How On Earth? What on Earth? How God Bonked Me on the Head.

HELLO FRIENDS!

I’m so happy that you found your way to this website, because it’s all about God and the amazing messages He is sending us. 

First, He has asked that you be told that no matter who you are or what you've done, you are precious and deserving of all the love in the world. No matter what. You can’t imagine how much He loves us.  Really, you can’t.  It’s impossible to understand, because we’re too small, and He is way bigger. If you can't love yourself, trust that He can and does.

With that said, feel free to skip this long part and move on to the good stuff on other pages.  His Messages are the good stuff.

THE GREAT BONKING ON THE HEAD

All right, I suppose you’ll need some context before everything is said and done.

I know that most people don’t much like being told that what we’re doing is a sin, especially if it’s something we enjoy or believe is inherent to our lives.  The thing is, God is a parent, and He’s the best parent ever. He has high standards for us.  A good father doesn’t let his children get away with bad behavior, like picking our noses or mouthing off to adults or bullying a kid on the playground.  A good parent never wants to see his children get hurt or hurt themselves either, right?  Same thing with God, but infinitely more. 

Children need love, protection, and direction - a lot of it. Since God is our Heavenly and awesome Father, He wants to provide those things to us all the time. The problem is, we aren't very good at listening even when  He approaches us in so many different ways and at such different levels.  He approaches us through discernment when we pray; when we take the Blesséd Eucharist, which gives us unfathomable blessings; as we read the Bible and the words of Jesus; and when we go to Church as a community to learn and pray. God is absolutely adamant about getting our attention. 

Unfortunately, too many people in our world choose to ignore Him and the tremendous gifts He offers us. It’s terribly sad, but knowing this, I suspect He’s pulling out all the stops these days. He’s in heavy recruitment mode. 

Back in the olden days, God spoke to prophets like Ezekiel or Daniel or Moses.  Maybe they’d be walking along, minding their own business when a burning bush would light up and knock the sandals right off their feet. Maybe God would send word while they were taking a snooze or toss them directions to build a gigantic boat.  Regardless of how, God was sending them messages to share with others and to get everyone on the same page. Obviously, He’s had to do this many, many times throughout history. We can’t seem to get it into our heads and hearts that God is the way to go.  He isn’t finished either. 

God is still sending the world thousands of incredible, loving, and urgent messages. He’s sending them to us today in our lifetime.  How cool is that. In His messages, God entreats us to place Him first and foremost in our lives.  He wants all of our love and wants us to seek His love and forgiveness daily, hourly, minutely. He asks us to stop judging one another; to love instead of hate; to forgive our enemies (or those who we believe have slighted us) and relinquish our anger.  There are messages that tell us about His joys and sorrows and what He accepts and does not accept.  He constantly emphasizes that we must be more diligent in our prayers as we walk the path Jesus laid out for us.  Some messages are affectionate and playful.  Others are prophetic and stern.  Yes, stern. 

Always keep in mind that God is our loving parent, and He isn't going to let us get away with punching our siblings on the nose. He’s great at making sure we’ll pay attention too. For example, sending His beautiful messages through a wildly imperfect and goofball conduit - me. 

That’s why I suggested you skip to the Messages.  You’ve already got the headline. You know the good news.  HQ is in contact with us children on the ground.  God is in our here and now!  Release the balloons!  Strike up the band!

My role in things is completely irrelevant.  However, because a few folks have asked me about the how's and why's and wherefores' of my experience, I’m taking a little bit of room here to explain how I found God.  Or rather, how God found me.  He did all the work, because I certainly wasn’t looking for Him.  

GIMME' THE PROOF! 

For years, I worked with a bunch of brilliant, well-educated, electrical, aerospace, and software engineers.  Most of them had PhDs and could see formulas drifting in mid-air.  They taught me to approach life from a logical, rather than emotional, standpoint.  I need concrete proof in order to be convinced of anything, and I enjoy the occasional fact-based argument. 

With that mindset, how on earth could I believe in stuff like miracles or God doing anything more than hovering up in the clouds somewhere?  It's no wonder I was born on the Feast of St. Thomas. Cut us some slack, though.  Thomas and I had to make giant leaps of faith. First, Jesus comes floating through a wall on the second floor of Apostle Headquarters to surprise His friends and douse them with the power of the Holy Spirit.  Of course, Thomas isn’t around to witness the whole thing go down.  When the other Apostles describe what happened, he thinks they’re nuts. Or maybe, in his heart of hearts, he’s just afraid to hope that his good friend might really be alive.  The death of a friend hurts…a lot.  So maybe he decided to protect himself from that hurt until further notice.  Until he got his proof.  Wouldn’t any of us have demanded the same thing?  Give us the proof!  Show us the evidence!  We want to see it and touch it and smell it!

Now, put yourself in my silly shoes.  God wanted me to believe that 1). He was talking to me; and 2). that He had some messages that He wanted me to share. Before September 16th of 2012 (the date of the Great Bonking), if someone had told me that God was sending them messages, I would've chalked it up to lunacy and run like a cheetah with its butt on fire. I was a cool, successful, self-centered shark working my way up the corporate ladder to those marvelous C-levels in the sky.  I was shallower than a small pond during a long drought.  Back then, if I had met the Me that I am now, I would’ve slapped a red flag on my resume and sidelined the job application. My colleagues and I would’ve had a good laugh too:           

“Did you hear about that nut case who interviewed today?  She actually thinks God is talking to her!  We can’t hire a religious lunatic.  One day, she might start shooting up the place.”

Yeah, it would've raised my corporate eyebrows. God talking?  Pul-eeeze.  The joke was on me, though. I had a red flag next to my name for several years.  I suppose God wanted to make sure I’d get over myself and listen to the specifics. In fact, He gave me all the factual, logical stuff I demanded.  He just likes to blow people away and He has a great repertoire.

He has whales chomping on men and spitting them out alive. There’s the occasional great parting of the sea. Every now and then, He gets a hankering to bring a buddy back to life or shock His wayward children….Ah, worldliness. 

I used to be a merry little sometimes Catholic.  I was pretty original too.  I wasn’t showing up at church on Easter Sunday or Christmas. Not me. I had it all planned out.  I went to Confession, Mass, and Communion once a year – on Divine Mercy Sunday. 

Somehow I got it into my head that by doing this, I was wiping my slate clean every year.  It was an annual get-out-of-purgatory-free card.  Afterwards, I’d spend the rest of the year messing everything up again.  I figured, forgiveness was pro-rated, so if I got hit by a bus, God and I were cool.  My intentions were pure, if not ridiculous.  Believe it or not, I did this for well over 14 years, and my attendance record is spotless!

Please don't get angry with me.  Some people think the way I talk about my love for God and my relationship with Him is disrespectful.  I promise you, it's not.  I guess I’ve always had a simple view of Him.  Some call it childish in its simplicity.  I just don't think He is that complex.  He can't be, or I will lose my simple mind.

When I was younger, I believed God lived in a nice hacienda in the east and that Jesus spent His afternoons sitting under a giant apple tree, eating raisins, nuts, and beef jerky while sipping iced tea.  He looked like a lumber jack taking a lunch break, sitting at the trunk of a tree asleep. I thought Jesus sometimes played chess while He was sitting at the right hand of the Father, and I dreamed about taking Him on a rollercoaster.  I knew God loved animals and that He didn’t like wasting stuff because when He got done creating the pumas and polar bears, He used the leftover black and white paint to decorate zebras, skunks, panda bears, whales, and cows. God was an actual person to me with the disposition of a grandpa - the type that frighten some people, because He expects you to be respectful, to be on time for supper, and stand up when a lady enters the room. Totally old school. It meant following His tough rules, no excuses! 

Of course, He could also lay on the charm.  He’d slip candy to the kids for the fun of it.  He’d always let them fall asleep across His lap, even with their shoes on and chocolate all over their shirts.  It’s funny.  I’ve come full circle.  I still believe all that. This is how I see it....

THE BRAT 

God is my Father, and I am His adorable, headstrong toddler.  He is constantly trying to keep me from sticking my fingers into things, like electric sockets or piranha tanks, or from burning my hands on things that are hot.  If you have children, you know the drill.  As a willful and curious child, I am determined to see what a piranha tastes like or take a chance on that stove top where I’ve seen pies sitting.  

Occasionally, I do manage to get my hands on those little fishies. I’m a stubborn child, after all, and I want what I want.  Oh, He sees it coming alright, and when fish meets fingers, guess what happens next? Yes.  My hand gets mangled and chomped up.  I'll howl about the pain and the agony and how life isn’t fair.  I'll yell at Daddy for not warning me beforehand; for not protecting me from that mean old fish.  I'll raise my yucked-up hand and tell Him to look at all the ugly teeth marks!  Why me?!  Why me?!  (Strike up the violins.)

Yet, God is always there to heal my wounds and make me feel better.  He’ll tell me that the teeth marks on my hand look kind of cool.  He’ll point out how one bite resembles Richard Nixon’s face if we draw some eyebrows on it. 

There've been times when I thought I was all big and bad and didn't need God. Sound like any teenagers you know?  But who do you think was the first one I'd run to when I was sick or in trouble or hurt or scared?  Yeah.  My Heavenly Father.

Have you ever prayed you’d do well before a test?  That your favorite baseball team wins the Series?  (The Yankees.)  That your spouse gets home safely?  That your sick dog gets better? That you'll get the job.  That your check doesn't bounce? That your parents don't beat you senseless for wrecking the car?  That your child survives that horrible car crash?  You can have all the money in the world, but when push comes to shove, gold doesn’t help when your loved one is in a hospital bed with tubes sticking out all over the place. 

Sticking with the simplicity theme….  I also have a simple way of understanding Jesus' sacrifice for us. Well, to the extent possible. His Sacrifice and love are bigger than anything anyone can fathom, so forgive the following example for being such a peanut. It's just to give you the gist. Once, when my best friend and I were 7 or 8 years old, we came up with the terrific idea of throwing a dozen eggs at our neighbor’s house. I’m sure that Mr. Anderson was a nice man.  He never provoked us.  But unbeknownst to our parents, there was a chilling rumor circulating throughout the neighborhood that buried deep inside Mr. Anderson's dark backyard were a handful of children who had disappeared over the years.  All of us kids knew it. He’d even ripped out their toenails to make the chain he wore under his shirt.  Sometimes he’d go so far as to pull out their teeth and use them too! 

On that unsettling knowledge, my friend and I decided to wage war on his house. We caused a pretty good mess too. Eggs can stain a house when they’re baked under the southwestern sun. Mr. Anderson somehow figured out that I was at least one of the culprits (probably because I “ding-dong ditched” his house). For the uninitiated, that’s ringing a doorbell and hauling tail before anyone answers the door.  Do it three or four times, and the occupant of said house is likely to be upset, but I digress.  Mr. Anderson went to my father to complain about the scrambled eggs dripping off his walls.  My father shook his head grimly and said he’d take care of the matter forthwith.

My dad was a volatile man, so imagine my surprise when he didn’t hit the roof and smack me upside my head. He didn’t toss me over the fence and make me clean up the mess, even though it was really starting to smell.  He didn't turn me over to our neighbor, so Mr. Anderson could pull out my toenails and teeth to string another necklace or two for himself and then bury my body under the rose bushes in his backyard.  Instead, my dad listened to my discombobulated story.  I imagine he saw the fear in my eyes, so he took it upon himself to drag out the hose and a bucket of soap and scrub the house down himself.  It wasn’t easy for him.  It was certainly a humiliating experience.  He probably had better things to do that weekend than clean up after a couple of unruly kids. Watch a football game, perhaps. But he understood that I needed his help and protection. He decided to take one for the team. I’d done the crime, and he did the jail time in my stead. He saved me and my friend from a terrifying and most certain death at the hands of Mr. Anderson. We were saved from the shame we felt about throwing eggs at the house in the first place.  We wouldn't be getting within arm's reach of our fearsome neighbor. In other words, my father saved our butts.

That’s what God did by sending Jesus to us. Jesus came to save our butts. It's not an elegant way of saying it, but it's to the point.

Several weeks later, my friend and I got it into our heads that it would be funny to break some more eggs, this time in our neighbor’s mailbox.  We had something for eggs back then.  When I got caught again (that was inevitable), I didn’t get off so easy.  My father marched me by the ear to Mr. Anderson's front door. I had to look our neighbor in the eye and give him the sincerest apology I could muster under duress.  I had to clean the mailbox with a toothbrush and bring the mail and newspaper to Mr. Anderson’s front door every morning and every evening for two weeks straight.  A lifetime for a kid. And this time I got the belt. 

When God talks about how we need to stop misbehaving and about chastising us for not listening to Him, I think it’s the equivalent of “getting the belt,” but obviously on a much bigger, much more serious scale. He loves us and will help us get on the straight and narrow, but we’re going to go through some rough learning first.  We’ll be like the kid who has to go to their room for time-out.  Or the one who has done something so terrible that the sentence is a time-out, no dessert, and a bout with the belt! 

It'll stink and it'll probably hurt a lot, but as we're sitting in our bedroom sulking about our punishment, at least we know that our Father is in the living room on the other side of our door with the rest of the family watching I Love Lucy on TV or playing charades with a handful of His Angels.  The most important thing to remember and to believe with all of our hearts is that He loves us and hasn’t abandoned us. He never will. God does have some things He wants us to know beforehand, because we don’t have to get the belt if we pray and listen to what He has to say. More good news. The hard times can be mitigated if we’re willing to make God the center of our lives.

WHAT'S IT LIKE TO HEAR FROM HIM?

The messages He has sent me are very clear but the emotions He evokes with them are indescribable. Many people have asked me that question - what's it like?  What is it like to receive God's messages?  How does it happen?  Do I hear His voice?  Do I fall into a coma or ecstasies?  Do the clouds part?  Is there a burning bush involved?

To be honest, at first I thought I was losing my mind. Had it not been for my mom and my spiritual “guidance counselor” at the time, I probably would’ve disregarded what was happening and taken a lot of aspirin.  Or maybe not.  God is really persistent.  And when things around me started turning gold, I was questioning my eyesight too.

The first messages God sent me came slowly, gently.  When you read the early ones, you'll see that the messages are brief and not too intimidating.  I believe He did this to avoid scaring me off.  He also gave me little miracles to convince me that I wasn't crazy; that what I was experiencing was indeed reality.  Something tangible. 

I’m hard-headed though.  I often told Him to go away.  I suggested He find someone holy to do the job, like a priest or the pope or my mother.  He insisted, however, that I was the one He wanted.  He liked the simplicity of my heart.  I told Him it wasn't simplicity, it was density.  I know it sounds funny, but this is how our conversations sometimes go. 

Our chats are very loving and often informal.  Sometimes we banter. I talk to Him about every piece of my life.  Much of it is mundane stuff, but He is interested in all of it.  He likes it when things make me laugh. He laughs with me. He does things and tells me things to make me laugh.  (I’ll tell you the story about the endives later.)  My actions have an impact on Him – whether I show up for Mass or make myself available to Him with prayer to receive His messages; when I avoid Him, because I am afraid or stressed out.  Some things really hurt His feelings. Other things really offend Him.  And then there are the things that make Him happy, and that’s the best.

When He speaks to me, it is like a mood of truth that passes through me with words.  There is a voice, but I can’t describe the sound of it.  It’s not booming. It is a light but dominant voice giving me words that are loving, urgent, and filled with concern for us.  There is an inner impatience that I feel, like He is waiting for me to bring Him into my day.  When I am writing for Him, my eyes see less.  Everything goes somewhat out of focus.  It’s not exactly blurry, but everything is just thrown into the background. 

There is an incredible depth of emotion when He talks about certain things.  It’s like the pride you can feel when your child accomplishes something.  Your cup feels like it is runneth-ing over.  The emotion He shares like that is strong.  There’s always a great feeling of affection, especially when He expresses His deep love for children or His Angels. It's a bursting when it comes to children. He adores children, and He is extremely protective of them.... I'll talk about abortion another time.

I have felt a small bit of His immeasurable joy in us and an even smaller piece of the gut-wrenching sorrow He goes through when we hurt Him.  It’s an unbearable sadness.  With these powerful sentiments there are always words. He is very specific about what He wants to say and any clarifications He wishes to make. He lets me know what I can share and with whom. There are times when I have written down words that I've never even heard of, and yet they are correct.  I’ve had to spell them phonetically and examine them later as the message is transcribed. (God is expanding my vocabulary!)

For a while, it was like being pushed out of bed when He wanted me to do something, like take notes or go to Mass or whatever.  He once, quite plainly, pushed me out of bed (another story) so that I’d get up and go to Mass with my mom.  He definitely gave me the choice about whether I wanted to serve Him, but it was like being given a choice by my grandmother. I could stay in bed, all warm and cozy, or I could get out of bed to face the day.  She'd yank the covers off me and the bed anyway. That comparison always makes me laugh, because it’s accurate.  I can just hear her and God laughing their heads off upstairs.

I don't think anyone can ever get “used to” the love of God.  I guess what I mean to say is that when I am in deep prayer, His call to share His words is recognizable to me.  I do constantly worry whether the words are His or if it is me poking around.  To assuage my fear, He often confirms the messages later in some clear way. Sometimes it's a homily during Mass that confirms a message I’ve received the day before; sometimes He’ll throw a nice brick at me (another inside joke) to let me know everything is A-OK.  He tells me to trust Him. To stop worrying.

It’s reassuring, but I don’t ever want to share anything that is not of God. I know that's dangerous and detrimental to both you and me as His children.  It weighs heavily on my heart, so I try to pray for discernment.  It's my hobby.

When I receive His messages, time has no meaning.  At first, He spoke to me for about twenty minutes.  It grew to anywhere from 30 to 90 minutes, if I’m not interrupted. The thing is, it always feels like only a minute or two have passed. That kind of passing of time is connected to another story that you’ll hear later about my uncle.

The messages always express a deep love for us.  It is so inexplicable and fathomless, that words are inadequate to describe what I am given. Eventually, I got into the habit of using “BIG” or “BIGNESS” to describe the immensity of His love.  Throughout the messages, He also expresses a lot of urgency.  He is constantly urging us to come to Him; to hear His call; and to listen to the pleas of the Blesséd Mother.  Our prayers are imperative.  Our time is all but gone before “something” happens.  It’ll be a warning or a reprimand that hopefully will bring people to choose God over what is worldly.  

I have experienced different visions in regard to this, but I don't pretend to know what it will look like or when or how it will happen.  Only God knows what it’s all about, and He’s definitely telling us to knock off our bad behavior.  That means some of His messages are stern.  Sometimes more stern than what makes us comfortable.  Many folks ask me for a “time frame” for said warning.  Again, only God knows.  Speculation is running rampant though.  My human sense is that it is big, that it will be worldwide, and that it is going to give us all a headache.  Cheerful, right?  I'm not afraid, and you shouldn’t be either.  God has said over and over again that as long as we pray constantly and stick to Him like a kid on a chocolate bar, He'll give us the strength to face whatever comes. It may not even happen in our lifetime!  I'm willing to wait and to love and to do the best I can by Him in the meantime. We should always prepare, regardless. We could get hit by a bus tomorrow morning. Best be ready. 

MY UNCLE MANNY 

When God bonked me on the head, I was worldly, mistrusting, and fearful.  I didn’t want to have anything to do with working for God.  The pay wasn’t enough!  I wasn’t a holy roller!  If I was identified as a God-loving citizen of this world, I’d be ostracized, marginalized, the butt of jokes!  I’d lose friends and opportunities for “real work.”  I was ready to run into the nearest woods and hide, but I was no match for Him.  None of us are. 

In fact, let’s get back to those tangibles, the evidence, the mentality of engineers, and good old Doubting Thomas who I mentioned earlier.

God is exceedingly persuasive.  It's one thing for me to pick up a Bible and understand its metaphors. It was quite another to experience all the holy coincidences that were dropping on my head left and right.

The first miracle God sent, I simply ignored.  It happened in May of 2012, and I was driving home after an exhausting day at the office.  The route I normally took was very scenic.  There's a lush golf course and amazing old trees lining the road. That day, the clouds were extremely low, grey, and flat. I happened to glance up at the sky at some point, and I couldn't believe what I was seeing in the clouds. They had transformed into what looked like Jesus’ face from the Shroud of Turin.  I checked to see if any other drivers had noticed the same thing, but no one else seemed distracted.  I wish I’d taken a picture of it. I kept staring at it until the trees blocked my view.  When I exited the tunnel of trees, the image had disappeared.  I laughed at myself when I got home. Why am I interested? Clouds look like stuff all the time.

When that didn’t get my attention, God took my job away.  Apparently, He had other career plans in mind for me.  He kindly gave me a month off to decompress.  He also gave me some bouts of nausea every time I tried searching for another job.  I’m not kidding.  I’d be surfing some job board minding my own business. Then, I'd find something that looked like a good match and promptly get sick. Yes - barfy. (And I love what I do.) God works fast too.

The next thing He arranged for me was a trip to Texas. My mother’s youngest brother (Manny) was slowly succumbing to cancer. They were going to move him out of the hospital and into hospice.  While he was still able to communicate, my mother put him on the phone with me.  He asked if I’d come down to see him.

“Uh, Tío, I don’t think I can make it. Sorry.”

I didn’t realize he’d be disappointed.  While I had been extremely close to him as a child, I found him obnoxious as an adult (forgive me for that). I wasn’t planning on going anywhere. 

That is, until my mother called again with a strange story about my uncle and his eldest daughter.  From the day she was born, her parents compared her to me. It probably irked her growing up.  I’ve always considered her my little sister, and she is one of the best people I know.  She managed to get down to Texas while her father was still slightly coherent but deteriorating quickly. I'm told that when she went up to him so he could see her face, he sat up in bed and cried, “Linda!”

Whoa, where’d that come from?  He wasn’t even supposed to be capable of moving. My cousin never revealed whether or not she was hurt by his reaction.  That’s a credit to her character.  After hearing about what happened, I knew I had to go too.  The day I arrived, they were transferring my uncle to a hospice facility.  Those folks are wonderful, I must say.  They do everything they can to help, and I imagine it’s extremely difficult work. My aunt (his wife), his four children (three of whom are girls), his son, my mom and I, and her sister stayed with my uncle all day and all night for three days running.  It was a powerful time for me for many reasons.  Being there together created a tight cocoon where nothing outside it existed. There was no history, no world, nothing.  An intense unity developed amongst us, regardless of several long-time grudges.  It was unplanned and incredibly beautiful even though my uncle was dying.

Please bear with me on the next part....

When I was in my early 20s, my very best friend killed himself. I think about him every day. Having someone commit suicide rearranges your lunch.  My soul cried for him constantly, but there was something more bothering me, besides the obvious. Years before he died, I worked with a woman who was into palm reading and tarot cards and all that stuff.  I was curious about things like that (not good).  She explained how “the readings” worked.  One item that stuck with me was the “life line.”  I found it remarkable that a line on our palm could predict how long we would live. (Note - please stay away from psychics, Ouiji boards, and all that sort of thing. It's evil, period.) 

When my friend killed himself, I became obsessed with the length of his life line. I thought, if I could’ve examined his palm and known, I might’ve stopped him from doing what he did.  I was fixated on this for years, right up until the time I spent in that hospice facility with my family.

Around six in the morning on our third day with my uncle, I had a donut and some coffee then went to his bed to stand sentinel.  I held his hand for a long while until it dawned on me that I had the perfect opportunity to confirm or dismiss the question of life lines and palm readers, etc. 

My uncle had beautiful hands. I examined his palm and realized immediately that I’d been fooled.  Or I’d been a fool.  Take your pick.  The entire idea was a falsehood.  His “supposed” life line was longer than a horse’s tail, and I was incredibly grateful to him for "giving me the answer."  That wasn’t the crazy part, though. I stood beside his bed that morning, holding his hand, and admiring the strength of his heart. All of his other organs were shutting down but not his heart. I think one doctor said he had the heart of an 18-year old and it was keeping him alive.

A little later, one of my cousins asked if I wanted another donut.  I told her I’d just had one, but thanks.  A few minutes later, my other cousin offered me a burrito. A few minutes after that, the same cousin who’d asked me if I wanted another donut came back to ask if I was hungry.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry, Linda?”           

“No, really.  I’m good. I’m just gonna’ stand here holding his hand for a little while longer.”                     

“Seriously. You need to eat before my brother scarfs everything.”           

“In a minute.  The donut totally did me in.”  (Yes, the local Dunkin’ Donuts was serving elephant-sized donuts that morning.) 

I was irritated that everyone kept pestering me to eat. Finally, my cousin poked me.

“Linda, you have to eat something.  Do you know what time it is?”                        

I hadn’t the foggiest notion. She said it was close to 7:30. I thought, so what? I'd been holding his hand for over an hour and maybe hogging the space? Did she want to hold his hand now?

Then she clarified. It was 7:30 PM.

I’d been standing by my uncle's bed for over twelve hours, holding his hand, not eating, not sitting, not going to the bathroom, and not knowing how much time had passed. If she hadn’t said anything, I would’ve sworn I’d been watching over my uncle for maybe ten to twenty minutes. Time literally stopped for me, just like it does when I receive God’s messages. 

After he died, I stayed with my Mum for two or three weeks. During that time, I began to notice something else.  My memory of my life in New York - my marriage, my schooling, my dog, and everything else I knew - was slowly disappearing. It was as if none of it had ever happened. Like I'd never left Texas and was picking up where I’d left off at twenty-six.  This would’ve freaked me out a lot more if everything hadn’t seemed so hazy and surreal. There was no explanation for it.  It was horrible for my husband, because I was so detached when we spoke on the phone. I returned to NY a couple of days before our second wedding anniversary.  Fortunately, my memories returned too.  It took some time to readjust, though.

I blame my uncle for all of the bizarre stuff that went on during that trip, including God’s taking notice of me.  In fact, I’d bet all of my lipstick that he passed a note directly to God that said, "Here! Knock this one on her head. She’ll never know what hit her!" 

BACK TO THOSE MIRACLES I MENTIONED 

On September 16, 2021, God took me by the chin, shook me a few times to get the marbles out of my head, and said, “Wake up, child!”

That was the day He started talking to me. Actually, I don't believe it was the first time.  We used to chat constantly when I was a kid.  I just figured everyone else was experiencing the same thing.  After all, God really adores children.  Why wouldn’t He speak to them constantly?  They’re far more fun than adults.           

Then, later in life, as I was clawing my way through corporate America, my first husband and I divorced.  I was absolutely demolished by it and unable to make myself useful. That’s one of the times God spoke to me (2001).  He told me two things as I cried and cried and smoked cigarette after cigarette to dull the pain.

God said, “I love him too.”  It was spoken so softly and with such consolation….            My reply was rather angry.  “So what?  I want him back!  Give him back to me!”  (Saucy brat.) 

Much later, I began to understand what God meant. He didn't mean He loved him as much as I did. What He did mean was that, in addition to loving me very deeply, He loved my soon-to-be-ex-husband as well, and there was no way my love for my ex-husband could ever compete with God’s love for both of us.

I’m not going to lie.  I was still angry and still a mess after that.  I’m hard-headed and that tends to make me go deaf when I don’t want to face something.  I took a month off of from work in order to regroup and went to Texas.  I spent a lot of time kicking myself for being so unlovable. I knew I'd never be good enough. Not intelligent enough, pretty enough, cool enough, educated enough, interesting enough…. 

I had put on a heck of a good show, though, pretending like I owned the world. However, a lack of self-worth was a big part of what was tearing me up all the time.  No matter how many compliments I was given, I’d never believe any of them were true. I was holding on by a thread.

If you ever visit the southwest, you will witness some of the most spectacular sunsets in the world.  I’ve seen double rainbows arched over mountains while dark clouds rolled through the sky and the desert turned a blazing gold. I have been stunned speechless by the splendor of red and rich orange skies and awed by the way fiery details are etched into the edges of clouds as the sun departs the expansive sky.  Sunsets are breath-taking, amazing gifts from God.

On one of the worst days at that time, I was sitting outside on my Mum's patio smoking cigarettes as fast as I could light them and railing at God for not fixing my marriage.  (Don’t worry.  I don’t smoke anymore.)           

I yelled at Him.  “Why won't You fix this! Where are You? Are You even listening to me? I'm giving up, just like Martin!"

Yes, I had everything planned out. I was ready. A bunch of pills, a bottle of vodka, a drive up to the mountains, and then... just fall asleep. No more Linda. It was a relief.

Then, there was a voice right beside me as I sat watching my last sunset.        

"How would you feel, My Child, if sunsets ceased to exist?  If day went directly into darkness without the colorful transitions you so love?"                      

“That would be horrible!” I replied quickly.  “That's crazy. Why would You want to take something so amazing away?  They’re so astonishing and breath-taking. The world needs that kind of beauty. What a terrible idea! Don’t take them away.”            

Then He changed my life: "Linda, don't you know? You are so much more precious than a sunset.  If you were to take yourself away from this world, it would become a far darker place than if I took them away."       

Wow, right?

And that's a message for all of us. If you're at the end of your rope because you fell off the wagon again and drank yourself senseless yesterday, or slept with the wrong person again, or sold your body, or hurt others, or feel self-disgust, and anyone who just doesn't know how important you really are - you are precious and worthwhile.       

Of course, I didn’t allow this conversation to change my life too much.  Once I was on my feet again, I became that sharky, corporate monster I mentioned before.  Don’t blame me.  God’s the one who made me hard-headed.  But instead of pointing fingers, let’s get to the fun stuff.           

On September 16, 2012, I started hearing from God.  I thought, I’m not nuts.  I’m just a little batty.  Maybe I needed more B-12.

Years ago, my mother had given me one of my grandmother’s rosaries.  She’d carried it for a long time before passing it on to her cynical second daughter.  She told me that half of its links had turned gold when she’d taken an excursion to Conyers, Georgia where apparitions of our Holy Mother were taking place.  It was true.  Half of the links were gold.  How they got that way, I couldn’t have said.           

That rosary sat on my nightstand for at least ten years.  I rarely noticed it.  I almost never picked it up.  However, one fateful morning, I woke up, looked at it, and noticed that the rest of those links seemed to have also turned gold.  I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me.  Maybe it had always been gold, I argued with myself, and I just never noticed.  Nah, couldn’t be.  So God used my mother again. 

She’d given me another rosary that she picked up during her visit to the Vatican.  She purchased two; one for me and one for herself.  They were identical, and their links were both definitely silver.  That is, until mine turned gold.  When hers didn’t change, we took pictures in order to compare them and to assuage my fear that perhaps I was losing my eyesight.

ROUND ONE GOES TO GOD

I continued to have serious doubts, so God sent me a couple of “coincidences” using my mother yet again.  As you’ve probably guessed, my mom is a very holy, very knowledgeable, very cool individual.  People are naturally attracted to her, because she’s such an amazing person.  I can’t begin to list everything she does for the “Let’s Love God” initiative.  I can tell you that she adores priests.  She’s one of those ladies who spoils priests rotten with pies and cakes and all sorts of goodies. 

As it happens, one of the biggest coincidences came in the form of Fr. Ignatius.  He was in town for a day or two visiting some friends.  These folks were from my mom’s parish, and naturally, she was friends with them. They introduced her to Fr. Ignatius, and within the brief number of hours they spoke, she absolutely fell in love with him.  They kept in contact after he returned to Rome.           

This is important because, knowing that Ibuprofen wouldn’t help, my mom quickly referred me to Fr. Ignatius.  He and I emailed a few times, and I explained why I thought I’d gone nuts.  If I recall correctly, he "e-laughed" at me before proceeding to explain the notion of interior locutions. 

Oh!  I see.  God’s just talking to me.  Oh-kaaaay.            

Fr. Ignatius probably sensed the doubt in my words, but he didn’t try to convince me of anything.  He simply advised me to write everything down.  Herein came the journals.           

The first thing I heard – the message that kept spinning around in my head until I began to take God seriously – was this:

Prepare yourself and others, especially others.  Talk to others.  Be urgent. It is important that they take heed.  I love them.            

Between those words and rosaries turning gold, I was ready to totally wig out, so Fr. Ignatius encouraged me to talk to my pastor.           

Pastor?  What pastor?  I didn’t belong to any parish.  Now what?           

I live in a tiny town on Long Island.  It’s a gnat on a map of New York.  Nothing big.  There are three Catholic churches in close proximity to my house.  In other words, my choice was a crap shoot.  Hmmm, which one?  Our Lady of Lourdes?  Rose of Lima?  Maria Regina?  At least that explained why so many women around here were named Rose or Maria or Rosemarie.  The churches were all the same to me, so I closed my eyes, pointed my finger at the names, and went with the one that was closest to my grocery store.  I now had a parish to call my own.           

Off I went to Maria Regina to find myself a pastor.  When I got to the rectory, I was more than a little nervous.  Besides my mom and Iggie (Fr. Ignatius), I hadn’t told anyone about this interior locution situation. The woman in the office told me that the pastor was unavailable, but there was another nifty priest I could speak to, if I were so inclined.  I was definitely inclined.           

Poor Fr. Lawrence!  I must’ve been a hurricane to him.  First, I demanded that I give him my confession.  Next, as I eyed him, I demanded to know whether he believed in miracles.  He said that the world was filled with miracles, so I cut him off right quick.            “No!  I mean, miracle miracles!” 

I was almost shaking him by his collar.  He was taken aback, especially when I pushed my red rosary in his face. 

“See!  See!  This ain’t supposed to be gold!  It’s supposed to be silver!  And it changed.  And I’ve printed all of this stuff out!  And take these!  Read them!  Read them!” 

I talk fast when I’m excited.           

So went my first interaction with the wonderful and reverent Fr. Lawrence.  The whole situation was quite funny.  He was new to the cloth.  I was new to the parish.  I didn’t know what I was doing, and he didn’t know what to make of me.  I give him credit for his patience and open-mindedness.  I’d printed several pages to give to whichever holy wise man I encountered.  It was already October, so there were quite a few messages by then.  I explained to Fr. Lawrence what was going on as best as I could.  He listened.  I went on and on and on and on.  I also kept mentioning my “spiritual guidance counselor from Rome who is studying there.”  I must have mentioned Ignatius at least ten times during the exchange before actually saying his name.           

“Yeah, Fr. Ignatius?  He’s been totally helpful, you know?  He’s my spiritual guidance counselor from Rome who’s studying there.  He told me to….”  Blah, blah, blah, blah.           

Fr. Lawrence interrupted my extensive monologue.  “Father who?”           

“Iggie.  Fr. Ignatius, I mean.  My mom introduced us by email, so he could help me to not go crazy and figure things out.  He’s back in Rome right now, working on his PhD.  He has a big brain.  They met in Texas when he was visiting his friends.  He’s Nigerian."

Fr. Lawrence was staring at me like I’d donned a bat cape and put a slice of tomato on my head. I stopped talking again. 

“What?  What’s the matter?”           

“You say this Father was visiting Texas?  Do you know his last name?  Do you have his phone number?”           

I answered yes, yes, and yes.  Fr. Lawrence got on the horn, spoke with Fr. Ignatius, and confirmed everything I’d said.  He gave me another funny look.  It winds up that the two priests were not only from Nigeria, but they knew each other from neighboring towns back home! 

Yeah, what a coincidence.  How on earth can it be that my mom meets a Nigerian priest out of the blue, talks with him for a couple of hours at her parish that resides in a small town on the border of Mexico, and keeps in touch with him and who knows the one priest I accost in my own tiny town on Long Island, at a parish I chose by chance, and who used to be neighbors?

God was making progress with me.           

There was the time that God confirmed I was supposed to approach a specific priest.  God just lit him up like a white explosion and practically blinded me as I took Communion.  He sent two mourning doves to greet me on my front steps.  A confirmation of something He said.  Once, as I was driving down the parkway, God sent a hawk to do a fly by just above my windshield.  Hawks are my favorite animal.  If I had any doubts about who sent the bird, He made sure I knew.  All of a sudden, I began seeing crosses everywhere.  All of the telephone and electricity poles had horizontal bars that I’d never noticed before.  I saw cross after cross after cross. In cars, in stores, on buildings...it was mindboggling.           

Are you not buying it? 

Well, here are a few more stories that will prove, without a doubt, that God has a sense of humor.           

I like endives.  I’m not a fruit and vegetables fan, so my desire to eat them at all is a miracle in its own right.  Most grocery stores have small bins to hold stuff like green onions, parsley, ginger roots, and sprouts.  My store also puts endives in these little bins.  I was shopping one afternoon and debating what to make for dinner.  I’m not imaginative when it comes to cooking, but I try.  As I was perusing the veggie section, the bin of endives lit up like someone had put a spotlight on it.  None of the other bins were highlighted.  The sun was coming directly through the store’s entry and was hitting the bin of endives with pinpoint accuracy.  That was crazy.  What could I do?  I picked a few of the choicest endives, said thank-you, and moved on.  Out of sheer curiosity, I looked back a few seconds later.  The light had disappeared.  Hmmm.           

There was the time He put the reflection of a cross on my wedding ring.  That was pretty amazing, given that my hands are always moving.  I was sitting at Mass and glanced down at my ring.  There on the face of the stone was a perfect cross.  The light fixtures sit high towards the ceiling in our church.  They’re like long cylinders decorated with small crosses.  That’s where the image originated.  It was a reflection.  I’ve tried many times since then to align my ring with the lights again to see if I can capture a cross, and let me tell you, it ain’t easy.            

Here’s another funny story for you.  God’s got a great sense of timing.  That November, my husband and I took our holiday in Europe.  We were in Amsterdam, and that evening we were both very irritated with each other.  We walked through the cobblestone streets of the city, grouching at one another rather heatedly.  Just as I was very seriously thinking about kicking him, a truck moved forward and revealed a tall building that I hadn’t noticed before.  No big deal, right?  It wouldn’t have been, except that on the very top of the building in huge, bright blue neon letters were the words:  JESUS LOVES YOU.  I couldn't have been more surprised if God had dropped a water balloon on my head.            Are all these examples coincidences?  Some folks would say so.  My husband does, but there are no coincidences when it comes to God.  I’ve learned that.  He has kept every single promise He’s made to me since Day 1.  I can point to things from the first journals to show this.  So yes, I now absolutely believe that what is happening is real.  I've been given the tangibles.  

DISCERNMENT

In spite of my absolute faith in God and the truth of His messages, note that they have not yet been given an official affirmation of the Catholic Church.  Two years ago, I contacted the bishop of our local diocese by email.  Bishops are pretty busy people.  His eventual reply was, in summary, “Carry on."           

Technically, you could say that the Church is “aware” that I am receiving God’s messages and that they’re being published here and on the website, but for me, long term, it’s not going to be enough.  I don’t worry though.  God will do what needs to be done as He sees fit.  My understanding is that formal affirmation is a long process, and it doesn't happen often.  I’ll likely have to be dead first.  For insurance, I’ve gathered a fine ring of professionals to help me.  That is, a number of good priests.  I am fortunate that my pastor is a truly humble and spiritual man, as are the priests who serve at our parish.  Fr. Ignatius continues to help me, although I have a different spiritual advisor now who is very familiar with interior locution and the implications associated with prophecy.  There are other priests providing their insight and wisdom about the messages.  They make sure that nothing in them goes against Scripture or the tenets of the Church.  They’d sound the alarm if that was the case.  They constantly encourage me to pray for discernment.  I’ll ask you to do the same.           

In order to keep from being influenced by the news, I no longer watch it, nor do I read anything in the papers or online.  I only hear about very dated news, and it’s usually by chance when someone references something that happened several weeks prior.  I’m largely clueless and quite dull when it comes to conversation.  As much as I’d love to, I do not read or listen to the prophecies of other "seers," including the messages from Fatima, Garabandal, and the like.  I avoid reading certain books about prophecies as well.  This is to keep external ideas from breaching my spiritual clarity, for better or worse.  My brain and heart have to be as clean as possible for God and His words.  Discernment is tough enough, because we’re already drawn to the worldly stuff we encounter.  When people ask me how they should go about discerning whether something is true or false, this is what I say:

• Always pray.  The Holy Spirit is the perfect guide for discernment.  Sometimes you have to be still to hear the answers, but He'll let you know when something smells fishy.  If something is niggling in the back of your mind or in your heart, pay attention.  You’re likely being told to help this person or do that for that person.  Sometimes it’s a warning telling you not to believe what you’re hearing or to get away from something else.  When you pray a lot, it’s easier to hear the Holy Spirit.

• Read the Bible. It will give you a stronger understanding of Scripture.  Read it with a prayerful mind and heart.  It’s a tremendous guide.  Jesus has a lot to teach us, and it’s all there in one great book.  If you want to get to Heaven, follow Jesus.  Want to learn about Jesus, read the Bible. 

• Pundits. Question everything you hear or read from religious pundits, regardless of who they are and what they claim to be. There are, and will continue to be, a lot of people trying to mislead us.  Don’t believe blindly.  Know Scripture.  It’s the safest bet.

• Pride. If anyone insists that they have all the correct answers regarding the path to Jesus and/or insists that you follow them in order to get there, question their motives.  There’s a fine line between bringing people to God and claiming you’ll bring people to God if they follow you.  As an extreme, consider Jonestown and the people who were so terribly manipulated by one man.

• Bullies. If someone quotes passages from within the Bible while ignoring the context or omitting parts of verses in order to accommodate their specific interpretations or accusations, don’t rely on them.  Be wary of people who pick and choose lines and verses indiscriminately in order to mislead you. A lot of times they do this to launch attacks against those who are genuinely wise, prayerful, God-centered people. Dig deep and be careful about what you hear.  Do your own homework.  Constantly pray to God for discernment.  He won’t let you down.

• Scriptures Don't Change. If anyone tries to add to or change Scripture, run!  God has given us all we need to know in Jesus and His words.  If someone says something against Scripture or goes against the doctrine of the Church (I'm Catholic), and perhaps even goes so far as to deny they're doing it, that's not a good sign. 

• Obedience. If anyone deliberately disobeys the Church, that's not a good sign.  I know obedience will never be perfect, but you get the gist.

• If a person tries to convince you that a sin isn't a sin, or that it’s not a big deal, because everyone else is okay with it, don’t give in.  We are persistently told to "get with the times,” but God’s standards can’t be changed based on the whims of society.  Like I said before, no one wants to hear that what we’re doing is a sin.  It takes strength not to sin.  It doesn’t mean it’s our job to go around judging people; it means we can't condone sin or support it or celebrate it.  No one said being a Christian was easy.  We’ve got to keep our eyes on the goal – Heaven. And we have to help others by proclaiming the truth.

• Loving God. If someone laughs at you and says you’re a “holy roller,” give them a big smile.  I believe this kind of “accusation” is meant to insult and demean Christians in order to make us shy away from talking about God.  It’s meant to embarrass us enough that we stop showing our love for Jesus freely and publicly.  There’s nothing like societal peer pressure to make you keep your mouth shut, right?  Be loud.

  
  

 Logistics           

There are a few things you’ll need to know regarding the format of this site.  First of all, any pieces that were originally taken out of the transcriptions, specifically messages I couldn’t share at the time (or those that cannot be shared now), will be replaced with asterisks ****.  Otherwise the flow gets broken in most cases.  Fortunately, you won’t see too many asterisks as you read.           

The comments I make for clarification purposes will be in regular type.  When I am talking to God and asking Him questions, my voice will be reflected in bold print.  God’s messages are always written in italics.  Often, you will see the word “or” between words and phrases.  He sometimes gives me multiple words in order to be very clear about a message.  I believe human languages (and my vocabulary) are far too limited to adequately express what needs to be said.  I also mentioned before that as time has gone on, I’ve had to use the word BIG or BIGNESS to convey the depth and strength and feeling of His Love.  He is just too awesome for us to grasp, and capital lettering doesn’t even scrape the bottom of the barrel.           

In 2014, I began receiving what people believe are prophecies.  For the most part, I have been able to share them. They come across as messages within the messages.  That is the best way I can explain it.  When those appear, they will be italicized in bold print, like this.           

That’s all there is for the format part.  I hope I have prepared His messages in such a way that those of you who read them will understand what God is saying.  I know how hard it is to believe that God would do anything this "tangible" in times like these when we’re so "advanced."  We read the Bible and maybe ponder what we believe are mere allegories (like the prophets running around hearing from God and getting instructions on how to build an altar).  And even if He did talk to people way back then, why on earth would God talk to anyone now?  That’s a good question.  Especially now. 

When you look at our world, it’s definitely something serious to think about.           

I urge you to read these messages with prayer and an open heart.  It is so important to love God and to follow His instructions.  He loves us deeply.  More than you can ever understand.  Trust in Him.  And don’t be afraid of what you read.  He will always take care of us, especially when times get tough.  That being said, I believe it is now appropriate to say God bless you.