The Making of a Prophet
First of all, one doesn't make oneself a prophet. Well, you can go to the school of the prophets, but that doesn't make you a prophet. Prophets are ordained by God way back before the creation of the world. They are appointed a certain time to be born. They are given a certain body to dwell in. Their names are predetermined. They have a choice to do as they please, but God already knows what they're going to do. God already knows that most of his prophets are going to make a lot of mistakes, argue with him, and even fail. But God also knows that they will have a lot of faith. Some even have love. Love for God and love for their fellow man. Some also have a high degree of carnal love, and lust after the things of this world. But they all know God. Some discover who they are at a young age. Some in their middle years. Some are quite old before discovering who they are. I'm still trying to figure out who I am. But I know one thing. I am a unique man of God. At times my faith is overwhelming. At times it's pretty puny. Sometimes my heart is full of Love, sometimes anger and hatred. But I never ask myself, "Is there a god?" I guess that was why I was an atheist for about seven years and an agnostic for another seven. Been there, done that. I got it out of my system. One thing that is different about prophets is that God seems to deal with them outside of the law. They don't seem to be under the same rules as everyone else. They are not your everyday Sunday Christian, or Sabbath day Jew. They seem to be the teacher's pet, so to speak. God's favorite children. Like Joseph was to Jacob, so was Jacob to God. Romans 9:13, "As it is written, Jacob have I loved, but Esau have I hated." This is what usually gets them into trouble, not with God, but with everyone else. Their friends, if they have any, and their wives, if they can keep one. Their children don't understand them either, and they usually turn away from God. Being a prophet is such fun. But there is going to "be weeping and gnashing of teeth, when ye shall see Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, and all the prophets, in the kingdom of God, and you yourselves thrust out." Leave us alone and listen to what we have to say. We're only trying to warn you and help you get right with God. We're not the ones making things happen, we're just the messengers. Well, most of the time. Sometimes we get upset and call fire down from heaven in a rage of faith, or ask God to open the ground up from beneath, or send a flood. And God does it. But it's not supposed to be our will, but God's will be done. Like God said, "Touch not mine anointed, and do my prophets no harm." You don't want to mess with one of God's prophets without a cause. Sometimes we have it coming. And God will use people to give us a whippen. Sometimes we get sicker than a dog. Most of the time we're pretty broke. God knows how to keep our attention. But I wouldn't trade being a prophet for all the tea in China. Isn't God good? God has shown me so many secrets in his word. And God has done so many miracles for me. And when you pray for someone and God immediately heals them, there's nothing like it. Like I said, God is so good. You don't mind spending the night in jail when you announce in the presence of thirty prisoners that you're a prophet and someone calls your hand. That's when God answers your prayer and the guy who says, "If you're a #@$#%^& prophet why don't you pray that God would get me the #%$#@ out of this jail house. And the next afternoon he walks out a free man, with you at his side. It's so good. I think I have a pretty good idea about how the Old Testament Prophets got into so much trouble. When God starts showing you things, it's like a voice in your head, usually your own, that starts saying all kind of incredible things. They all seem like absolute truth. Stuff just starts popping into your head. All the things that come to you seem like they're happening right now. Lots of times, when you try to tell someone else, they misunderstand what you say. Some of the things happen right now, and some don't. Of course, the things that don't happen get you in trouble. Then a couple of years later they happen. It's almost as though you see past, present, and future all at the same time. You start telling everybody what comes to your mind as though it's happening right now. God will do some miracle to let you know that you're in the zone, but you end up getting kicked out of church anyway. Then you go lick your spiritual wounds. Your wife is madder than a hornet. Your kids act like they never knew you. Sometimes you clam up tighter than a clam. You might not say anything for a couple of years. Then you do some fasting and praying and all your old prophesies and visions start coming back, brighter and clearer than ever. And you're like, here we go again. Let me give you an example. In late summer of 2002, I only have a couple of private students, and a lot of free time on my hands. I start driving out to Site Maverick(back side of Fort Huachuca) every day. I walk for miles praying and reading the Word of God. It's been about two weeks now and it is early Sunday morning. I'm supposed to be preaching at ten that morning over at Brother Joe Janowski's house. It's about nine and I'm about two miles north of my car. I start walking back up the mountain road to the car. All of a sudden I start seeing that the desert fields are full of three foot high grass that is ripe unto harvest. I take pictures of it. Yes, for some reason I brought my digital camera with me. I then see something move at my feet and I stop. I look as hard as I can but cannot see anything. I kneel down and it moves again. It's a horn toad and its pale orange skin blends in exactly with the sandy dirt trail. I lean my head down to the ground and look him in the eye. His breathing is very nervous. I catch him off guard and scoop him up in my hand. He is so scared. I begin talking to him. It's ok, I won't hurt you. Calm down. It was almost like one of us in the presence of God. After a few more words, and before he decides to spit blood in my eyes, I put him back down and let him scurry off. I continue up the trail. Then we get to the paved part. Then we come to the turnoff back into the Site Maverick picnic area. This goes back off the pavement to dirt and gravel.

I've been talking to the Lord the whole time and not paying much attention to where I'm going and I think the verse, "Put off thy shoes from thy feet: for the place where thou standest is holy ground." The verse comes to my mind again. This time it sounds like the voice of the Lord and I answer back, "Is it you Lord?" Ok, I'll take off my shoes. I get down and take of my hiking boots and socks and leave them there. I start walking towards my car. It's still a good hundred yards away, and I'm thinking I'm going to step on stickers and broken glass. But to my amazement, no stickers and no cuts. As I'm walking it occurs to me that the ground is not holy per say, but it is made holy by my feet walking on it. I am the temple of God and where I walk is holy ground. I make it to my car. I take some pictures of my shoes back where I left them. As I drive over to my shoes I stop and take some more pictures. When I get to my shoes a voice says "Wherever you walk with bare feet, I will give you those people." I say, "Lord, do you want me to walk back to town with my bare feet?" The voice answers back, "No, keep driving and I will show you where to walk." I put my shoes in the passenger's side of the front seat and begin driving. When I get to the Billeting turnoff the voice says turn here. I drive down to the Officers Club and go down to the pond. It is almost all dried up. Kind of like the church. I walk up to the edge and mud goes out about ten feet before it gets to the water. A voice says walk out into the mud. I walk out in the mud thinking I'm going to step on some fish hooks and lures. I get out about five feet and look to the left down to the other end of the pond about two hundred feet away. When I do, I am reminded of the two big fish that I caught with my two step kids about fifteen years earlier. One was called a red-ear sun fish. I mean this thing had to be a record breaker. And the other was a large bass. About thirteen inches long. Immediately I sense that these two fish are my stepchildren and that they will be saved.

Let me explain a little about these two fish. We had been fishing for several hours and had no luck. Just a couple of throw back blue gills. We had brought a couple of Styrofoam cups full of worms, red jumpers and some night crawlers. It was getting late and the sun had gone down. My wife wanted to go home but Michelle, Jonathan and I wanted to stay. Finally it was so dark I couldn't even see, but broke off a piece of the last night crawler and slid it onto the hook purely by feel. I cast it in and got a hit. It was big. We all shouted and screamed. I pulled it in and it was huge. I put the last piece of worm on the hook, again by feel, and cast it in. Boom, another hit. It was real big and I reeled it in. Another huge fish. When we got to the car and could see with the light we were all amazed. Especially that sun fish. I know the bass wasn't huge, but compared to what we had been catching all day it seemed like a whale. :-) These two fish had been right under our noses the whole afternoon. Finally when it was too dark to see they figured it was safe to come out. They had been hiding in some thick bull rushes just in front and to the left of us. Because we fished and fished, even until it was too dark to see, we got the catch of a lifetime. Especially that red ear. It was bright golden yellow with a very bright red spot on its side. Almost looked like its eye, but it was a small eye shaped fin. We'll never forget that catch. I'm sure you can read all the spiritual implications into what just happened.

Anyway, I get back into the car, drive back into town and turn north on North Ave. As I'm going north I realize that Johnny and Michelle are just one block to the left of me. I turn over to the house and when I get out of my car there is some large pod full of seeds right at my feet. I pick it up and watch the large seeds as they blow off in the wind. They had some kind of thin membrane on them that made them airborne very easily. I have to let myself in the house because Michelle is asleep on the couch. Johnny is back in his room asleep. I go back to his room and he is in bed with some girl, both under the cover naked. I lean over and kiss Johnny on the cheek. I tell him I want him to do me a favor. I go back out to the living room. Michelle is now awake. When Johnny comes out I tell them both I want them to go to Hastings and get me a CD of the Beatles singing "All We Need Is Love," and Simon and Garfunkle's "Just Like a Bridge Over Troubled Water."

I then leave and begin my drive toward Joe Janowski's house. The route takes me right in front of the United Pentecostal Church, I stop and go into the church and take a picture. I leave and start walking over to the St. Paul Missionary Baptist Church. Some young man comes running over to me from the UPC church, but I dismiss him and keep going to the Baptist Church. I walk in the church and they are all singing. I go around the congregation and straight up to the pulpit area. The pastor and elders are all standing and clapping their hands. I go straight to Pastor Buckannon and kiss him on the cheek. I whisper in his ear. Give me your shoes. He says maybe their the wrong size. I say what size are they? He says ten and a half. I say, "that is just fine." He uses his feet to remove the loafers while still standing and clapping his hands and singing. I slip my feet into his shoes and walk out the church on the opposite side that I came in. I get in the car and drive to Brother Joe's house. They are starting testimony service and have been singing some songs. I had told my wife to tell Brother Don to start service in case I didn't get back in time. I then took over the service and began preaching. I kept my preaching short and told everyone to come with me over to St. Paul Missionary Baptist Church. I needed to give back Pastor Buckannon his shoes. We all went over and one of the elders brought the message. It was right on. I can't remember what it was right now, but it was right on. When I tried to give the pastor back his shoes he wouldn't let me in his office. He had a couple of deacons guarding his door. They actually call them the Sergeants at Arms. A doorkeeper in the church. So I left the shoes and went on my way. Many other things happened that morning but I'm too tired to write about them. Ah, there is a spider crawling up the side of my monitor. Better take a break. We're back now. I drove over to see if Buckannon was at the church, but he was out. A young lady invited me to come tomorrow, Sunday, and I could then talk with the Pastor. I went home and checked my computer there to see if I had written anything back then about the experience. I couldn't find anything. I laid down for a few minutes and began thinking back to September 2002. I could see the church and the preacher. I knew it had something to do with trials and suffering. Something to do with wine and oil. Then it came to me. Wine, oil, and perfume. And God wants to get the wine, oil, and perfume out of us, but he can't do it unless we're willing to be crushed. When I came back through Yuma from San Marcos, on the twenty-first day of my fast, I stopped by my old home Church, Pentecostal Temple. Sister Morrison was preaching. It was missionary day, or something like that. The pastor, Carl Nevels Jr. was out of town. I was bare foot. When an alter call was given, I went up and asked Sis. Morrison for the mike. She gave it to me. I began preaching that we were all like a bunch of big fat grapes. A bunch of big, fat, black olives. All about ready to go rotten on the vine. That God can't use us until we are willing to be crushed. When the Good Samaritan met the man who had been robbed and left for dead on the road to Jericho, he was able to help the man. Probably because he had himself been in a similar situation. The Priest and the Levite were like big fat grapes and olives about ready to rot. But the Samaritan had compassion (perfume) and bound up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine, and set him on his own beast, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him. When the Samaritan came along he probably said, "Been there, done that." And was able to help. Who among us is willing to be robbed, stripped of his raiment, wounded, and left for dead? Maybe God can then use us to help someone else. This is what happened to Jesus. Maybe that's why he can help us? A couple of years later I went back to visit pastor Buckannan. We talked about when I interrupted his service and he told me that I didn't know the half of it. He said that when he started service, before I came in, he had told the congregation that he would be willing to help anyone in need. That he would give them the shirt off his back. Then he said that he would be willing to give anything to someone in need except his shoes. He wouldn't part with his shoes. Five minutes later I walk in the door, go straight to him and ask him for his shoes. Can you believe this? Is this mind blowing or what? The chances of this happening are one in a trillion. More like impossible. BTW, Brother Buckannan is a black man and his congregation is a black congregation. I'm white. It's when things like this happen that I know that I'm right smack dab in the middle of God's will. God is so good. You see what I mean? So much for a day in the life of a prophet.

I went over to St. Paul today for Sunday School and Church. It was good. But Mr. Forest, the Sunday School teacher, brings a lesson on teaching. It was good. But, he starts saying that we're all teachers and every church member is qualified to correct his brother, or sister. About ten minutes before he had asked the question, "Is the pastor a teacher?" There are several opinions. I finally offer, "the scripture says that God gave a fivefold ministry. Some apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors and some teachers. So obviously there are some appointed the ministry of being a teacher. The scripture also says that one of the qualifications of a being a bishop(pastor) is that he be able to teach." When Mr. Forest starts talking about everybody being a teacher he uses the verse out of Matthew 28:19, "Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost:" I ask him, who was Jesus talking to? He says to his disciples, but he meant it for everyone. That's why I can't go to church. The man was wrong. Jesus was giving orders to his chosen apostles to go and teach and baptize. This commission is not to very many people. It's not everybody's job to go around correcting everyone else. That's a good way to start a lot of trouble. God has put apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors, and teachers in the church, Eph 4:12, "For the perfecting of the saints, for the work of the ministry, for the edifying of the body of Christ:" This is not everybody's job. Most people are not qualified, nor have a life style, to admonish everyone else. You see what I mean?
This is why I can't go to church. I would get into an argument every time with some teacher or pastor. And I tried pastoring for about five years and that is not my calling either. I'm not an evangelist, nor an apostle. I am a teacher, but I'm supposed to be teaching ministers, and pastors.

It sure is a good thing it started raining about two weeks ago. Just when I started typing things in the apostolic section of my web site. Because even with the rain it is hot! I believe that there is global warming going on and it's not just man made. God said, Deut. 32:22, "For a fire is kindled in mine anger, and shall burn unto the lowest hell, and shall consume the earth with her increase, and set on fire the foundations of the mountains." Jesus was a witness to this, Luke 12:49, "I am come to send fire on the earth; and what will I, if it be already kindled?"

BTW, Remember the answer that was given to me out of God's word to a question that I asked him point blank after three days of serious praying? Revelation 10;11, "And he said unto me, Thou must prophesy again before many peoples, and nations, and tongues, and kings." This answer which was the beginning of a complete change in my christian life for the past thirteen years is being fulfilled right now with you reading this internet posting. It never dawned on me before until about a week ago that my internet site was actually fulfilling the prophecy. In February of 2001, God revealed to me the timeline in the book of Revelation. He also showed me that the seven thunders were the angels pouring out the seven last vial judgments in response to the commands of the two witnesses in Jerusalem.

I thought at that time, that that negated my earlier belief that the seven thunders were seven end time christian prophets. But, when fasting in 2002, I realized that the seven thunders had a double meaning. Almost all, if not all scripture has a double, triple, or even more meaning. Someone told me about two years ago that the Jews believe there are seven levels of meaning to the Word of God. I would not be a bit surprised. Let's take the seventy weeks that are mentioned in Daniel Chapter Nine. First, Daniel understands by studying books, and the writings of Jeremiah, that God has taken Israel into captivity for seventy years. Then God reveals to Daniel that there are seventy weeks that must be fulfilled. But these weeks are weeks of years. Four hundred and ninety years. And they are divided up into three parts. The first forty-nine years, the next four-hundred and thirty-four years, and then the seven last years. Seventy years becomes seventy weeks and the seventy weeks are actually four hundred and ninety years. And I believe that there are actually seven times seven, times seventy, plus seventy days of years until it is all fulfilled with the battle of Armageddon. Three thousand five hundred years from the starting point.

I also believe in that a thousand years are as a day, and a day as a thousand years with God. I believe, like many people that Jesus will return after two thousand years. But where many of us messed up was that the two thousand years did not begin with the birth of Christ, but with his death. So we are looking more at 2033, until the return of Christ. And this is probably talking about the battle of Armageddon, not the rapture of the church. So, take away three and a half years from that. The year 2030, would be more like it. Of course, whose calendar are we going to go by? It came to my mind that I would live to the age of seventy seven years, seven months, and seven days. This will probably coincide with the day of Pentecost, in the year 2024. At that time the earth's population with reach 7,777,777,777, and God will rapture 777,777,777, saints out of this world, about 100 million out of each of the seven churches of Asia(the word). But it's not going to happen if some major things don't take place. Calling on the name of the Lord is not the plan of salvation. Romans 10:13, "For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved." This is not the New Testament plan of salvation. I'm sorry, I wish it was. But it isn't. Peter quoted that Old Testament verse from Joel on the day of Pentecost. Acts 2:21, "And it shall come to pass, that whosoever shall call on the name of the Lord shall be saved." But seventeen verses later, Peter gave the New Testament plan of salvation. Acts 2:38, "Then Peter said unto them, Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins, and ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost." This was, and still is the plan of salvation. Verse thirty-nine clarifies this. "For the promise is unto you, and to your children, and to all that are afar off, even as many as the Lord our God shall call." The verse from Joel is actually speaking of the battle of Armageddon, and whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be delivered at that time. It is not speaking of eternal, spiritual salvation. It is speaking of being delivered, at that particular moment in time, from certain physical death. How do I know this. Because I am a man of God. For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth; to the Jew first, and also to the Greek.

Where are my brothers, the Seven Stars, the Seven end-time Prophets?

Anyone who is reading this posting probably has no idea just how blessed they are. For verily I say unto you, That many prophets and righteous men have desired to see those things which ye see, and have not seen them; and to hear those things which ye hear, and have not heard them. Ye are a chosen generation. This is the chosen generation. But ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. This is the end. This is the time to get right with God.

But alas, it will probably be another ten years before anything happens. Before people become desperate enough to turn to God with all their heart. before you, my reader, are pricked in your heart and ask, brother, what must I do to be saved? In the mean time I will continue to type so that something might get through to you.

Back in the summer of 2002, an new owner took over the trailer court where I live. His name is Michael Cairns. I had just come back from my dad's funeral, July the 3rd, and was writing a thank you note to an individual who had given me some gas money. Mike knocked, rather banged on my door, came in, and told me I had ninety days to get my trailer and sheds off of his property. He was very belligerent, about the whole thing. I had no where to go, neither the money to move. I told him we could work something out. His dad came over with the same attitude. I told him I had some rights and they couldn't just kick me out. He told me I had no rights, but we could work something out. He would increase my rent by $95.00 a month and I could stay. Things and people in the trailer court got worse and worse and Mike would take it out on me. He told me I had to tear down all my sheds, and get rid of my fences, and paint my trailer white, and get rid of my Apostolic Fellowship sign in the window, and on and on. He said the city was going to fine him because my sheds were in violation of city code. I submitted a plan to the city whereby I would tear down my smaller shed, remove some of my fences and fix up my remaining shed, in exchange for a clear compliance. They agreed. A couple of months later Mike tells me to tear down my remaining shed. I tell him I have a letter from the city approving my current condition. He says he doesn't care, he wants my shed out, and other changes made, and he's still very belligerent.

This is what has happened to Mike. He has lost the trailer court. He had to sell it, and he has not received any money for it. He sold off the west half of the court, fifty trailers, and kept the east half. He could not maintain the east half. The city made him tear down ten of those trailers. He has ten more that are currently being torn down. The three remaining trailers that surrounded his living quarters, that he was renting out, burned down two weeks ago. Last fall his girl friend even came begging money from me so they could put gas in their truck. She never paid me back. I told her later to forget about it. Mike and his girl friend are totally ruined. Back in 2002, when they took over, they rented trailers to terrible tenants. Drug dealers, alcoholics, illegals, thieves, and prostitutes. They would keep us up all hours of the night. My wife told me that we needed to move. I told her I wasn't going to move because I wasn't the one making all the trouble. I was the one person living for God. Why should I move? Well, here it is several years later. Mike lost the trailer court, everyone else except me has been evicted for the past year, and I'm still living in the same old trailer, with my old shed. The new owners can't get approved by the state for money to tear down the trailer court and build their new apartments. A couple of months ago I'm sitting in our living room talking to my wife and it dawns on me what has happened. That God has repaid Mike for his evil treatment of my wife and me. That he has kicked out all of the evil tenants that kept my wife and me up all night. And he has paid back the city for making me stop my Apostolic Fellowship services which we offered in our trailer. The city desperately wanted the trailer court torn down two years ago with new apartments up a year ago, so they could get more tax money and improve the appearance of the city. And at present, it looks like my wife and I will probably be living in our trailer, in an empty, condemned trailer court, for yet another year. Isn't God good? He is always letting me know that he is in control, that he knows exactly where I live. 7/7/08

Prophets are not stupid. We may be ignorant, and sometimes just as carnal minded as the next guy, but if anyone reading this article thinks that Enoch, Daniel, Jeremiah, Solomon, Moses, David, Isaiah, the Apostle Paul, or Dr. Luke, were anything but brilliant, well, you're the one that's not too brilliant. When a prophet is linked into the mind of God, some of it rubs off. I mean some of God's intelligence gets left in our minds, not the other way around. ;-) I think a lot of educated people believe that a good old apostolic, Jesus Name, tongue talking, holy roller, must be a few french fries short of a happy meal. Some of them may be, but not the real deal. God's chosen few have the real truth. Sometimes that truth is how to live holy and love your enemies. Usually if a person knows more than that it gets in their way of living for God. And usually the smarter someone gets, the more they become their own God. Like a good friend of mine whose name was Bob Bryant. A brilliant individual who had tested 168 on an I.Q. test while in his teens. I once asked him why he didn't believe in God. He corrected me and said that he did believe in God. And he knew that his ability to understand things as well as he did, came from God. But he told me he didn't believe in a God who needed to be worshipped by his creation. That God was above that. He said that just to mention the guttural sound of the word God, was to insult the greatness of God. He said he made a deal with God at a young age. The deal was, he would stay out of God's backyard if God would stay out of his." I think I would have to say that they both pretty much kept their end of the bargain. God did give Bob another chance before he died by sending me to witness to him. It did not convert Robert Bryant, who died in January of 2004, from lung cancer. He smoked pretty much all his natural life. He will probably continue to smoke for the rest of eternity, it just won't be cigarettes.

My carnal minded Intelligence quota is somewhere around 145. At times, with the help of God, it's off the charts. On a bad day, it's about 130. I remember asking Bob why he fasted, and he said sometimes he just got too involved in a project to think about eating. I realized while in the middle of one of my own fasts, that Bob's own intelligence had to do with his fasting. He had never told me before, nor probably anyone else, that he went without food, sometimes for extended periods. I just knew, because I could spiritually discern it. When I asked him, he did not answer, "how did you know?" It was like we had talked about it on many occasions before. He no doubt could discern the same thing about me.

God is so good. One day, while in the spirit, I attended a psychic fair. Can you believe it? A psychic fair? I thought I would have some spiritual fun, so to speak. I remember something that God revealed very clearly to me while talking to the head warlock. I said, "without choice there is no love." This is incredibly profound because it is the reason for all existence. We are a matrix. But we exist in a real, three dimensional spatial plane. There was a time when we existed only in the mind of God. We played out our lives from the beginning of creation to the end, even though we had not yet been created. Even after seeing all the evil, perverted, desperately wicked hearts of men, and the rebellion of Lucifer, and Intelligence of George Bush, he still decided to create us. Because God is love and he wanted others to experience the same thing. There can be no love without choice. I asked one of the wickens the question, "Who could love God more, us or an Angel? I asked this question to a group of pastors at a prayer meeting. Some thought the angels could. Others didn't know. I said it was a no brainer. Of course I can love God more than his angels. Even Jesus said there is no greater love than this, "that a man lay down his life for his friends." When was the last time you heard about an angel going on a fast, or losing a loved one, or begging God for power over some carnal desire? When did you ever hear about the angels having to believe in a God who's glory they could not see? I can love God more than an angel because I can be forgiven more. Angels were created perfect, without sin. I was born in sin with strong sinful passions of greed, willing to lie and steal and do all manner unjust things to satisfy my fleshly desires. Angels don't have to deal with that. Angels don't have to overcome the flesh to live for God. That is why God is mindful of man. Because man can love God more than any other creature. That is why God chose to father a human being, not a dog, or a gorilla, or an angel, to bring his divine presence into his creation. He chose to set us free from sin through the Man Christ Jesus. Not the Holy Cow, Jesus Christ. God's bride is the Body of Christ, which is the saved of humanity. God has chosen us out of all his creation to be his bride because of our love for Him and His love for Us. He is making us in His image. That's why salvation is more than stepping off of a sidewalk curb onto the street. It's more than just calling on the name of the Lord. It is a total transformation from the carnal man into being a New Creature. From being a great big fat green, tomato caterpillar, to being a beautiful butterfly. 7/8/08

My older brother, Dr. Lloyd Henry Marlowe was a genius. He came up with the idea of genetic engineering in the fall of 1968. He was working at Harvard University, hired to be in charge of the computers of the psychology department. He received his master and doctor degrees from Brown University. His adviser was Dr. Donald Blough. I went back to Providence in the summer of 1966, and did some work for the psychology department at Brown University. I developed some subroutines, using my brother's command-line programming language, for controlling the movement of a prism in some color discrimination experiments with pigeons. We were using one of seven LINC-7 computers. These computers were strategically located throughout the United States at major universities. It was pretty heady stuff at the time. The computers were unique because they were actually hooked up to external hardware. At that time most computers were huge IBM main frame number crunchers.
The Link computers were designed to run experiments, keep track of incoming data, and analyze the data. Our experiments controlled the manipulation of a prism, to slightly alter the color of light being sent through a fiber optic cable into a highly controlled environment. The environment was some times referred to as a Skinner Box. This is where a pigeon would peck at a key with a certain matching color to receive some food. Yes, pigeons had to work for a living too. I believe Dr. Blough is still doing work in this area. I also designed, built, and wrote an instructional manual for a special Skinner Box, designed to teach freshman classes in psychology. It was a very special summer. Scot Blue, who liked the art of Paul Klee, and hated the music of Rachmaninoff, suggested I might like the music of Jean Sibelius. He was right. I burned out his Halogen desk lamp twice. I denied it both times. He was not happy with me. I was not happy with me. I was not living for God at that time.
The reason I bring up my brother is because in the fall of 1968, he had a vision whereby using laser light he could alter the molecular structure of DNA to control human evolution. In other words, change our bodies, the color of our eyes, suppress certain diseases, etc. Nowadays this is taken for granted. He was one of the first, at least in this country, to charter this territory now called genetic engineering. He was assuming the position of God. He was going to control the development of Human Life, genetically. He did not succeed.

My brother became an atheist while in high school and he also persuaded me to become an atheist at the tender age of thirteen. You know, God didn't make man, man made God. He was able to point out all of the hypocrisy in the churches that we attended and even in the lives of our own parents. Actually my brother was right to a certain extent, man made churches with their own man made Gods. Only thing is, there was a real God watching all this. Because of my brother's great intelligence, and he was a master of tact, he was able to secure support for almost anything he wanted. He was able to end up in a position at Harvard where he could conduct the research he wanted. But finally he hit some snags. The department chair would not give Lloyd the financing he wanted, because he thought the research was morally questionable. The US Army came looking for him in the form of a draft notification. He split up with his wife so he could concentrate on his research. He completely alienated his parents because of this decision. He went a week without sleep, taping himself talk as it was revealed to him how to successfully engineer genetic change. He had a physical and mental break down from this. He had to cancel some major upcoming speaking engagements. My brother became very despondent, but being a master of tact, was able to hide this, even from those closest to him. He apparently jumped in front of a subway train as it came up at Cambridge Square. This was on Pearl Harbor Day, December 7th, 1968. Satan successfully destroyed my brother. Satan was probably not too happy with what he did, but that is the nature of Satan. He is desperately trying to take over humanity, and also destroying his best converts along the way. Ironic isn't it?

It was about 1995, that I realized how significant it was, my brother and me. We were almost like Ishmael and Isaac, or Jacob and Esau, two opposites coming out of the same womb. One carnal minded genius, and one full of faith in God. One after the world, and one according to the promise. Speaking of Ironic, it was because of my brother's suicide that I could not commit suicide. It was because of his death, that in 1974, when my own life was crumbling around me, and my heart was broken beyond repair, that I turned to God for help. I realized that I had three choices in front of me. Either commit suicide, go crazy, or turn to God. I couldn't commit suicide because I knew it would devastate my brothers, sisters, and parents. I was now the oldest off the children. I had to maintain a position of leadership. I had to set the example. I refused to go crazy. I instead turned to God. I turned to God with all my heart. I have been trying to get my mind and body up to the same level ever since. My brother turned me away from God and his death turned me back to God.

I was talking with my brother Walter and friend Jerry Costello about what would happen if someone cloned a human being. Would God be required to supply a spirit? I have a feeling the answer is no. This is probably what Satan has been waiting for, for the past six thousand years. Waiting for humans to prepare him with a human body that he can move into and have complete control. This could be the person who becomes the AntiChrist. A Satan filled clone. I told them, "At least it would make for a good movie." I would not be a bit surprised if there was already a human clone living somewhere in the world. 7/9/08
Prophets do weird things.

In the fall of 2002, I was moved to take this very old Korean stoneware Mortar, and Korean wood pestle, crush up some seeds of a very thorny weed, pour in some olive oil, red wine, perfume, and light the whole conglomeration. This was on the dining room table. It must have burned for at least a half an hour. I was looking at the flames, seated at the table, and saw my reflection in the mirror on the wall behind the other side of the table. The flame reflected on the lenses of my glasses where my eyes should have been. Immediately the verse came to my mind, Rev 2:18, "And unto the angel of the church in Thyatira write; These things saith the Son of God, who hath his eyes like unto a flame of fire, and his feet are like fine brass." I then knew that his eyes looked like fire because he was looking at something being destroyed by fire. I went outside after the fire burning exercise and walked around the large field of land to the north of my trailer court. This used to be where the railroad went through Sierra Vista, It forms an area from Canyon drive, one block west of 1st street, running down S. Railroad, east to 7th street, up one block to North Railroad and all the way back down to Canyon. The main north south street that divides the parcel is second street. I had walked down from second street to seventh, turned north, and confronted a young man walking toward me. I stopped him, pulled out my pocket Gideon Bible and turned to the aforementioned verse. "Behold, I will cast her into a bed, and them that commit adultery with her into great tribulation, except they repent of their deeds." I then told him that this verse was being fulfilled in his hearing. Immediately, and throughout the next three years there were numerous reports that surfaced about many of the priests in the Catholic Church being child molesters, or pedophiles. It has cost them millions, in dollars, in credibility, and in membership. I had been walking around this large parcel of land starting about a week before my fast. I continued to do so throughout my fast, when I was in town. It is an unusual piece of land, especially with the naming of the streets. North and South Railroad actually run east and west. They are on the north and south sides of the old railroad. I think the ties were still around when I moved here in 1981, but I can't remember the last time I saw them. The tracks went westward onto Fort Huachuca. I found out a couple of years ago that the building I'm sitting in right now used to be the train depot station about eighty years ago. No one else around here is aware of that fact. I'm in one of the oldest buildings in town.

When I first walked around the parcel of land bordered by the railroad streets, I noticed that someone had thrown a large bed mattress onto the area just inside the northeast corner. Every time I walked around that corner I would pick up a rock and toss it onto the mattress. It was a couple of weeks later that the fire burning event took place and the prophesy went forth right at that corner where I encountered the young man. Strange indeed, but God knows all.

I went to the pond at the Lakeside Officer's Club last weekend after writing about the incident that took place there. I walked up the old deer trail that I had walked up in the middle of the night. Even though it started raining here almost every day, beginning about two weeks ago, the pond was terribly dried up. Almost no water. The weeds and bull rushes, dried up mud, and junk that had been tossed into the lake, all left a very sad impression. Even the creek was still dried up. It made me think of the church. The church worldwide looks just like that pond and creek. A disgusting dried up mess. It pained me. I prayed silently, God, send the rain. Fill up this pond. Today, thick clouds rolled into town and up onto the Fort. I guess we'll see what happened when I go up in a few days. 7/10/09

I went to Providence, from my home in Tempe, to visit my brother Lloyd in the summer of 1966. There was supposed to be some work for me to at Brown University, and I eagerly awaited the experience. Up until after my two year stint in the Army(1969-1971) I was a very shy person. I was pretty much a loner, and still am. But it was more out of fear or something like that, that I remained to myself in my younger years. Now it’s because there are a lot things I like doing that require solitude. Composing, painting, computer programming, reading, writing, practicing the piano and the violin, and meditating; all these require a fair degree of isolation. I enjoy being alone, but I’m really never alone because the Lord is with me at all times. I talk to Him and praise Him regularly while painting or walking, playing the piano or writing, many times asking him for advice and thanking Him for things that go right and even when they go wrong. I really enjoy being alone after spending all week with private students, teachers, computer clients, tuning clients, and parents. Jut to get away from it all. Just to look at the mountains, the sky, the trees, the fallen leaves, the beautiful ever changing clouds, little insects, birds flying overhead, listening to the sounds of nature, silently reading from my little pocket, Gideon New Testament after walking a mile or two down a country road. It’s like heaven on earth!

It was late in the summer and I had been working steadily for the Brown University Psychology department when my sister-in-law Pat suggested, and then insisted, that we and some friends go to the beach at Narragansett. It was a beautiful drive through the small towns, country lanes, huge old homes from the Eighteenth Century lining the roads in some areas, under the large filled out trees of late summer. Ah, it makes me want to be there right now. We finally made it to the beach and pulled off our clothes revealing our hidden swimming garments beneath. We ran to the beach and splashed in the water. The ladies then brought folding chairs and beach towels and sun tan lotion and drinks and books and sun glasses and set up camp in the midst of the already overpopulated beach. People were everywhere, children running and playing, swimming and splashing, sand castles were under construction and sunshine everywhere. But, being the loaner I am, and the fact that I had discovered some rocks that looked pretty cool, I decided to go up the beach to an inlet where nobody was.

Across from the inlet were some bigger rocks plus a huge solid granite that jutted out into the ocean. There was only sand where I was. So I decided to swim across the inlet, about fifty feet, and check out the other side. Right? Well I dog paddled across and got to the other side. It was very painful because I had to walk bare foot through about thirty feet of hot black broken, open clam shells. Finally I get to the solid granite, and I could see all these neat little red gem stones in the solid rock. But that was the problem. Everything was solid rock, not pieces lying around. I climbed all over the big granite rock until I found a piece about three inches long and put it in my trunks. I finally decided I better get back to my beach picnic, and began the painful walk back into the hot broken shells. It must have been about forty-five minutes since I first swam over. While I was walking through the shells and into deeper water I noticed a couple more rocks and picked them up and put them in my trunks too. Finally the water is deep enough for me to stoop down and swim out.

I start my little dog paddle and after a few minutes I notice that I'm not getting to the other side. Instead, I'm going out to sea. I paddle harder and harder trying to direct myself back upstream, but to no avail. It turns out that the tide had changed while I was on the north side of the inlet and it was now flowing out to sea with a very strong current. I splashed and paddled as hard as I could and was now getting quite tired because this was not something I did on a regular basis. As a matter of fact, never. I finally went down. I was exhausted. Just as I gave up, a delta of gravel and sand had built up underneath me to the point where my feet could touch it and I was able to push myself up and bobble up and down just enough to catch my breath and rest somewhat. Some people came up to the shore where I was trying to swim to and they looked at me, and then walked away. I was too tired to even shout for help. They probably couldn't have heard me anyway. Between the distance, waves landing on the beach, and my splashing, there was just too much background noise. I tried getting to shore again, and ran out of energy again, I then felt the rocks falling out of my trunks, when they did I was some how able to get to shore. I don't even remember how I did it. I may have even passed out and washed up to shore. When I was conscious again, I looked into the water trying to find the rocks that fell out of my trunks. I should have been thanking God for saving my life, but instead I was just upset that I had lost all of my rocks but one. It was the first one I had found. I still have it today, somewhere in my collection. I thought that I had found little spinels in the granite, but later decided that they were actually little garnets. God is so Good. I wasn't thinking a bit about him, but he repeatedly saved my life.

I went up to the Lakeside Officer's Club yesterday to see how things were going. The lake had water from side to side. It has rained up there almost everyday since I prayed for it. The lake is up at least four feet from when I first looked at it about three weeks ago. Overall the water must have been down ten or more feet from being full. It used to be full back in the eighties when I took the kids fishing. Ever since I stopped attending the United Pentecostal Church back in the summer of 1996, it has been very dry. I like to think that there is a spiritual outpouring taking place at this very moment. When fasting back in 2002 I said that it was going to rain for forty days. Not torrential dangerous rains, but showers of blessings. To correspond with this natural rain would be forty days of an outpouring of God's spiritual blessings. Wouldn't it be something if it is actually happening right now? Last night it rained steady for several hours.

When I was teaching about Job in service today, I saw something new. It must have been three years ago, maybe two, that God told me to read the book of Job. Sometimes I'm pretty slow about getting around to doing things. Remember, I had asked God to show me in the scriptures where the seven prophets were represented symbolically. We were beginning chapter thirteen and I was doing a little reviewing and discussing how Job's life was symbolic of the nation of Israel, and for that matter, the New Testament church. How that things had started out sweet, but then came the trials and tribulations. How Israel and the church have both ended up in desperate, seemingly irreversible, conditions. If you have never read the book of Job, get it out and dive in. By the time you get to chapter thirty-seven things look pretty bad for Job. Don't let some stupid idiot talk into believing that the book of Job is some myth or parable. Job is real. The man Job is referred to by the prophet Ezekiel, and James, the Lord's brother. Scores of the verses spoken by Job, his friends, and Elihu, are quoted throughout the rest of the Old and New Testament. But getting back to chapter thirty-seven, if you were Job's wife, or one of his three friends, you would have written him off as a loser. A man of sorrows and rejected of God. By the end of chapter forty-two, though, Job's life is completely turned around, with seven new sons, three new daughters, double the camels, asses, oxen, and sheep, that he had before all the trouble started back in chapter one. Isn't God Good?

So three things were suddenly revealed to me. Job's life, just like king David's, is a type of the Church. Job was given seven new sons. The Seven End Time Prophets. God came to Job in a whirlwind and talked to Job face to face. Just like God showed me he would do with the Church, with the last two versus of Second and Third John. Yes, God is Good. BTW, this is not the first time I have read the book of Job. I read many of its chapters back when I first turned to the Lord in 1974, and I read the entire book back around 1980. I have probably read it all the way through two more times, and God has answered me many times out of the book of Job. It is one of my favorite books in the Bible. The Lord givith, the Lord taketh, Blessed be the Name of the Lord. BTW again, Elihu wrote the Book of Job, not Job. 7/20/08

When I took my grand kids up to the Lakeside Officer's Club pond last Saturday we saw a huge Goldfish down at the same place where I had caught the two big fish twenty years ago. It definitely seemed a good omen. I went back up to the lake on Sunday afternoon and the lake was completely filled. It had run over the top of a low spot in the damn just a few feet from the spillway. It was and old sound, the loud rushing and crashing of water gushing out of the spillway. It has been a long time coming. My two younger grandsons want to get baptized in Jesus' name. When I was taking a shower today it came to me that I would baptize them up at the Lakeside Officer's Club. What a blessing. Three weeks ago the lake was the lowest it had been in the twenty-seven years that I have lived here. Three weeks later It is the fullest it has been in the past twenty-seven years. And I will get to baptize my grandsons in the lake. Isn't God good?

Back to September 2002, it was Friday morning and I was upgrading some ram in a Macintosh 8500, for Jean Amster. She was in bad shape with emphysema and was on oxygen. She had a tank with tubes running all over the house when she up and moving around. She had a helping lady over who had just come back from shopping, and I was explaining that I was going up to Phoenix when I finished there. She gave me a can of Arizona Green Tea, and told me I should take it with me. I took her offering and ended up drinking probably twenty-five or thirty cans of the stuff over the next five weeks. Remember, I had not eaten since the Tuesday before and had only had a glass of Ice water the night before. That was the Thursday night I had prayed for Mrs. Montoro's broken ankle that God healed instantly. When I finished the computer work, I took the tea and went up to the Wells Fargo Bank on the corner of Fry and Carmichael. George Bush was going to be in Phoenix for a fund raising event for Matt Salmon. He was running for Governor of Arizona. BTW, Bush got me so upset that he brought me out of voting retirement. I voted for Janet Napolitano. It was the first time I had voted since I voted for Richard Nixon in his bid for his second term. President Bush and his Administration for the past eight years, make me want to puke. How could any God fearing person vote for such a man? Anyway, I went in the bank and began asking if anyone had $700.00, for me get into the fundraiser. It was a $700.00, a plate banquet. Suddenly I realized that I had about $2,000, in the bank. When I came in the bank there was only one person in line, in front of me. He looked and smelled like a homeless person. I asked him if he thought God could bring forth sweet wine from sour grapes. We both went up to the tellers. I checked out seven one hundred dollar bills. When I turned around the line had grown to about ten or more people. All of a sudden something came over me and I said in a very Loud Voice, "If I'm a man of God, I won't need this seven hundred dollars. I walked over to the first person in line and gave a hundred dollar bill to the first six people in line. BTW, I think I was barefoot. I get to the seventh person in line, it's a young woman, and she refuses the money. I said OK, and gave it to the person behind her. I walked straight out of the bank, got in my car and drove out of town. When I got to the airport turnoff, I turned off and drove up to a fence where a couple of men were talking. I got out and asked them what they thought about the war Bush was proposing. They said it was a good idea. I got back in the car. I drove up to I-10, and turned toward Tucson. While I was driving I suddenly had to use the bathroom. A number two. I went in my pants before I knew what had happened. I pulled of on the Marsh Sta turnoff and drove down under an old bridge. I got out and took off all my clothes, butt naked. Washed myself with some water I had in a container in my car for radiator water. I had tossed a change of clothes in my car that morning for wearing on my return trip. I was actually wearing some nice slacks and a white dress shirt, even though bear foot, and had to take them off, as well as my underwear, and toss them down by the bridge bottom. I think it was a train trestle. The train tracks parallel the Highway on the north side. I was driving out on some dirt road when I saw and older man by a truck. I stopped and said Hi. I asked him what he thought about Bush's idea about going to war with Iraq. His name was Don, and he said he was in favor of going to was. I got back on the highway and continued on toward Tucson. All of a sudden it came to me that God wanted me to tell George Bush a verse in the Bible. It was Matthew 5:7. I thought it was the one that said, "Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be called the sons of God." I pulled out my Gideon Bible from my back left pocket while still driving seventy miles an hour down the highway. Not an easy task. I thumbed through the pages while staying on the highway. I finally get to Matthew 5:7. It read, "Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy." I think I pulled off at the Love station, even though it was on the opposite side of the freeway. It's up near Casa Grand. I bought another can of that Arizona Green Tea. Good Stuff. Seems like I gave some money to a beggar at the door. I continue up to Phoenix. When I get to Phoenix, just after Broadway in Tempe, the traffic comes to a standstill. It's about a 103º, and it is three-thirty, Friday afternoon. The traffic is four lanes wide, bumper to bumper, at a standstill, a couple of hundred thousand people on the freeway, all running their engines to keep the coolers running, waiting for you know who. Yes George Bush. He comes in town in the middle of Friday rush hour, and his motorcade is turning off of twenty-forth street onto the freeway, just south of Sky Harbor Airport. It takes about a half hour for the logjam to clear out. Just think about it. Bush blocks traffic for hundreds of thousands of people in traffic, using up all that gas and time, while he comes in to town for a fundraiser for Matt Salmon. How incredibly inconsiderate. But, "Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy."

I finally get to the State Building, go up to the seventh floor and ask the Secretary of States' secretary if she knows where the Bush-Salmon fundraiser is taking place. It had been kept pretty much a secret exactly when Bush would arrive, and where the dinner was taking place. It was on the news that he was coming, but not exactly when, which route he would take, and where he was going. So Secretary of State Betsey Bayless' secretary tells me the fundraiser is already in progress in the building just North of the Diamond Back's ball park. As I recall, that was the corner of Jefferson and Third Street. I was on Jefferson and Fifteenth? I got down in a hurry, drove down to Third Avenue and Jefferson, and parked in a parking lot being used by the United Pentecostal Church annual national convention. It costs ten dollars, which I paid, quickly got out and walked as fast as possible down to Third Street, and began walking diagonally across the street toward this huge Federal building that extended all the was up to Washington Street. There were Phoenix policemen and Arizona National Guardsmen lining the top of the stone stairs leading up to the pillars along the west side of the building. I walked towards a policeman and asked him if this was where the Bush fundraiser was being held. He barked out, "walk away!," "This is a restricted area!" I said yes sir, and began walking up north as I walked to the west side of the street. I encountered a plain clothes man about half was up the block. He asked what I wanted. I knew he was secret service. I said I had a message for the president. He feigned he didn't know what I was talking about. Then he recanted and said he would be seeing him a little later. What was the message? I wrote it down on the back of a business card I had in my wallet. I wrote, Matthew 5:7. The agent said, is your name Matthew? I said no. Matthew is a book in the Bible. My name was on the front of the card. He said, "Oh." I left him and continued up the block. I probably looked like a journalist or reporter because I had my digital camera and camera bag with me. It had a strap and was hanging around the left side of my neck and down to my right side.

I got to the corner of 3rd and Washington, and there was quite a crowd that had assembled. It was in protest to George Bush. I was thinking how that our country came in from King George to George Washington, and might go out from George Bush senior to King George Bush junior. Someone behind me began beating on a drum right in my ear. I turned and asked him to stop. He wouldn't. He, and quite a few of other young people all about twenty years old, began shouting obscenities. I asked him what he was trying to prove. He said he was for peace. I told him the shouting and banging would not make any difference. I grasped his drum stick to stop him from banging in my ear. He tried to jerk the stick out of my hand but I wouldn't let go. Some of his friends encircled me and began threatening to man handle me. I asked them what they wanted. They shouted with the ugliest, meanest looking faces, and hateful sounding voices one could imagine, saying, "we're for peace." Suddenly I was being pulled backwards. It was a mounted policeman, somehow pulling me out of the crowd of young people about to assault me.
I noticed that my upper body was moving but my right foot wasn't. I looked down. The policeman's horse had reared back because of the crowd and noise and was standing on my right foot with his back left hoof. I was pined down. I looked up into the mounted policeman's face and asked him what he was trying to do? He said he was trying to protect me from the mob. I asked, "would you tell your horse to get his foot off of my foot?" He pulled the horse away. Immediately one of the young me shouted, "He assaulted a woman, He hit a woman!" I knew they were just trying to get me in trouble. I jumped right back into the crowd and said, "Who did I hit?" How could I hit a woman? I looked into the crowd and some girl's face about five rows deep into the crowd appeared. I asked, "did I hit you?" She nodded affirmative." I shouted, "how could I hit you?" Then I said, " If I hit you I'm sorry?" The young men immediately surrounded me again. I asked them again what they wanted. They said again, "We're for PEACE!" I said, "If you really want peace, why don't you pray to Jesus. He will give you peace." They all shouted "JESUS?!" with that inflection in their voices that was really saying, "Are you out of your mind.?!" They jumped to attack me, and suddenly I found myself being pulled backwards again. This time it was a couple of Phoenix policeman.

One was a woman. They cuffed my hands behind my back with that nylon stuff. They pulled it as tight as possible. I didn't say a word. They walked me about fifty feet back down the street, about where I had encountered the secret service agent. It looked like there were agents from every agency possible there. FBI, Secret Service, National Guard, Sheriffs, Police, and more. They pushed my front side up against the back of a car. I asked them if they didn't have anything better to do. They retorted with some negative comment about if it weren't for people like me they wouldn't have to be wasting tax payer's money. They took everything out of my pockets. They took off my belt. They couldn't get my camera bag off because it was inside of my arms that were cuffed behind my back. They turned me around and I was facing two Phoenix Policemen to the center and left of me and a Sheriff to the right of me. They asked if anyone had any cuffs. J. Schmidt, the very sharp, dark haired Policewoman standing in front of me indicated that she had her cuffs with her.

They cut off my nylon cuffs, had me pull off my camera from around my neck and arms and hand it to them. Then she putt her metal cuffs on me in the front position. Thank God. I looked up to heaven and said, "Lord, Send the rain." The sheriff, who was very overweight and sloppy looking compared to the Police, said, "Maybe I don't want it to rain." I asked him if he was the Lord? He said, "Some people call me God." The two policemen glanced at him. He said, "When I pull someone over and get out of my car and begin walking up to them , they always say, "Oh, My God!"" I had to laugh at that one. It was funny. But, I looked back up into the sky and said, "God, send the rain." They then walked me over to a paddy wagon and put me in. It didn't have air conditioning in the back and it was probably a hundred and ten degrees in there. There was no light except what was coming in through the small window in the back door. It had what looked like chicken wire running through it. I was drenched with sweat after about ten minutes. I could see people begin to gather around behind the wagon and begin pointing up into the sky with a concerned look. It got dark very quickly. I could vaguely hear the sound of thunder and rain. I then felt the truck begin to drive off. It seemed like we drove for about twenty minutes. Finally, someone opened the back door and told me to step out. The sun had set now and the street was covered with puddles and water running down the drains. It had rained quite hard. Isn't God good?

They took me inside and put me in a solitary room. They took of my cuffs. The small closet sized room had cement walls, floor and bench. I was exhausted. I laid down on the floor and took off my Ecco brand sandals. That was another whole story how I had somehow been moved to buy those sandals about three weeks earlier. I used my sandals as a pillow and probably fell asleep dreaming about what was happening to me. I was thinking about Sierra Vista, and that they would be having Friday night Bible study at my trailer about now. After about an hour someone knocked on the door and woke me up. I think it was a woman and she asked if I wanted to call someone and let them know what happened to me. I said no. I thought if I called my wife and told her I was in jail she would probably have a heart attack. I began hearing some kid in the cell next to me cry for his mother. It turns out it was some sandy haired teenager who had been knocked to the pavement and handcuffed, and ruffed up a bit. He was at the same protest corned where I had been. They called us all out of our solitary cells, about six of us, and lined us up and asked us some questions. I told them I had been stepped on by a horse and my foot might need some medical attentions. They said they would look at it later. They never did.

So we're standing in line, but facing to the left, not to the front. Two women are standing to the right of me, the one next to me was tall, and the one next to her was shorter and heavy set. The one next to me said that she was a lawyer and the woman next to her was also a lawyer, and the head of the western division of the ACLU(American Civil Liberties Union). She was talking to the boy to the left of me saying she saw what happened to him and that they were going to sue the police for what they did to him. I asked him what had happened and he said that the women had sat down in the middle of the street in protest of the Bush motorcade and some commotion started, that was probably me, and that he started running away from the commotion and they told him to stop. He kept running and they chased after him and when they caught up with him they shoved him to the pavement and he got scratched up a bit. I told him that he should have stopped. He was resisting arrest. What did he expect? The lawyer was talking to him while I was talking to him and I told him ignore the lawyer. I told him Jesus would take care of everything. I turned to the lawyers and told them what they were saying was a bunch of bunk. I said they were nothing but professional liars. They said something back. I said I knew what lawyers were because I worked for one for many years as a paralegal. My father was one of the leading civil lawyers in Phoenix. So after rebuking one of the leading lawyers of the ACLU, we were then called up to be photographed, you know, mug shots, and then finger printed. They did each finger, and even palm prints of both hands. 7/27/08

They then walked me down the hallway to a new room. It was filled with about twenty guys who had been arrested earlier that day. What a mess. I went in and all the sitting and laying down places had long been filled up. I sat down on the filthy concrete floor against the back wall facing the door that I had just come through. I looked around the room. What rough looking bunch of Mexicans and African Americans. After a few minutes I stood up and began to introduce myself. Just after I began speaking, the door opened and a young man kicking and scuffling was shoved in the room. This was just as I said in a loud voice that I was a prophet of God and if anyone wanted anything form God, just let me know. So the young man just shoved in the room shouted, "If you're a @$#%@ man of God, why don't you pray to God that he get me the %$#@#$ out of this #%^$@ jail house. I asked what his name was. He said Tylor Martinez. I'm not sure about the accuracy of the last name. It could have been Ramirez or Rodriguez, but the first name I'll never forget. What Mexican would name their kid Tylor? Anyway, I prayed that God would set him free, and immediately the had that had just shoved him in the room grabbed him and pulled back out of the room and slammed the door shut. The room began to fill up with more young men as the time passed by. A couple of white college students out joy riding with too much to drink were introduced into the mix. They we're typical loudmouth, obnoxious rich white college prelaw students. About midnight I was called out and brought to another induction station where I was re-finger printed and palm printed and photographed. This time it was all done digitally with some cool looking computer technology. I was able to see everything enlarged on a computer screen. I was then walked over by a short heavyset female sheriff to another room. I then asked where I was and was informed that this was not a police station, but a sheriff operated jail-house. I had no idea where I was. I had been kept in the paddy wagon for at least a half and hour. It was so hot in there, and dark, that it seemed like a long time. I was driven around for quite a while before being led into the building through puddles and running water on the street. No one had said anything to me about why I was arrested or what I was being charged for. The short heavyset female sheriff barked some commands about everyone backing away from the door. Then she unlocked the door to my next cell room and motioned me in. It had more people in it than the last room. The room was about sixteen feet square. It had these metal cots fastened hard to the walls. They were double decked like bunk beds. They were on the south and east side of the side of the room. I was entering in from the west of the room. The north wall was blank except for a hole in the floor that was the toilet. Just a hole in the northeast corner of the room for a toiled. No seat, and no privacy.

Don't ask me how I knew which way was north or south, I just felt it. I have a very good sense of direction and spatial intelligence. I think I've only seriously felt lost about three times in my whole life. Once when I was four years old in Westerville, Ohio. I went for a walk while my sister Marilyn was having a mole checked on her behind at the doctor's office. It was probably my first time on my own wandering around down town. I remember going into some apartment building and going up to the second or third floor and knocking on someone's door. I don't know how I ever got reconnected to my family. When I was a teenager I got lost on top of Mingus Mountain in central Arizona. I was lost for about an hour or two, before I finally located some trail or old railroad track and managed to find my way back to camp. There was a church camp on top the mountain called Potato Patch. That's weird, I just remembered that when I was on my thirty day fast, I went up to see my stepmother Barbara. Don't get me started on her. So when I left to come back to Sierra Vista, my wife was with me on this trip, I drove up on top of the mountain. I got up to where Potato Patch was and took a side dirt road off the main highway. The sun had already set. I drove up quickly and asked God to let me see the sun set. I drove up several hundred more feet going up to the left east, and looked back off to the west. Suddenly the sun appeared right on the mountain edge. It was stunning. It was shining through the distant trees and it was bright red-orange. I pulled up a little bit higher and stopped. I got out of the car and watched the sun set. The October air was cool and fresh on the mountain top. You see, I had driven up the mountain from the east side from Cottonwood, through Clarkdale, through Gerome, and on up through the steep mountain canyons. The sun had already set about and hour earlier down in Cottonwood. I had driven up about four thousand five hundred feet from Cottonwood. And to then ask God to let me watch the sun set, and suddenly make an impulsive turn off onto some side dirt road, and race up the mountain side just in the nick of time to watch the sun set. God is so good. It was special. I had not eaten for about two weeks at that time. When I had temporarily gotten lost back in 1960, I resented having to up to the church camp. I had become an atheist the summer before and didn't want to be involved with the camp gospel sing-alongs and prayer meetings, and preaching. It seemed very hypocritical on my part. That's probably why I got lost for a couple of hours. God was showing me my spiritual condition, and also how it would turn out. I found my way back to God fourteen years later.

The other time I got lost was in California. I had been getting into some arguments with my pastor, Carl Franklin Nevels, and I went out to pray about it, in the desert sands about twenty-five miles west of Yuma, AZ. It was in the winter, probably when my pastor had severely rebuked me before the whole church when I had brought a lesson about thanking God for the Holy Ghost, while praying to receive it. I said that one way to prove your faith for believing that God would fill you with the Holy Ghost was to begin thanking Him for it before receiving it. My pastor did not like the "name it and claim it," "blab it and grab it," kind of doctrine being preached at that time and said he didn't want any of us to preach or teach that kind of stuff from the pulpit. Well, we didn't quite see eye to eye about some of the finer points of that doctrine. I said there were some things that we could claim, and the Holy Ghost was one of them. It was a gift from God and the only one preventing us form receiving it was our self. Our lack of faith and/or desire. I gave an example where I wanted some money from my dad for a gift for someone else. When I asked him over the phone he agreed to send me $50.00 in the mail. I thanked him for it. I took him at his word and thanked him for the money several days before receiving it in the mail. Make sense doesn't it? Anyway, pastor Nevels was furious with me and blasted me to hell and back in front of the congregation. I figured he must have taken what I said the wrong way and went out the next day to pray. It was raining. Something that doesn't happen too often in the desert west of Yuma. If you have never been there, it looks just like the middle of the Sahara Desert. Sand dune spreading out as far as the eye can see. I had pulled of the interstate and driven a few miles to the north. I got out of my little light blue Toyota pickup truck and began walking in the rain and sand, weeping and crying out to God from the deepest of my heart. Out of the depths of my heart, I cried oh Lord. I remember asking God to give pastor Nevels a dream to show him I was right. I had an issue about two or three other things too. I walked for miles crying and praying and plodding on endlessly into the desert. Finally I found myself prayed out and exhausted. I looked up into the gray clouds and out into wet desert sands. I began walking in what I thought was the right direction back to my truck. I walked for several miles, but didn't come to my truck. I examined my surroundings, but everything looked the same… in all directions. Same clouds, same sand, same everything. I kept walking but couldn't come to my truck. Now I was getting concerned because it was starting to move into late afternoon and I didn't want to spend the night out there. I finally decided that I should start retracing my steps. I walked, and walked, and walked. I don't know how many miles I walked but finally I came back to where I started from. I was so relieved to get back to my truck. What a welcomes sight. I thanked God for letting me find my way back and also felt that God was letting me see that I was spiritually wandering around and was going to have to do some retracing of my steps to get back where God wanted me. That proved to be true. It has been uncomfortably hot this past week. No rain. It started raining though, while I was typing these past three paragraphs. Isn't God good? 8/2/08
Boy, did it rain hard last night. A lot of lightning storms moved through the area until about 2:00 a.m.

Back to the jail house. Speaking of two a.m., that's where we left off at the jail house. They had continued to put more and more prisoners in the room where I was until there must have been over thirty by 2:00 a.m. A middle aged successful black man was very upset because he had go to Frys Supper Market to buy some liquor and they told him he had to sign a sheet. He figured he was being racially profiled because he was about thirty-five and had bought liquor there before and no one had made him sign a sheet. He got into an indignant argument with the checkout clerk who had pushed and under the counter button to summon the manager. Since it was about midnight the manager apparently called the police before coming to the checkout counter. By the time he came over to get into the argument the police arrived and hauled off our young businessman to the jail house. Of course he was upset. I would be too. I brought up the war that Bush was proposing with Iraq. I got the same answer from all the participation jail mates. What are we waiting for? Nuke 'em. There was this short skinny, thirtyish black man, looked like a boy, who was talking all kind of crazy stuff. Driving everyone else crazy. Some of the stuff was funny, but mainly he was just a nuisance. Finally I stared at him and said, "I know who you are." H seemed to get the message. Yes, that he had a daemon. He looked at me and said, if your such a christian, why don't you give me your shirt. I said, "do you want it?" He said yes. I took it off and gave it to him. He took off the shirt he was wearing and put on my shirt. He liked it. He left me alone but continued on with his babble. A few more people were shoved into the room. It was now about 4:00 a.m. Tylor was shoved into the room, and he was shouting and cursing. We found out that he was the one we heard screaming from another room on the inside of the hallway. All the rooms we had been transferred from during the night were on the outside part of the hallway. Back around 11:00 p.m., we had seen a guy taken past the room we were in, in a straight jacket who was making some commotion. We thought he was the screaming through the night. Tylor, said it was him because he had spit in the arresting officers face, a woman, and kicked another officer and was being a royal pain in the you know what. Finally the room lights were turned off. It was not completely dark because we had windows facing into the hallway, and those lights were on. There were about thirty-five of us in the room now. Need I remind you, this room was designed for about four people. There were three people in each of the four metal beds that were bolted to the wall. Remember, they were stacked up like bunk beds. There were people under the bottom bed. Three on the bottom bed, and three on the top bed on both the south wall and the east wall. There were guys standing all around the walls. The rest of us were sitting and lying in the floor. Guys had their feet in between peoples arm pits and legs. We were all bumping up against someone else. I was lying on in the center of the floor up against a couple of Mexicans at this point. One guy's name was Ezekiel. I felt like I was with the twelve disciples. There was Peter and John and Mark, Stephen, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, etc. I think Tylor, Me, and the babbling idiot, were the only ones who didn't have biblical names. Everyone was asleep, or at least half asleep, when I crawled over face down and pulled up on my knees in a praying position and began to pray. I truly felt sorry for these guys and I asked God to set the captives free. Set them free from the physical prison as well as the spiritual prison that we all seemed to be in. I rolled back over on my back and fell asleep. The floor was unfinished concrete but it felt soft. It was black from dirt. It had blood, sweat, urine, feces, dirt, spit, skin, vomit, alcohol, and food particles, all ground into a soft black carpet. We didn't seem to care that it was probably the most germ ridden environment known to mankind because it felt better than hard unfinished concrete. Besides, there wasn't anything we could do about it. About half the people in there were scantily attired because after all, it was Phoenix in late September. A lot of exposed skin covered with sweat and dirt, scratches and blood, clothing with the smell of beer and whisky. We all reeked.

Something woke me up and the door was opened and another man was introduced into the human stew. He was a big, very muscular, black man. He took his position on the floor near the babbler. I think he only had on his underwear. Not long after that they turned on the lights and someone said something about breakfast. I asked if we were going out to some dining area. They all laughed. "This must be your first time in jail." I affirmed. They said, "you'll know when the food arrives." About twenty minutes later they shouted "Back away from the door." This was impossible because there were simply too many of us in the room. They opened the door and began tossing in plastic bags which contained a piece of fruit, a sandwich or two, and a small juice container. The bags landed on people's heads and body parts, seeing that most of them were still asleep on the floor. Finally everyone had a bag. A ruff looking homeless guy who came in the night before, while I was waiting for my first mug shot, asked me if he could have my food. I had promised it to him the night before while in line, but I kept the little juice container. It went down pretty fast. I hadn't drunk anything for about twenty hours, and that included the fact that I had sweat out everything from my system the night before while sitting in the very hot paddy wagon.

About eight o'clock they got around to giving individuals their paper work. That is, the charges that had been levied against us the day before. We were all to begin appearing before the judge. Yes, even on Saturday morning. They called out three individuals and the rest of us waited for a couple of hours. Then they called out Tylor, Stephen, and me. They gave us new paper work and it said something I couldn't make out. I asked the short, fat, woman sheriff what it said. She said, "it says yours charges are scratched.' I said, "What does that mean?" She said it meant that I, and Tylor and Stephen for that matter, didn't have to see the judge. The charges had been dropped and we were going to be released. Isn't God good? Yes, even bugger Tylor. Of course we still didn't get out of the jail house for a couple more hours. We were put in another room. We were then called out one at a time to pick up our belongings. Then we were transferred to another room where we were eventually released one or two at a time. What a drag. 8/3/08

The Olympics have been going on and Mike Phelps has set the new record of eight golds in one Olympic.
8/18/08 When I got out I still had no idea where I was. I looked around and began to get my bearings. One can tell by the skyline of Phoenix where one is located. I had spent close to eighteen years growing up in Phoenix and Tempe from the age of eleven to the age of thirty. I eventually realized I was about ten blocks from where I had left my car. I think I used a Yellow Cab to get me back to the parking lot where I had left my little 1980 Honda Accord. It was now mid Saturday afternoon and apparently the UPC conference was over because my car was about the only one left in the parking lot. I had been a little concerned about my car because I had not locked it up, expecting to be back there in an hour or two. I was in a big hurry to get down to the Bush-Salmon fund raiser and figured that my car would be safe parked among a lot of Christian folks.
When I was checking out my possessions at the sheriff's station they didn't have my camera. They said that the police took that and that I would have to get it from them. When I was at the Capital Building I had seen a lot of police cars and I thought that maybe they would have an office there where I could get some information. When I got to my car someone had locked it up for me. I thought that was considerate. I drove back down to the State Capital building and saw the police cars but was unsuccessful in finding a police building. I walked all around and finally located someone who told me the police station was back down where I had come from about a block north of where I had been parked. So off we go again. Except, when I came back to my car I noticed some fluid dropping out of the bottom of my engine area. I popped the hood and after searching around was able to ascertain that radiator fluid had dripped down from one of the hoses connected to the water pump. I got out a screw driver and sure enough, the clamp connecting the hose was quite loose. So we tightened that back up and thanked God for letting me make that discovery before driving back to Sierra Vista. We drove back to the police station only to find that my possessions were in a property holding warehouse several miles away and they would not be open until Monday. The police station had this double glass bullet proof booth that looked like an old movie theater ticket window. I had to ring a buzzer before someone appeared and I had to show proof of I.D. etc., putting things in a little bank teller type tray to get a map phone number from the officer. I crossed the street, to get back to the parking lot to the south of the police building and when approaching my car, I noticed again that fluid was dripping from the bottom of the engine area. This time I got out my screwdriver first and began tightening the clamps. There was another clamp that was extremely loose. I realized then that I had been sabotaged. I had driven 180 miles the day before with no leaking. Someone was out to get me. So I thanked God again that in two short one mile trips I was alerted to the fact that I had more than one leak. Isn't God good? From there I drove to a grocery store to buy some water to put in my radiator and ended up picking up a hitchhiker at a Bashes Shopping Center. He needed a lift to Paradise Valley, an area in north east Phoenix. While driving I told him some of my experience the past twenty-four hours. He said I had spent the night in the horse shoe, at least that's what I remember him saying. It turns out he had spent some time there too. The place had a reputation for being a real hell hole. After dropping him off I went by my friend Joe Stephens' house. He wasn't home. I then went to Tempe to see my brother David. He wasn't home. I finally got the impression from God that I just better get back home to Sierra Vista. I pulled back onto the freeway and drove 180 miles straight back home. I was happy to get back home and my wife was definitely relieved to see me. She told me that during Bible study the night before there had been this one huge thunderclap. I thanked God for a safe trip back.

The next morning was Sunday and I had already planed for my congregation to attend Elder Malone's church in Huachuca City. I thought that he was going to have foot washing and communion that Sunday because I had talked to him about it a week or two prior. I turned out that he was out of town. We had a good Sunday school and then broke for Sunday preaching. There was singing fist. We were having a good time worshiping God and I had stood up and closed my eyes while singing. I was impressed to kneel down with my head to the floor and began praying in tongues. I prayed from the depths of my spirit, or I should say the Holy Ghost was making intercession through me. I had no idea what I was praying for, only that it was very intense. I felt like I was pouring out all of my soul. The singing stopped, I stopped, and when I opened my eyes I discovered that I was about ten or more feet from where I had been standing and was directly in front of the pulpit. I got up and sat down on the front row of the other side of where I had been. Elder Thomas, that was his last name, was the speaker that morning. He was filling in for Elder (Bishop) Malone. He got into preacher mode pretty soon after we read the text of his message. He seemed unsure of himself and made several blunders in quoting the scriptures. I ignored it and tried to concentrate on what the Word of God was. Finally, while hollering at the top of his voice he misquoted a scripture and I shouted back from the pew, "That's not right brother." He had misquoted the scripture,1Cor 3:11,"For other foundation can no man lay than that is laid, which is Jesus Christ." He basically got that part right, but what he said next was totally wrong. He said that no man can build on that foundation. The scripture says, "Now if any man build upon this foundation gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, stubble; Every man's work shall be made manifest: for the day shall declare it, because it shall be revealed by fire; and the fire shall try every man's work of what sort it is." So we are expected to build on the foundation, but we must take heed whether it be gold, silver, precious stones, or wood, hay, or stubble. Elder Thomas seemed bent on continuing to say that no man can build on that foundation and again I interjected, "Yes, we can build on that foundation." One of the large ushers came over to me and told me to keep quite or I would be removed from the service. I held my peace.

Before service someone had reported a snake crawling around the church. After service I went out and looked for the snake. No luck. I then invited my congregation to come back to my trailer for a short service. As we were getting into our cars there was a huge thunderclap. Only one. The Akers, Don and Kimberly, came as well as Jesse and Jesue. Joe and Brenda took their kids and went home. I had baptized Jesue about a month earlier and her husband Jesse about a week earlier. They were both in their late twenties and Jesse was a big man in the military who had grown up in a very rough part of Los Angeles. Jesue was Korean and had grown up in a very rough family in Korea. They fought like cats and dogs, and sometimes Jesse would grab Jesue by the throat and toss her across the room. At least that's what she told me. They lived in the Las Brisas apartments and I had baptized them there because they had a real nice swimming pool and jacuzzi. I ended up baptizing several people over there. Anyway, I testified somewhat about what had happened to me in Phoenix and brought a lesson on receiving the Holy Ghost. We then prayed for Jesue to receive the Holy Ghost(Spirit). I put on a Beetles album that had, among several other very famous hits, "All You Need is Love." I had told Bro. Joe Janowski that two songs from the seventies were truly inspired by God. "All You Need is Love" and "Like a Bridge Over Troubled Waters." I mentioned how God had inspired those songs even though the singers were far from being Christians. He didn't agree. We were now all standing around Jesue, crying out to God saying Hallelujah and thank you Jesus. Jesue seemed like she couldn't breath. The spirit moved me to check he ankles. She had gold bracelets around them with idol symbols on them. She also had other jewelry representing false gods on her person. I took them all off. She was still praying in the center of the rest of us. I told my wife to breath into Jesue's mouth. She wouldn't do it. I told her to do it again. She still wouldn't do it. So I did. Jesue was still under some kind of Satanic power. She seemed totally bound, physically and spiritually. I went and sat down a few feet away while the others continued to pray for her. I could see that none of them were in the spirit either. It was a loosing cause. Finally I stopped the praying and we all prayed and concluded the service.

My wife invited everyone to stay for lunch. I talked more about my experience in jail likening it to Apostolic training 101. We were having a good time when I commented on Jesue and Jesse getting baptized and said we were like wetbacks for Jesus. This did not sit well with Jesse. I could immediately tell a change in his attitude. He was mad. I told him if he wanted to hit someone, "hit me." He said no. He said I was trying to get him in trouble with the military. I said, "Take it out on me, not someone else." He knew I was talking about his wife. We got into a shouting match and I told him to get out. He left. I went out to pray. God told me I was wrong in talking to him like that and that I needed to go to Jesse and apologize. I drove back and over to his apartment. I went up to the second floor where they lived and knocked on the door. Jesue opened the door. Jesse was on the other side of the room. He didn't want to talk to me. I told him that some of the things I said to him were out of order and apologized. He refused to accept my apology. This made Jesue real mad because they had just been talking about me and Jesse had told her that if I apologized to him for what I had said he would forgive me. But he couldn't forgive me. As far as I know he still has not forgiven me to this day. He broke up with Jesue about a year later. She went back to Korea. They never came back to church. Don and Kimberly told Joe Janowski what had happened in service and that I had yelled at Jesse and was totally out of order. He came over several days later and said I was going off the deep end. He was trying to arrange a meeting with me and two other apostolic pastors in town to have some kind of tribunal to determine what should be done with me. I told him that I had made some mistakes but that he was out of order as well. I told him that I had already apologized to Jesse for what I had done, about an hour afterwards no less. I had already done what God wanted me to do. If he had been in service that morning maybe things would have turned out differently. My church mutinied and I went out and prayed to God. It was late at night and I prayed "God, send rain and snow and hail and lightning and let these people know that I am a man of God." That night, just after midnight, a freak storm rolled into the area from New Mexico, and it began to lightning severely. That day it rained hard and the clouds became so dark it was like night in the middle of the afternoon. It hailed so hard the temperature dropped down to 34º and there was local flooding of some of the stores and homes.

Another incident that took place at St. Paul’s Missionary Baptist Church. to be continued.
I'm not really in the right frame of mind to address the St. Paul Missionary Baptist Church incident, but here goes anyway. Back in November of 1995, perhaps the beginning of December, while I was fasting after Pastor Robert Bryant had announced his resignation and we were auditioning what turned out to be five prospective ministers to fill his position, I was driving the Sunday School bus back to church with a bus load of kids and said to my wife as we drove in front of St. Paul Missionary Baptist Church,that a group of people from that church were going to baptized in Jesus name at our church. That morning we had our second visiting minister and he preached a great message about the saints speaking a different language than the world. That just as nurses had their jargon and lawyers had there terminology, and and every specific field of interest has its own specific language, so do the saints have their own language. The saints speak the language of faith.
After his sermon I shook hand with the pastor and the saints and said in front of several individuals that someone was going to get baptized that day and someone would receive the Holy Ghost. A new church member smiled with a nod of approval. I had invited a large number of people to church that day and expected quite a few of them to show up. We had about an hour break before starting back in with another Bible study. I went out and did my best to get the people I had invited to church to come, but with little success. I returned to church downhearted. The service went well and afterward several people asked the visiting minister questions. They seemed more interested in going to lunch that anything else. We all drove over to the local Golden Corral and as I was walking in I saw someone I had met on several occasions and said, "Norman, would you like to come and sit with us?" He said yes and my wife and Norman and I sat on the west side of the table and several others including sister Litchert sat on the other side. Sis. Litchert knew Norman for a number of years and were friends. After we all had our food and had prayed and began eating and talking I asked Norman what he was doing. He said that he was going to move to New York. I said "Oh no." I said, "Where in New York?" He said to New York, New York. I said , "Oh , No." He said yep. He looked forward to it and he looked forward to witnessing to many people about Jesus Christ. We talked at length and finally I said, Norman, you have a wonderful attitude and your good will is unmatched, but you are forgetting the most important thing. He ask quite puzzled, "What's that?" I said the plan of salvation. He said what do you mean? I said, Well, after listening to all that you were going to do you never mentioned Acts 2:38. He said what's that. I said, let me show you. So I opened my Bible and gave it to him and asked him to find the verse. He did and read it. I told him to read it again more slowly and consider exactly what it was it was saying. Then he saw that it was saying that baptism, couple with a repented heart, was for the remission of sins. Also that baptism was to be administered in the name of Jesus. I began taking him through the book of Acts as he looked up the scriptures that I quoted to him. Acts 8:14-16, Acts 10:43-48, Acts 19:1-6, Acts 4:12, and many other scriptures. After about twenty minutes he said that he was astounded. That he had never really seen all these versus and that it clearly stated that baptism was for the remission of sins and necessary for salvation. We suggested that he get baptized. He said he wanted to talk with his pastor first which was pastor Buckannon of St. Paul Missionary Baptist Church. Norman was a deacon at the church. I told him to get baptized first, then talk to his pastor. He agreed. Sister Litchert said we had baptismal clothes at the church and he agreed to meet us there. It was getting late and the other ministers and visiting minister had all left. There were two families and my wife and I and sister Litchert that all went to the church. We sang, read some scriptures and then baptized Norman Harrington in the precious name of Jesus for the remission of sins. When he leaned back up from being put under the water, he was visibly moved. He began praising God while standing in the water and began speaking in tongues. Praise the Lord. Isn't God Good? I even have several polaroid pictures of Norman in the water and praising God. So my prophesy came true. It was really speaking by faith and God answered my faith. Someone did get baptized and filled with the Holy Ghost that day.

So, it was the next weekend and another minister, Pastor Phillip Obrien, was trying out for the Church. I remember what he preached about as well. He preached about us being a royal priesthood, a holy nation, and peculiar people, but what struck me the most was, a Chosen Generation! When he said the words, A Chosen Generation, it was as if the words jumped off the page. We are that Chosen Generation. We are the ones that will see the Lord catch us away during our lifetime. 10-9-2008

I remember that Sister Obrien was playing the Organ and I was playing the Piano. She wasn’t feeling too good so I went over and prayed for her. I think it was in that service that I told the church that I thought God was going to send a miracle snow storm, a wake-up call to the city of Sierra Vista and asked the church to pray that God would so do. There was an alter call, and I remember praying for a young red haired lady to get the Holy Ghost. I told her it was a gift, but that she was going to have to let go of what was in her hand before she could take the gift of God. After the service everybody cleared out pretty fast to go eat lunch. But, I told my wife that we should go over to St. Paul Missionary Baptist Church to see how Norman Harrington was doing. There was only a closed Circle K store between our church and St. Paul. So we walked over and went into the service. The pastor was just getting to the preaching. They had already had Sunday School, and a time or worship and testimony. The church was packed out. Probably a hundred and twenty, possibly more, in the congregation. Norman was not there, but the presence of the Spirit seemed very strong. The preacher preached good, and I was up on my feet in the back of the church saying amen to everything he was saying in the front of the church. Finally the preaching came to an end and the pastor gave an altar call. Quite a few people went up. After praying for them, and other ministers praying and talking with them, they set up fourteen chairs across the front of the church and all those who wanted to get baptized were seated in front of the congregation. The pastor then told them that they would have to wait until next week to get baptized over at another church because St. Paul did not have a baptistry. The pastor then began praying for them as a whole, and while he was praying, I motioned to a nearby deacon and told him that the pastor could use our church to baptize the souls and they wouldn’t have to wait. The deacon went up to the pastor, whose back was to the congregation as he faced the new converts seated in the front, and continued to pray, and the deacon whispered in his ear what I had told him. They pastor said something to the deacon and he came back to me and told me the pastor wanted me to go up to him and tell him myself. So I went up and told him and when I did, we hugged each other, I kissed his cheek, and a woman sitting about five feet to the right, and behind us, suddenly began screaming. I turned and looked at her and her body had straightened out like a board propped back against the pew, her eyes were closed, she shook all over and almost looked like a giant frog, eyes closed, legs and arms shaking, and screaming, totally oblivious to anyone else. Praise God, the spirit sure was strong in that place. I went back to my place in the back, next to my wife, and the pastor continued praying and speaking, explaining that we were all going to go down to my church to get baptized, and he said that when they would come up out of the water, I then interrupted him and said, “they will all speak in tongues,” but he cut me off and said, if there be an interpreter, and continued and then finished his prayer and speaking. He adjourned the meeting and the pastor and I went upstairs to his office with one of his deacons. I then began explaining to him that he should baptize the believers in the name of Jesus. He then explained that his organization had been baptizing people in the titles, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, for 134 years and he wasn’t going to change now. I asked him what the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost was, and he said, “Jesus.” And I said, “for Christ’s sake, why don’t you use the name of Jesus then?” Then he said if that’s the way I was going to be he would call the whole thing off. I said that wasn’t necessary, he could baptize them any way he wanted. So we went back downstairs and he announced that we would all be going over to Revival Tabernacle (it is now called Apostolic Truth Tabernacle) and have a baptism service. He and I began the walk heading south from his church down to Revival Tabernacle and about a hundred people began following after us. As we walked I asked pastor Buckannan if he could say, I baptize you in the name of Jesus, which is the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost? He said, I thought we had that settled? I said, well? He said, O.K. I hugged him and kissed his cheek and grabbed his hand and began pulling him, saying “hurry up.” We must have been a sight. He was a tall, thin, handsome black man, about forty, and I was a medium height, somewhat pudgy, white man of fifty. Oh, those were the days. They all came into the sanctuary, completely filling it up. We had two offices on either side, and in back of the platformed preaching area. The baptistry was in between them and behind the pulpit. We used the south office for the men to change clothes and the north office for the women. There were eight women and six men. We sang songs and read bible scriptures while they changed clothes. I was playing piano at first and then one of the young men from St. Paul took over. He really sounded good. I went and sat behind the organ on the south side, and watched the service progress. Pastor Buckannan finally got around to baptizing the first lady. When he put her down in the name of Jesus, she exploded back out of the water under the power of the Holy Ghost, apparently speaking in tongues, because Pastor Buckannan swung around to face me with his eyes wide open in surprise, and said to me, “you were right!” God is so good. So they all got baptized, with some form of Jesus name being used, and we all sang and prayed and finally finished and filed back out of the church and everybody left and my wife and I were there standing in the parking lot and it was about four o’clock. We noticed that there was a van there with the side door wide open. We walked over to St. Paul to try and find out whose van it was. It turns out that it was Pastor Obrien’s van and they were so shocked by what they found when they returned from lunch, that they hurried into the trailer where they were staying and left the van door wide open. I imagine that coming back from morning service to find the entire church packed out with a black congregation must have been a frightening thing for those poor white folks from small town California.

My wife and I went home to our trailer for an hour or so and ate some late lunch and rested a bit. When we came back and the church was pretty much full of its normal white congregation and service was about to begin. I went up and took my place behind the piano, and we began service. I noticed that District Presbyter Rev. Keyes was in service from Safford, Arizona. The Keyes family goes way back in the Apostolic Church movement. Elder Keyes father was one of the Apostolic pioneers. Elder Keyes’ son had been the second pastor of Revival Tabernacle, back in 1982. He mismanaged some funds back in 1984, and was removed from the church by the UPC organization. Conrad Keyes, the former pastor, and his father blamed me for a lot of their problems, but they were their own problem. Anyway, someone, or ones, had contacted Elder Keyes about me baptizing Norman Harrington, and about the church being full of a black congregation, etc., and he came down to straighten things out. We had no sooner started singing, and I was playing the piano, when he walked over to me, pulled me by my coat sleeve and said, “your coming with me.” Elder Keyes is a good sized man and his yank got my attention. I followed him out to the back room of the church, where he began chewing me out. What do you think you’re doing Bro. Marlowe? I feigned innocence. He said that he had made it clear that I would never be a pastor of that church, and that I had better stop doing what I was doing. I was causing confusion, and I better stop it pronto. I told him I felt so full of the Holy Ghost I felt I was about to explode. He asked me, “do think they have the Holy Ghost?”, meaning the congregation and those who had contacted him. I said yes, “but they misunderstand what I am doing.” I asked him if he had the Holy Ghost. He didn’t answer me. We talked for a while and then rejoined the service. (It was at that point in time that I decided to stop shaving.) That morning while Pastor Obrien was preaching he reminded me of something a Pastor Hogan had once preached at our church. One more night with the frogs. I said it out loud, but to myself. That was Pastor Obrien’s subject for the night service, “One More Night With the Frogs.” I kind of felt like I was spending one more night with the frogs. I have been a bone of contention ever since I started believing in God. What is my problem? 3/12/09

I was just talking with my wife and remembered that in the middle of that week we had Wednesday night bible study. I had a revelation as it were from God about two formulas. I was driving from my last piano lesson to the church and felt like God had just given me a bible study to bring forth in just a few minutes. The bible study was about God’s power. We all know, or maybe not, what the most powerful formula known to man is. It is e=m times c squared. E is energy, m is mass, and c is the speed of light. What the formula proves is that matter, or mass, can be converted into pure light heat energy. This theory led to the development of the atomic bomb. I think we would all agree that nuclear power is the greatest power know to man. But God gave me another formula. Prayer and Fasting equals great Faith, P+F=F.
Prophets do weird things.