

Edward and Pearl proceeded forward, getting lost in an environment that was quite unfamiliar to either. Their direction was off, if not for the fact that it was pretty much impossible to get lost in this area. Still, their march was steady and quiet.

After the show, most everyone rushed out of the theatre and far from the area. There weren’t many couples seeking the enjoyment of a Times Square outing. Not then at least. There was talk of renovation. Plans were being made to revamp the region to greatness. Looking around, it was hard to picture prominence in the midst of sin. Eye shadow drenched, red-plastered orifices, and high-haired fashion appeared to be the norm. Trash and perversion were the billboards for immorality’s appeal. The Rileys were clearly out of their element. This was not Long Island.

On just about even single corner, projections of hell flashed from makeshift storefronts and entertainment ready displays onto concrete paving. Women in platform, neon pumps rushed in and out of sturdy brick buildings. Some for work and others for play. Teeny-tiny, sequenced tops, skirts and dresses bedazzled all. Even if it were not ones desires, eyes would drift. Very little was left to the imagination. Bold men slapped at exposed female skin; while, the shady male character slithered around corners to find way to their dirty paradise. Prestige was not associated with the region; however, a push would eventually reform the area. Its present state was iffy; those who knew better were cautious enough to not overextend their welcome.

As the Rileys walked on in a daze a rather tiny young woman rushed towards them. The stranger appeared to be very young. And very beautiful. The culprit knocked into Pearl, but didn’t say a word otherwise. The petite offender halted in front of Pearl. Lingering. The women locked eyes and exchanged friendly, nonverbal apologies. An unspoken pact encircled the two. And for the first time this day, Pearl’s lips intuitively curved up. There was no explanation to this sudden phenomenon. The other raised her head. She didn’t fatigue as before. Calmness flooded their zone. A mere two-second exchange altered time. There was a disbursement of knowledge that neither understood. Full hazel pupils connected with Pearl’s own stormy ones. Speckles of green bedazzled the younger woman’s eyes further. The illusory draft no longer bothered Pearl. No longer tormented her logic that is. In fact, the evening was fairly warm and stifling, yet the younger one was draped in a cheap, brown tweed jacket. Not a single button was unmated beneath a rather disproportioned bump. The sleeves swarmed bony wrists. One arm remained inside and the other held up something seemingly significant from the outside. She shifted, bucking forward vaguely.

The spell broke.

“S-S-Sor-ry,” she finally managed in an unfamiliar dialect. A reddish brown strand of hair drifted down to an eyebrow, caressing her upper cheekbone and ultimately tickling at her staunch chin. The length of the lock was shiny, the tip quite frazzled.

“Are you okay, dear?” Pearl questioned. While her personal weakness was overbearing, she felt an extension of support towards the stranger.

The guest unsealed her mouth to reply, but a breathtaking young man stepped near. Her lips lapped shut. She focused in on his enticing face and softened further. His exotic features were enhanced with deep blue eyes, floating inside an outer rim of thick black. Pupils shone to a greater degree against a fabulous blue button down shirt. His lips lowered to his equally appealing companion. Edward and Pearl stared at the couple, almost fancifully. Why… They could not decipher. Each in his and her own right appealed to the opposite sex.

The younger man’s gaze shifted across the street, then back again. A slightly noticeable vein jolted alongside his jawline. His Adam’s apple rose and dipped. He whispered into his girl’s ear. Her head propelled left, and then right. Yet the awkward frame beneath the dated covering she wore remained stationary. She held on tight to whatever it was. Lines appeared across her forehead. She aged instantly, as her arms tightened against an apparent load. Their rendezvous ended.

Without remark, the younger pair moved ahead in the very same direction that the older couple headed. Moving forward, the striking woman snapped back her neck. She gave a friendly smile, before turning away once more. The peculiar duo disappeared. The Rileys dismissed the chance meeting.

* * * * *

Jumping Ship Cover - reduced size

* * * * *

Edward and Pearl Riley found Sakkara’s bundle in the most illusive of places―amongst a pile of trash. Their destination was carelessly determined by senseless reasoning. Neither cared to exist for the moment, though both knew that darkness would soon swallow up the fading sunlight. They had crossed over onto a rather scandalously designed block. A series of XXX stores promising a good time, en route to the Port Authority Terminal, tempted them. Dirt cheap, miniature peep show signs called to hopefuls from corner to corner. The closer they drifted, the greater the pull of its patrons. Big hair walked around in their faces. Pearl was certainly out of her element. She was too simple for this exaggerated lifestyle. From time to time, the glitz and glamour would tone down, giving way to hopeless addicts and unsuccessful prostitutes. The exchange bothered few, as shabbily attired men and women even floated in and out of hell’s mini-playground, along with seducing vibes. Some tunes were loud. Some were slight. Some were utterly lewd.

Every once in a while, and quite out of the ordinary, a religious fanatic would wave a sign of redemption. They were in fact, few and far between. Grungy tresses, white t-shirts, and bell-bottom jeans were common garb for this bunch. Quite the opposites to this community’s norm. These out of place supporters tried to counter the unscrupulous effects of nineteen-seventies Times Square.

And the Rileys only pulled back into each other and prepared to shake off the memory of the latest hellhole, when Pearl came to a sudden halt. Edward tried to gently tug at her arm.

“Let’s go. It’ll be dark soon,” his warning was detached. He examined his surrounding rather keenly.

“No, Ed,” she unhooked from his grip, drifting into a pitch-black alleyway.

“What’s wrong, Pearl?” He shifted from leg to leg, eagerly peeking around once more. Slender, low-labored fingers pulled through the length of wispy, premature graying.

There was no purpose to Pearl’s inquest, not really. She was baited, and could not survive unless she followed through. Although kitten heels slushed across unimaginable textures, tones, and hues of the most inscrutable debris, she refused to falter. The concrete ground comprised of old newspaper and dark, plastic trash bags. Sullied gray rags that were once white, unscrupulously decorated the plot. There was no telling how long any of these had been living the alley life. Common sense fled. She didn’t care. Before long, she was searching through a bundled up pile of old newsprint articles and slimy trash bags dripping with grime. Edward drew closer to his wife, and was still able to remain at a distance. His head dipped as he headed further into the alleyway. There was no movement and very little human sound. His hips shifted right, then left. Nothing. His waist swayed as he looked from whence they came. Nothing. No one else was concerned with his spouse’s diversion.

And Pearl… Pearl only continued digging through the eyesore, and dashing through her madness. Shuffling and scorning. At some point she would need to be fumigated. Later on. Down the road. But now. Right now, the stench was tolerable. Unsound reasoning sent her heart on this illogical expedition. She did not know what she would find. She was uncertain about the look, feel, scent, or sound… A sound?

And then… there it was.

Suddenly a slight, gentle sobbing lifted from the mounds and began to trail in the air. The more Pearl tossed aside, the louder the tone. Late spring’s ardor had finally reached out to her dwindling soul.

“Whaaa,” just lightly, filled the shaded space. “Whaaa… Whaaa… WHAAA!”

Janice Ross- This Author’s Bio:

Janice Ross was born in Guyana, South America and migrated to the USA in 1980. Although her citizenship certificate now reads the United States of America, she considers herself a citizen of the world. Sure she has not physically been around the world and back, she’s travelled in her mind and dreams.

Janice is an author. She enjoys writing about social issues and personal experiences. Her latest release, Jumping Ship is a dedication to her country of birth and an introductory novella to the Island Hopping Series – due out in 2014. It’s poised to be a colorful and emotional experience of life, love and family.

Janice enjoys reading. And is drawn to stories with distinct characters that she can love or hate – characters she can form alliances with or characters that she can swear off and despise. She is also weak for a good cultural tale, preferably in the form of historical fiction – whether present day or in the past. Janice loves to be taken off guard by clever language and settings.

Janice is also a devout supporter and promoter of other authors through social media. She hosts a weekly show, Cultural Cocktails, on the largest social radio network, Blog Talk Radio.

Her book link at AMAZON is thru her author page @ http://www.amazon.com/Janice-Ross/e/B00AMP2Z4C/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

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Let Mom or God Lead?

My favorite question during book interviews is: How did you get started writing? The short answer is that in 1991 my mother died. Some people dream of being authors; my writing began as what could be described as a nightmare! HOWEVER- as she died, mom experienced what would be called a Christian Near Death Experience (NDE) or miracle. My witness became ‘Mom’s on the Roof and I can’t Get Her Down’. After that, I have co-authored or compiled other Divine and inspirational tales; they range from faith healing to other Near Death journeys. Then, due to my life changing trip, I had to overcome a partial shoulder replacement, which hindered my left arm. With one hand, I wrote three books including ‘My ArmOr (My Life)’, which is about my acceptance of God’s plan for my life. To date, my Christian books total seven. Meanwhile, I have ghostwritten three novels including ‘The Vision’, which is based on a true story of overcoming blindness, bipolar dysfunction, and living ‘The Golden Rule.’ Also, I’ve produced four picture books for as well as with children. Finally, I wrote one historical, YA Novelette as well. I use my real name, Cynthia Meyers-Hanson on non-fictions as well as the children’s literature; my pen name, Sydney S. Song is reserved for my fibs or novels.

Excerpt from ‘Mom’s on the Roof and I can’t Get Her Down’:

Foreword- I Will Survive

When I tell people about my recent losses, they just reel back and ask me how I am surviving it. I simply look at them and say, “I don’t know.” While my parents may have left some pennies behind for the heirs to squabble and fuss over, my mother left me the story of her journey beyond this world’s process of dying. She asked me over and over again if I would be okay the day after she left. With all the strength of my soul, I affirmed her question by saying, “I think so.”

In the veil of darkness, at 2:24a.m., on Thursday, January 24, 1991, my mother’s body gave up its last round with breast cancer. In the gloom of night, at 9:15 p.m., on Tuesday, February 19, 1991, an emergency call came into my house from one of my father’s neighbors. My father had killed himself. After a routine mammogram on March 5, 1991, my doctor told me that I had an irregular mass and needed more tests. The tests revealed that it was not cancer, but I found myself thoroughly exhausted. How much can the human soul take?

One day, while at church, I heard a sermon about an African tribal leader who lost his very young son to death. The priest remarked, “At the funeral, this father seemed joyous, in spite of his loss.” Continuing, “When I asked him why he didn’t mourn the son’s death, this leader said that he could not question his God’s Will.”

Through primitive faith, the tribal leader taught the learned priest the meaning of the Sermon on the Mount, “Thy Will be done.”

The missionary priest said, “This leader of men took his orders from God. He didn’t live by, ‘My will be done.’ This man’s total acceptance of God’s Will gave him the inner peace to accept his child’s death.”

This missionary priest told the congregation he wished for faith that strong. As I wrote this book, I prayed for the same strength.

Sometimes events occur in life that do not make sense until we reflect back on them. Some of the things I will share with the reader are translations so that they will make better sense. Others are events exactly as they occurred. Many of God’s mysteries are beyond human words and concepts. Thus, I will interpret ideas into more fluid ones for the reader. Some of the translations were easy enough for me to handle alone. For other communications, I needed a parish priest to explain the symbolic idea to me. In God’s Will, my mother delivered every key for each door God would allow me to access. However, I had to find each door and open it.

The outcome of this story is not just death, but it is a story of peace. In your darkest hours, I hope this book can generate the strength you need to survive a loss. If you need to widen your faith in a loving, caring God, I pray these words can help you. Remembering I lived through it all, I hope to deliver courage as well as faith, hope, and love.

My favorite phrase is, “I am surviving!” And so will you.

You can find out more about my writing on my author webpage, which is at http://mchanson714.weebly.com/

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Let the People Lead

In my blog, I’m just going to let the people lead this time! Here are SOME OF their short stories.

Newsworthy

My ex-husband left me for his secretary. None of my children were hurt because I couldn’t have babies. He became a father within months of our actual divorce. The child was his girlfriend and his baby; he quickly remarried.

My ex-spouse and his second wife divorced in a more ugly way. She practically took his business dangling his son in his face. I heard this all through the grapevine, which hurt more because I still cared about him.

One morning, as I dreamed that my ex called to say I loved you, my vision included the man apologizing for harming me. He asked for forgiveness mentioning how much he regretted ruining our lives for sex. After my soul let go of the pain that man wreaked on my life, my mother abruptly woke me with her telephone call.

“Turn on the news. Turn on your TV. Quickly go to Channel 9!”

The reporter stood at the bay near Tampa telling viewers about a possibly abandoned and capsized fishing boat. The owner was reported missing by his spouse a day earlier. Evidently his sons were aboard when it encountered the storm in the harbor that day.

On another station, their newscaster mentioned a few more facts. “Only one body remained on board. The coast guard is searching for the father and other son. One of his sons was trapped the cabin of the vessel. The body of that man had been recovered and identified by his mother.”

Startled explains my reaction when the cameras revealed the mom standing with police in the port; it was my ex-mother-in-law.

“I just felt his presence in my dream. God let him apologize and mend my broken heart before he left for Heaven,” I gasped to my mother. “God is good!”

They never recovered his brother or dad’s bodies.

Later, I testified about my sleeping vision to several friends.

Barbie describes the scene

Field Trip

I escorted a bunch of teens on a field trip to the Head Start Center. While on the bus, my eyes scanned the fellow adults, which led me to my position beside an elderly woman. “You here with a grandchild?” I asked.

“No, I’m a retired teacher with nothing to do. I volunteer at this school to keep busy.” She offered more information than expected, “I have no relatives. Both my sons and husband died in a fishing accident in the Gulf of Mexico.”

Unwittingly, I asked, “Near Tampa?’

“Yes!” She looked at me more directly. “My husband and one son were…”

“Never found but the other was in the cabin drowned.” I finished her explanation to both of our amazements adding, “Barbie told me your story- I think!” My friend had an unusual name; the lady beside me sat dumbfounded as I told her about my friend’s dream on the day her ex-husband passed away.

“We were meant to meet because I always worried if Barbie healed her broken heart. My son treated that kind soul so badly. I’m glad we shared this tale because now I can let my son rest in peace! You are the answer to my silent prayer! Thanks be to God!” The woman on the bus with me looked serene in that moment. I’m glad God let me deliver the end of the testimony.

Barbie’s friend finishes this tale

COOL DREAM

At Christmas, Grandma Ellen came to her granddaughter Susie’s new house for a party. Ellen’s husband and she were invited to the other side of the family’s celebration due to her off and on illnesses and the thought that that year might be the last chance to be with the elderly relative at the holidays.

When Grandma arrived, she complained to Candice that John and his wife were not there. Her daughter-in-law, Candice didn’t want to tell her that they were in NYC because another grandmother was recently diagnosed with cancer. The younger woman simply told Ellen that John went to NYC to celebrate the holidays with his wife’s side of the family.

Ellen remarked, “I made it a point to come here because John is fun to chat with. I’ll very much miss sitting and talking with him. At many past parties, he always took the time to speak to me.”

Months later, when Ellen made it to Hospice House already in a coma, Susie was doing John’s taxes. He felt moved to tell Susie about a weird dream he had had that Monday. In his vision, John sat with Grandma Ellen talking and talking about Heaven and how she was safely, there.

That same Monday, in unrelated conversations, Ellen’s eldest son, Mark, mentioned to his stepfather, “Mom looks different, today. I feel like her spirit is gone, and her body just won’t stop.”

Neither John nor Mark knew what the others were saying or thinking. Plus, missing her at the holidays, John had no idea of Ellen’s worsening health condition.

After hearing about the dream, Susie blurted out, “Grandma is at Hospice dying.” That’s when, John asked for Mark’s phone number to tell his reassuring story. When her son listened, he believed that man encountered his mom in that weird dream because it was the same day he felt her spirit left her body.

Later, in conversations, Mark asked his spouse, Candice, why John would have this dream since he only met his mother a few times. That wife told him about his mother’s comments at Christmas- about loving conversations with that man. “Your mom wanted to talk to John; so, apparently, she did. Actually, God allowed it!” Candice added.

“Why John instead of one of the closer family members?”

“If we say we chatted with her in a vision – it is JUST A NICE DREAM. But, if a near stranger that had no idea she was near death- says he talked to her in a vision about her pending death, it is a gift and message from God! It can’t be doubted as authentic!” Candice added, “Plus, it’s a present for your mom. God gave her the last chance to visit with John instead of dying still missing her last conversation with him at that past Christmas party!” God healed their spirits.

John’s vision

Harmonizing in the Spirit

I recently wrote a friend an e-mail about my accident because he was going through hard times.

To this day, that intersection- where I faced death- makes me think about bypassing it and taking a different way home. But, I try to face it head on to get over the fear.

I don’t remember all of my car wreck but a few things come to mind. Right after the other driver plowed through my vehicle, in that intersection, my body felt queasy anytime my eyes opened.

It felt worse and worse- soon after the accident. So I shut them keeping them closed tight.

I remember parts of the ambulance, helicopter ride. All my injuries that made them call for that emergency transportation caused me extreme nausea; I continued to keep my eyes closed even while coherent. It felt better that way. However, I was awake and aware while in the air; I heard the paramedics and people on the radio repeating that I coded. At that point in time, I felt light as if my soul detached from my nausea-ridden body but there was a peace not a fear in that knowledge. It wasn’t scary just bright and kind of nice to be hovering away from my physical pain….

You’ll have to come on by HIS Story to read the rest of this story and other inspired short tales.… It’s worth the few dollars to read this full book and more such as:

Mom’s on the Roof and I Can’t Get Her Down– a book proving there is life after death.

My ArmOR– why did the author meet an exorcist in the form of a delivery minister?

The Presence- The Presents– The gift of healing is revealed.

Through the Storms HE Performs– A brain dead expectant mom comes back from the other side with tales about Heaven

Stacey’s Song– An orphan cries out and God answers through minor miracles.

The Evans Terrace Girls– Some young girls help their neighborhood through its mourning and miracles abound.

You can find my writing through AMAZON as paperbacks and for Kindles @

http://www.amazon.com/Mrs.-Cynthia-Meyers-Hanson/e/B00B28J7L2

as well as other e-book formats thru
http://www.smashwords.com/books/search?query=mchanson714

Find my other blog @
http://mchanson714.blogspot.com

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Let the Females Lead

Faith Healing is a term used most often during a Christian revival; a person stands up and out of their wheelchair amazing the crowds with their saunter. The doubters among us think that the individual was planted in the audience and never really had walking issues. It’s an idea some say they witness after a ‘man of the cloth’ blesses a dying individual; it’s a spontaneous event from a death bed. Most skeptics want proof that that human was really leaving this planet permanently. Rarely, someone defines faith healing as a ‘condition of the soul’ and its healing from the cynicism that keeps that individual from experiencing the faith and hope of miracles and God’s interventions.

When my mother passed away, I witnessed the latter event; my spirit began its healing process. My mom died but my fears and concerns in my heart and soul were – for the most part- reconciled. However, I still lacked the full trust to’ let go and let God’ in parts of my daily life. Thus, He kept sending unsolicited proof that he was still there listening to my form of prayers and petitions. I protected myself most of my life from dysfunction and delusions. Even as I witnessed His Glory through others, it took a good pounding of my heart, mind, and soul before I’d surrender to God’s Will. I’d say, “We can only be 99% sure that there is a God and Heaven!” That was my way of justifying my coping mechanism with the many tragedies in my life.

As my revival began, Wavie walked into my world. Her story is quite a loud message that God is ‘alive and well’ and cares about our daily problems. Even on the first day I met the woman, as I walked with her across the campus where we worked, I had no idea of her full and amazing story. Spontaneously, she rambled on about her Christian witness and near death experience. Bottom line, the new friend claimed to have a personal relationship with Jesus and God but not just because her tradition spoke to that idea. That lady truly believed she met and knew the Maker of Heaven and Earth as she healed from a major car accident. The very religious woman states that while dead to this world that she had glimpses of life here and life after death. Was it the drugs or her swollen brain that made this woman delusional or did GOD really communicate with her during her 14 day coma?

While unconscious, that Human Being claims that she spent time in an intimate conversation with God through several situations including but not limited to visions, dreams, and prayers. Plus, without fully exiting her comatose state, she was acutely conscious of this world and the next. Are you the least bit intrigued?

I was and helped her capture her saga for posterity and God. After her near fatal car accident that required the ‘Jaws of Life’ to free her, she met God and still talks with Him, today, as He guides her Will and messages to other souls on this Earth. Find out how she recovered, the miracles involved, and how this soul coped. She found herself wheelchair bound being told she might never walk, again. What steps did her life take after surrendering to The Almighty’s Will? You’ll have to read her full witness to find out.

Then, there is Anne. Her life was less than picture perfect when she encountered breast cancer. Winning that battle with a potentially terminal disease, she went on to suffer some chronic and old age diseases from minor strokes through congestive heart failure. At over 80, she still struggles with her body’s desire to shut down. However, during one of her revivals, the woman escaped death with the help of a Presence that healed her from an apparent bleed out. What or who was that Presence? Angels? The Holy Spirit? God -himself? You can read about her amazing faith healing in her fuller witness or book.

Have I tempted you in a good way? To be continued….

In the meantime, come on buy their books Through the Storms HE Performs and The Presence-The Presents. Maybe, God will show you how HE has been with you through all your suffering and cares or will present you with your own faith healing including the healing of your soul.

Excerpt:- “Through the Storms HE Performs”

(Did I forget to tell you Waive was pregnant at the time of her accident? That situation complicated her healing process from the onset!)

Meanwhile, the doctors felt their hands tied because they could not operate freely on her due to her unborn daughter. In the aftermath of the near fatal accident, her physicians could not simply focus on getting her well because her surgeries had to be spaced out to protect the fetus. Plus, some alternatives to highly sedated operations must be found in order to protect the life growing within her womb. One day, her doctor trusted in prayer and this patient’s good attitude as he scheduled an alternative to a full out restorative procedure on one of her limbs.

“I want to fix the gaping hole in your leg,” He bowed the same way he did in prayer while this patient laid unconsciousness days earlier. “I cannot give you more anesthesia due to your condition.”

Wavie understood the severity of her lesion while wondering what the procedure entailed. As they stared at her wounded body, the image of missing chunks of tissue greeted them unpleasantly. The leg did not contain enough tissue or outer skin to simply press and pull to stitch is closed. He tugged at her remaining skin to demonstrate just how bad the hole in her limb looked. On top of the opening, that body part already housed metal pins and drainage tubes from previous procedures. However, the stench at the sight warned of pending bacterial invasions that might claim the leg if left in its open state. She remembered this smell that greeted her nose during her twilight state; her heart knew the area needed major healing. The procedure discussed already felt overdue.

This doctor did not leave her in the dark about her situation and the pending operation for long, “I need to graft a part of your buttocks to your holey leg, tomorrow. During the procedure, I will give you a local painkiller because I cannot put you completely under.”

After exiting the coma, this pending operation was the only time that Wavie ever felt apprehensive. She worried with prayer all night. If she balked at the doctor’s idea, infection might set in. Her wound needed to heal so that her leg could remain a part of her body. After her mediation on the consequences of resisting this surgery, worry set in. What would the next day bring?

Your Father knows what you need before you ask him. (Matthew 6:8)
After realizing her full healing remained out of her control, she allowed God to whisper in her ear guiding her thoughts and prayers. As she contemplated the next day getting very little rest, she relived the man’s visits. She remembered a doctor praying with her the day he visited her comatose bedside. Suddenly, she envisioned the healing her physician asked from God. Her highly agitated soul settled into the Supernatural Being’s goal for her recovery.

The next day, when her physician arrived to prepare her for the procedure to repair the damaged tissue in that leg, he pulled her limb into view. Simultaneously, shock and amazement filled their souls and the room. The Lord recovered her tissue during the night, and there remained only a small hole where the drainage tube and metal bracing holding her broken leg resided on this once more fully mangled appendage. That day, one of many miracles met their eyes and blended into their hearts as well as this testimony. God stayed with her just as He guaranteed in His whispers throughout this whole ordeal. His promises healed her painful situation faster than the medicine or man!

While the faithful such as Wavie believe everlasting, those struggling with the reason bad things happen need to see legs heal and other mending wonders to widen their faith. Many humans need clearer signs of God’s love; that is why this and other miracles occurred in Wavie’s religious story. These types of phenomena happen to help those on the perimeter feel a part of the circle of God’s, loving arms. These events change outlooks; sometimes they help the victim. At other times, they encourage those nearby. When communicated orally or in a book, these testimonies give many new insights into God’s deep and eternal love for all mankind.

So, how far did the healing go? Would Wavie ever leave her wheelchair? COME ON BUY her book to find out

Excerpt: “The Presence-The Presents”

(In this part of the saga, Anne nearly dies!)

Even though, the time of day made it April Fool’s Day, the doctor looked her straight in her eye saying, “If we can’t stop your bleeding, you will be dead by the end of the day!” The announcement was not followed by laughter and a clever line about how this hospital visit was all just a bad joke. That would not be funny, anyway! Unbelievable thoughts raced through her mind as Anne heard, “This fever must break before you can receive a blood transfusion. Without it, there is not much hope!”

This news shook Anne to her soul. She finally heard that her bruising indicated internal bleeding that might kill her. When lunch arrived, she nibbled not feeling any urge to eat. She felt some contentment but she could not rest or sleep, either- not right away.

About three in the afternoon, two women from her church came in and gave her communion. They asked Anne to pray with them, which she did. All of the sudden, tears rolled down the patient’s cheeks. She sobbed as they continued praising. Soon, she heard Father Joe’s shuffle coming down the hallway.

The two women greeted this priest at the door informing him, “Our sister in Christ is crying but we do not know why!”

He entered the room as the two women left. Anne failed to speak due to her emotional state. Without delay, the priest started anointing this sick parishioner. As his healing hands moved over Anne’s forehead, again, with God as her witness, her body felt on fire. The tears really flowed through the prayers of this man. Without uttering a word, she remained mystified as he finished his sacramental blessing then left her hospital room.

Near the end of his blessing, she stopped crying. Anne felt a comforting “presence.” It lulled her into very sound sleep.

She failed to awaken for supper. After midnight, as the night nurse took her vitals, Anne finally spoke asking the woman, “Can you change this bedding and my gown? I am soaking wet!”

Her nurse recognized her, “I remember you from September of last year. I remember your heart’s irregularities spontaneously healed last time you visited us.” Then, she helped change this patient as well as the sheets. As she finished her tasks, the lady added, “I believe you broke that fever. I can call the lab technician to draw your blood. You may be well enough for that transfusion but the blood count will be studied before that procedure. I have a good feeling about your blood work.”

This nurse winked at Anne because this medical worker believed that her patient received blessings and presents of healing from a Supreme Source.

Anne felt very comfortable falling easily back to sleep. About four in the morning, she heard a male voice calling her out of slumber. The face of her technician became less blurry as she opened her eyes. Another familiar face; he drew her blood in September.

“Mrs. LaMonte?” He looked shocked and amazed to see her back.

“Jock, is that you?”

He asked, “How do you know my name?”

Anne answered, “When someone is as patient as you trying to find veins, your attitude remains a great memory especially when you had to use one directly connected to my heart. When you mentioned that only a few people are permitted to use that vein, how could I forget you and your gentleness?”

“So you remember me?”

“Yes, you introduced yourself by name back then. You are from Jamaica, right?” He shook his head smiling while completing his current task.

About a half hour later, the night nurse returned with a huge smile, “Just as I suspected! Your internal bleeding stopped; your blood count is back to normal. There is NO reason for a blood transfusion!”

This woman shared the secret of this healing with Anne but soon others would hear the good news- the God news.

After hearing the test results, Anne let out a sigh of relief falling back to sleep while feeling very content! Voices interrupted her rest. While making rounds with the entourage, the mentoring physician reviewed her blood results. As she remained drowsy, he listened to her heart. He announced to the interns, “This patient arrived with internal bleeding due to unmonitored Coumadin. For some unexplained reason, her bleeding stopped when her fever broke. A technician drew blood a couple of hours ago; her blood count returned to completely standard range. A scheduled blood transfusion became unnecessary.”
Pleasantly pleased, these resident interns and their mentor talked very softly among themselves while shooting strange looks Anne’s direction.

Did her spontaneous healing stump those physcians? COME ON BUY her book to find out that answer and more details.

By the way, as I slowly grew in trust of the ultimate goals God had for my life, as I co-wrote those books and many other nonfictions that witnesses of God’s presence, I encountered many other tales, which I later shared in other nonfiction books.

Stay tuned for more details!

You can find these books through AMAZON as paperbacks and for Kindles @
https://www.amazon.com/author/mchanson714

as well as other e-book formats thru

http://www.smashwords.com/books/search?query=mchanson714

Find my other blog @
http://mchanson714.blogspot.com/

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