God Answered Me

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God Answered Me

Based on true life experiences.

A child’s brain is flexible, no matter how harsh life can be—meaning it is capable of changing to experiences. As life changes and the mind develops, the impact of neglect and injury can be everlasting. I am one of the thousands who have been subjected to child abuse, a serious, neglected subject that requires tremendous attention for intervention to this day. I have lost four siblings—all of which were tragic deaths that I will talk about in another short story. As a quick note: I am not writing this to hang out dirty laundry on anyone. This is an opening to understand our lives and my parents’ lives, and the trauma of child abuse.

There is too much to tell about my life. Therefore, I shall compose a series of experiences as short stories—more than likely in no particular order. However, this will be the introduction of chapter 1.

I was born in 1958, the sixth child of ten siblings. I was a brown-haired skinny little girl with hazel eyes. My older siblings experienced the worst of the physical and mental abuse. My older brothers were beaten with stripped down wire and leather belts. There we countless times when they couldn’t attend school due to how hard they were beaten. The rest of us definitely had our share of abuse, both physical and mental.

As a child under these awful circumstances, I still had the ability to see and appreciate natural beauty in my surroundings—from the gloss of a simple bush and bright flowers to the puffy clouds. I’d create make-believe stories in my mind, dancing in circles with a doll that had only half a face, foul and ragged. I still was able to see that doll’s beauty and cherished her companionship. Although, the day I found out people die is a memory that refused to bury itself—until two chosen and extraordinary boys shared a secret. A secret that came many years later.

In order to better understand our daily life, there are a few things you should know about my parents. My father was brought up in an abusive home and never finished school just like my mother. To them, pulling through the depression was like those old classic movies on television. Struggling to obtain work with little food on the board was an everyday nightmare for them as well as their parents. For many people, including my parents, losing their identity along the way was a traumatic, virtually inevitable hardship.

Lee, my father was six feet two inches tall and had dark hair and brown eyes. He was a tough, ill-tempered man who had no patience with anybody or anything, often beating us and our mother. What led to these bursts of madness could be as trivial as having to wake up for work and finding a dish left out or a piece of paper on the floor.

Sometimes, he pulled us all out of bed in the middle of a winter night and we’d fearfully watch him, in a paroxysm of rage, pour water on our beds and blankets just because he had to go to work. Lectures often took place where we had to stand as attentively as possible, lined up alongside one another, listening to how “Hitler was the greatest man on earth.” Even though he praised this inhumane historical figure, his hate was for all humans. More often than not, our sessions were about politics and how corrupt and evil the United States is. Sometimes these lasted a couple hours. Understanding the reason for these Hitler lectures is a mystery to this day. I never asked and not one of my brothers and sisters inquired about it as we got older. Our usual response was to wait until he completed his reign of power and then quietly walk away. His own spirit was met with madness and abuse, but to him, it was nothing more than an ongoing path of life that he thought was normal, so he blindly accepted it.

My father’s family blood line revealed they emigrated from Europe. However, the trail was soon lost. His mother is a third Indian, making my father the opposite of the perfect Nazi Hitler he dreamed of. A lot of his life was a world of trouble, spending time in prison for robbery, among other matters. His occasional nightmares of time past in prison plagued him until the day he passed away.

His abusive fits of rage flared at any given moment—during the day or in the middle of the night. Moments of kindness did occur every now and then. Strangely enough, he would make sure you had good tires on your car without ever asking. People he worked with never knew the genuine side of him. Conversation with our father never existed. We always listened while he preached. He definitely was not a man you could talk to about anything, and I mean[_ anything_]. Nor was he the type of man to sit in a nice restaurant and stay in a decent hotel. Nor was he the kind of man to take us to amusement parks. He refused to socialize outside of work, unless it involved a relative or a woman he desired to have an affair with. I remember one time seeing him play baseball with my brothers, only once, and that was many years ago before I began the first grade. Many times out of the blue. He cursed us, letting us know we were worthless animals and will never amount to anything.

My mother was “damaged,” as I refer to it, from a childhood of abuse, both physical and mental. She is from a large family like my father was. I don’t know the exact number of siblings she had, and there was not much talk about them. I know only what my mother wanted us to know. Once she had mentioned that one of her sisters starved herself to death.

We visited my mother’s family a few times during the summer months, down by the Mississippi River. My grandmother was a pretty large woman with short brownish, gray-streaked curly hair and deep dark circles under her eyes. I don’t remember the color of her eyes because the darkness that surrounded her eyes stole my attention. This woman looked worn and torn as if life no longer mattered. I heard she was of Irish decent, but I honestly have no clue.

My grandpa was a tall skinny man with white short hair, and was as wrinkled as a dried prune. He was evil alright—as mean as they come. He had a pocket full of enemies who sought revenge. Someone attacked him one night, beating him with a hammer. A steel plate laid was planted in his head. Speculation flew in different directions. He did have another wife and family across town. Rumor had it that he was German and the family name had been altered due to the war. He constantly attempted to slip his hand down our pants and upper side. I told my mother and she made me go outside and stay with my sister. Unfortunately, that’s how those visits typically went. There was no love whatsoever, not a hug nor “I love you.”

My mother is a small woman of four feet ten inches. She always dyed her hair dark brown or black, which brought out her green eyes. I have not spoken to my mother in over thirty-five years. She never liked me and hated all my brothers, although she was good to some of the grandchildren. My mother’s hate grew stronger as time went on. Personally, I think the hate devoured her life and she kept blaming us for the abuse she endured at the hands of my father. She was the type of soul who kept a closet full of skeletons, exposing a few at a time or telling you half the tale of what really happened. Many hidden secrets I did not find out until years later from my brothers or sisters. As we got older and took on jobs, our interaction with her changed and was quite different for each of us.

Memories of Home

There is much to recount about my life, so I shall compose a series of experiences as short stories—more than likely in no particular order. Nonetheless, I will start with my first memories of home. Before I started school, there were eight of us children. My father was out of work and refused to ask for help from anyone. He found an abandoned one-bedroom shack out in the county up on this hill. There was no running water inside. The outhouse stood way down the hill. We had to walk over a couple wooden boards that laid across a little stream, holding the overflow from this bug-eaten, rot-stricken outhouse. Our house had thick plastic covering the glassless window frames. Through the threshold was a tiny room that had one black pot belly stove, a small couch, and an end table. No kidding. I remember it like yesterday. That is where all of us children slept—on the floor of that room. My mother and father had the smaller room that had a twin bed. That’s where they slept when he was around. The kitchen area had a couple cabinets, one small wooden table, and a chair. There was also no electricity. And with no running water inside, we had to hand-pump water from the outside and bathe in a round tub, just like the movies about poor, unfortunate folks. We had to walk in pairs of two to the outhouse due to the plague of snakes.

There was one person who knew about us living up there on that hill. A farmer who owned most of the land down from the hill had seen us yelling and playing. A few times, he brought food up to us. Seeing that my mother was pregnant with all these children, he brought one of his cows so we could have milk.

There were days when we would never see our father. The coming winter was the worst time. Our mother sat in a wooden chair with a loaded shot gun, afraid to sleep at night. My oldest sister almost starved to death. My mother had to break up the little furniture there was and burn it to save us from freezing to death.

I also have another memory of that old farmer driving his truck up the hill, loaded with food. My father showed up a few minutes before him and told the farmer we didn’t need any handouts. That did not go well between them. As the farmer drove away, I kept staring at those brown bags of food sitting in the back of the pick-up truck.

Sometime later, the old farmer dressed in his overhauls and straw hat and came up to check on his cow. He was furious to see the cow was stabbed by a pitch fork. Needless to say, there went the vitamin D and calcium. Another one of my father’s violent episode of rage exploded because he couldn’t get the cow to move out of his way, so he stabbed it.

My memory went blank after those few memories. Well, there is a part where a poison snake chased me. People have claimed snakes don’t chase. I know first-hand they can, and this one did.

I do not remember moving from that old beat up shack into a larger roach-infested, ghostly home. The owner of the house we moved into couldn’t get anyone to stay in the house for long due to hauntings shortly after a tenant moved in. The fact a body had been dug up from the basement didn’t help. My father paid seventeen dollars a month in rent and we lived there for a couple of years. There were nine of us then and our mother was pregnant with number ten.

The ghost experience I had did not come about until after I learned about people dying. That story is fascinating as well as the many others that followed. For now, I will move on to the disturbing moment of realization of life and death, along with the message God sent. Yes, you read that right—God listened to my silent plea for help.

It was another disturbing day in the decrepit weather-beaten home. I was looking through the decaying, rotting window pane as my parents’ drove up the pebble-covered driveway. After they entered, my father was holding a picture of a woman. Eyeing at the picture of a woman fully clothed with her eyes closed in an open coffin that I thought was a strange box with a white pillow. I also thought she was dressed pretty. I had never seen a coffin. My dad simply stated it was his aunt and that she died. I already knew birds, cats, and dogs died, but discovering that people could die too was a devastating jolt of realization!

Sneaking away from this unbelievable awakening and finding my mother in the bathroom washing up, the first question out of my mouth was, “Do people die?”

Looking into her eyes, the response I received was not a good.

“Yes!” she told me angrily.

My second question: “Am I going to die?”

Animosity clearly glared back at me as she snapped. “Yes you’re going to die!”

Completely mystified, I walked out of the bathroom towards the worn out double bed, where four of us slept every night. Crawling under it, I silently cried for a very long time. In some way I knew somebody was with me, but I didn’t know who he was. I just knew this person was with me.

I asked him, “Why was I born to see the trees, flowers, and the sky?”

After a brief pause, I continued. “I won’t be able to hear the birds sing anymore. Why was I born when you’re going to take this away from me? Why did you show it to me?”

I didn’t get a verbal answer, but something else did happen. I crawled out from under the bed as the same little girl, but I felt like that person was still with me. A strong feeling of peace existed within me.

One day after that whole ordeal, I asked this invisible person to see what a fancy playhouse looked like. Knowing we were too poor to have one, I told him I didn’t want one or to touch one—only to see one.

About a week later, when I was outside looking at all the traffic passing by our tiny little home, a tractor-trailer suddenly drove by, and it was loaded with playhouses! I had no desire to own one or touch one. The gift of seeing this was more than I could ever want.

Again, I had asked to see a silver boat. About a week later, something happened. This tremendous peace came over me, and told me “it’s time.” I headed out from the back of the house towards the front to watch the traffic, and within a few minutes, a tractor-trailer with a load of silver boats appeared!

Never can I describe the vastness of wonder soaking into my soul. It was like no other. This is the best way I can describe it: That moment was full of love and happiness, but it didn’t belong here on earth.

This is not the end of the story. Many years have come and gone in my life—it has definitely been one hell of a ride. But those stories will come in time.

As life went on, some of those family memories traveled with me, becoming harder to deal with. The hardest thing to deal with is knowing those family members who have passed had a choice to change their lives, and they may have still been alive today. I had often wondered if I could have changed their future. I blamed myself for a while, especially because one day in first grade, my teacher kept me after class inquiring about the bruising she often noticed on my legs, asking if I was being hit. I just stared at her without saying a word. She soon told me to go ahead and leave, after trying to get me to confide in her. To this day, I remember her name… Mrs. Ericson. She wore these nice cat-eyed glasses. At that time in my life, I was withdrawn and uncomfortable when it came to communicating with others in school. Even years later this memory continued hanging over me and the thought of “if only I would have said something, would my brothers and sisters be alive today?”

Well, one day I am going to die also. That was not a pleasant thought to think about either. When you age, you wonder if there is life after death. You ask yourself, “What is going to happen? Is it completely over or will there be a chance to choose life again? Or is it possible to be something more?”

I am now fast-forwarding to the year 2010.

One summer day in my garage, I started feeling especially ill. I hadn’t been well off and on for over five years. I would always see the same doctor, and had been for a ten-year period. I trusted my doctor; a female doctor—I did not feel comfortable with male doctors.

Every year, I had my physical exams and went more often than most people due to pains here and there and just not feeling well in general. Each time I went, I was examined and told that I was getting older and these things happen, or “it’s this or that.” The doctor would write me a prescription and send me on my way or set up another appointment, which ended the same way as the previous appointment. The truth is, I was misdiagnosed each and every time.

It ended up being a tumor and I was dying.

Going back to that summer day in my garage… I was doing laundry just thinking about the fact that someday I will die and wondering what would happen to my sons and my grandchildren—what was going to happen to them was my main concern. They had all lived with me and my husband in the past. At that time, it was my two sons, a daughter in-law, and a total of five grandchildren. We have always been a close family and I’ve had to look after the grandchildren often.

I am not a church-going person, but I believe in God. I sometimes curse, smoke now and then, and have a cup of cannabis tea. In the past, I had been pretty arrogant at times. My history was pretty rough. I was in fights throughout my teenage years, attended four different high schools, and left home at fifth teen. But overall, I am a good person; I have lived and learned through the years. I had come to believe in God as time and experiences commenced forward for many years. I now say my prayers often.

Well, this one particular day, I said a prayer as I added the laundry into the washer. I said to God. “I know I am going to die and I have accepted that fact. I don’t know if we have a choice to come back and live a new life. I don’t believe I would like to be human again, and I don’t know if there is even that opportunity after death. I don’t know if humans can be angel, but if they can, I would like to be an angel, to protect the children of this world. That is what I would like if it’s possible for humans to be angels.”

I was slowly dying and didn’t know it then. These thoughts and these question stayed with me. It didn’t matter what I read about the subject. I am not the type to believe everything that is written, and with so much information in the Bible, things can be and have been changed throughout history—and personally, I wasn’t alive back then to witness these historic writings and change of events in history. The Bible can be confusing and it’s definitely a book I have read. Never will I condemn a person for their choice of religion as long as they do not use it as a tool to kill others. I have come to believe the Bible is meant to enrich the goodness of life, so one can flourish, feel safe, be happy, and ultimately prosper. This is one book that has been interpreted in many different ways, however, it is obvious the writings are intended to bring understanding and peace. It certainly does not say go kill those who do not believe. I view this book as a great historical account of short stories. Something a parent would read to their children to teach them the past actions of others and what can come forth. To know the past and understand what will happen in the future, is to change the future’s outcome. I believe this is a gift to the human race—so you should choose to be a good person.

I did accept the fact that I would never know if there was life after death, and that did bother me because I wanted that answer.

In November 2010, I underwent major surgery to remove a tumor that was so large it smashed my kidney and pushed every organ in my body completely out of place. The surgery was stopped while a kidney specialist was called in to try to save my kidney. The damage was severe.

My recovery after surgery was a fight. During this time in the hospital, I had three experiences; the type of experiences you read about other people having—near-death experiences.

In the first experience, I saw a stream that was so pure—every detail of every little pebble lying in it was visible, untouched by the human race. This pure water not found here on earth. As I looked up, there was a high school friend sitting on top of this gigantic, smooth white boulder that was oblong in shape by the stream. This person looked at me and said, “What we had was a close friendship… Nothing more. You can’t stay here. It’s not your time.”

I began to walk closer and again these words were spoken. “You can’t stay here with me.”

I turned around to leave and stopped, turning to face this person. I stepped forward, but this time, the tone changed and was almost angry. He stared at me sternly as he said, “You can’t stay with me!”

Then a nurse came in the room. I had my eyes closed still and she called my name, asking me why I had my arm up in the air. She was scared I would see the expression on her face as I opened my eyes. I couldn’t answer her back. She then examined my vitals and so on.

The second time, I was talking to someone, so the nurse came in and asked who I was talking to. That is all I remember during the second instance. But the third time was different. I remember talking to a man and there was that indescribable, unbelievable presence of peace that I experienced as a child. The funny thing is, I remember smiling and slightly laughing when he asked me something. While I don’t remember what specific question he asked me and how I responded, what I do know is that we were having a conversation and this was the very last question I remembered: “Why do you feel it’s your time to go?”

Suddenly, we both knew someone entered the room and we both remained silent. I started hearing a voice within this sudden darkness that came over me. “Marsha, who are you talking to?”

I remained in the darkness and replied. “A man.”

This frightened voice cautiously inquired. “Why is your arm up in the air?”

At that moment, I was able to open my eyes and slowly withdraw my arm. I looked at this frightened young blonde nurse with her arms hugging her sweater and replied to her. “I don’t know.”

She was too scared to stay and sent in another nurse.

After improving, I returned home with a double j-stint for the kidney and tube hanging out of me for a good month. It had taken me three years to tie my shoes on my own. To this day, I still have physical problems to deal with that will never go away. Although, I learned something in life. When you are that close to death, all the worries of life’s struggles are seen in a new light and you experience a new level of understanding about life in general. This changed me in many ways, both good and bad.

The mind God has given us is quite extraordinary and his level of intelligence is far beyond mankind’s knowledge.

I had attempted to locate that one high school friend in my first near-death experience and never found him. In my mind, I had to know what happened to this person—were they alive or had they passed on?

A little bit after the worst part of my recovery, I found my answer… Yes, this person was alive! Remarkable! God knew, that in my mind, I was ready to leave this world. If he would have used a family member that had already passed, I would have stayed in this paradise. I’d refuse to listen to anyone else, even if they told me it wasn’t my time. God knew I would listen to this person he had chosen because my trust was strong with this individual. Now that is pretty amazing to think about.

One day in 2016, I had both my grandsons with me. Christian’s birthday past two months earlier. Isaac’s birthday just past two days prior to them spending the night with me. Christian belongs to my older son and Isaac belongs to my younger son. I had decided to take them shopping. We were on our way and they were in the backseat of the car. Driving along peacefully, my grandsons suddenly informed me they had something to tell me.

“Okay, what is it?” I asked, never expecting to hear what they both experienced five years earlier.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, both boys were smiling. Christian’s beautiful smile laced with dimples, showcased his stunning brown eyes and dark skin. Yes, that smile will melt your heart. He is Dutch, Indonesian, and Puerto Rican. The Asian side of him stands out more with his slender build. Speaking first he informed me, “We are both ten years old now. She said we can tell you when we are both ten.”

A red flag went off. Immediately, I inquired. “Who is she?”

My other grandson Isaac is Dutch Indonesian and Mexican. The Hispanic side showcases his loving dark brown eyes, skin, and thick eyebrows.

He responded. “The girl that came to our window.”

I continued with additional questions and in return, I received some incredible answers. I came to realize there wouldn’t be any shopping. Turning the car around, I drove back home to fully grasp the entire story!

Five years earlier, on this one particular summer evening, a surreal event had taken place. The girl that came to the window appeared on the roof of my two story home late one night. Both of my grandsons were only five years old. The bedroom they slept in faced the street with a perfect view of the street and neighborhood. I was asleep in my room and they were halfway asleep when this young, beautiful blonde-haired girl tapped on the window that was halfway open.

When they sat up in bed and she asked them not to be afraid and come to the window, they did. This young girl informed my grandsons there was not much time. Bad people were after her and she had to talk real fast. She repeated that there was not much time and she needed them to keep a secret. Isaac and Chris described a hole in the side of her neck and blood dripping down her Hello Kitty shirt.

“You have a hole in your neck and blood on your shirt,” Isaac said.

“Are you okay?” Chris asked.

“It’s ok,” the young girl said.

She went on to tell them that she had been watching them for a long time and saw how they treat their grandmother. She said that made her happy and she was proud of them, and wished she could be their guardian angel. All the while speaking pretty fast, she asked them not to tell their grandpa and grandma until they turned ten years old because she didn’t want them to worry, thinking a stranger was coming to the window.

Then my grandsons said she exclaimed, “They are here!” as she turned her head around to look towards the street. They also looked out and saw two black figures standing in the middle of the street. One figure had red eyes and the other had white eyes holding a sword in his hand. She turned back towards my grandsons and the wound on her neck healed and the blood vanished. While wings grew out of her back, she flew off the roof up into the air, swooping down. She latched onto both black figures, pulling them up in the air. My grandsons said she let them go and they turned into some type of ash that fell down, disappearing before it hit the ground.

She came back to the window and said, “I’ll see you both in heaven. I’ll be checking on you!” Then she flew away and vanished into the sky.

I continued to ask questions and went as far as to separate them. All of their answers were identical and they didn’t have to think twice when telling me, over and over. When I inquired if she told them her name, they both said, “Yes, it is Victoria.” Inquiring if this frightened them when she appeared, I found their answers interesting. Chris said at first he was, but she was so beautiful and fell in love with her. Isaac said no, after they approached the window, it was so peaceful; a strange beautiful peace they had not felt before. Both grandsons tried to explain this feeling, but they couldn’t. They just knew they were safe. I then asked them if they went to sleep right away. Both boys said no and talked about how beautiful she was. Chris said. “I’m going to marry her. I can’t wait to go to heaven!”

I know what happened to my grandsons is a true experience. The description of strange red eyes and this feeling of peace that swallows your very existence is a very surreal moment. I have never experienced the white eyes and I can only imagine what they looked like. Also, both grandsons stated that the eyes of these two black figures were evil. They tried to explain the type of white it was; it was a color they had never seen.

My bedroom is straight across from the one my grandchildren sleep in. Around 8:30 pm that same day, both boys had another visit. The bathroom they use is down the hallway. I always leave my bedroom door open when they are spending the night.

My grandsons were ready to shower, so they walked down the hallway into the bathroom. I overheard Isaac instructing Chris to “go get grandma.” I yelled out, “What’s wrong?” Chris entered my room extremely frightened, telling me something was looking at him through the bathroom window and it had red eyes! When I entered the hallway, Isaac was standing outside the bathroom. Entering the bathroom, I looked out the window and it was gone. I asked Chris if he would like the window shut and he nodded yes, so I immediately shut it. I explained that they must always stay calm and simple say, “The Lord rebukes you.” Isaac had this look on his face as if he wanted to tell me something. I asked him if he was scared.

Calmly, he replied, “No. Victoria looked over the shower curtain. That’s why I’m not.”

The next morning, I was thinking about the secret Victoria had to tell them. I asked both grandsons separately if Victoria told them a secret. Both my grandsons said yes. Again, I asked if they could tell me the secret. Each grandson had a strange, bewildered expression on his face as he tried to remember. Neither of them could remember what the secret was.

In conclusion, I believe that secret was exclusively for them. However, the entire scenario of events played out as a movie—especially the young girl in human form wearing a Hello Kitty shirt and blue jeans, telling these two little boys she has been watching them for some time. She is stabbed in the neck and wishes she could be their guardian angel, then ends up turning into an angel to destroy the evil that chases children. And within the last few moments, she informs them that she will be checking on them and will see them both in heaven. Now that is powerful!

So, the obvious answer to the question that I had to know is…

“Humans can become angels after death.”

God Answered Me

I am not a church-going person, but I believe in God. I sometimes curse, smoke now and then, and have a cup of cannabis tea. In the past, I had been pretty arrogant at times. My history was pretty rough. I was in fights throughout my teenage years, attended four different high schools, and left home at fifth teen. But overall, I am a good person; I have lived and learned through the years. I had come to believe in God as time and experiences commenced forward for many years. I now say my prayers often.

  • Author: Marsha L Ceniceros
  • Published: 2017-01-24 21:50:11
  • Words: 5662
God Answered Me God Answered Me