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GOD'S MESSAGES

 LOVE KINDNESS FORGIVENESS



gods messages

This story is about how love can transcend all traumas and heal most, if not, all wounds. An inspirational, true story for healing with God’s messages, and how Sonia tapped into those messages of love, compassion, kindness and forgiveness. We all have that gut feeling, that voice in our heads telling us; warning us. We all receive messages from God. We just need to listen. God speaks to us all.

Sonia St Claire started receiving messages from the Divine when she entered her third orphanage at the age of seven years in NSW, Australia.

When Sonia first saw the statue of Our Lord standing on the landing outside of her dormitory, she was mesmerised by His tenderness and love. She stood still, eyes wide open, frozen in silence, riveted to the floor, watching, listening to what He had to say. Although His words were silent, she heard and felt telepathically His message.

As young as she was, she knew this orphanage would be one of her worst homes she would be placed in. She felt and understood His messages. She also knew that her adulthood would be more of the same. More violence, abuse, cunning, manipulation and dread.

Sonia tasted God’s love when she had a near-death experience at age fourteen when her appendix burst. She states, ‘His love and peace are beyond our imagining and comprehension’. There are no words.

Sonia kept receiving messages and helped numerous people with severe health problems, even saving their lives, including her own. She went on to forgive her perpetrators, including her mother, finding purpose in life to help others heal.  

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ISBN: 978-1-876882-51-8
Format: Paperback
Number of pages: 207
Genre: Non Fiction

Cover: Clive Dalkins

 

© Cover Design—Zeus Publications 2019 



 


Author
-
Sonia Hope St.Clare
Publisher: Zeus Publications
Date Published:  2019
Language: English


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Dedication 

I dedicate this book to my twin sister Sarah, and to my beautiful children and grandchildren.

Likewise, to all the babies and children in the world, that they may be kept safe.

It is with much gratitude that I thank my niece Therese, with all my heart, for writing the foreword to this book.

All names have been changed for legal reasons, except for Therese, my niece, and Ben and Olivia, my youngest two children, who both gave me permission to use their real names.

  

Author Bio 

Sonia Hope St Claire was born in Sydney, NSW. She was the elder born of twin girls. She was raised in five different Catholic orphanages for the first 14 years of her life throughout NSW.  

At just 19 she had her first child. She went on to marry 12 years later and had two more children. Sonia divorced in 1992, and moved to the Gold Coast with her two youngest children, where she resides to this day. She raised her children alone and never remarried.  

Sonia wrote her first book, The Girl in the Locker, her life story, which was published in 2014, and released into book stores countrywide on 1st June. 

Sonia’s second manuscript, God’s Messages, is a book she has wanted to write for many years. It details her life, her childhood in part, but mainly her life as an adult post the tragic death of her twin sister. 

Her purpose now is to help others to heal emotionally. 

Media 

Sonia Hope St Claire appeared on Channel Nine’s A Current Affair show on 12th March 2019 regarding George Pell, and her encounter with him in 1992. The overlay showed her book The Girl in the Locker and her experiences raised in Catholic orphanages for the first 14 years of her life.

Sonia also appeared on Channel Ten’s morning show Studio 10 in July 2014. She was interviewed by Ita Buttrose and Jessica Rowe regarding her book The Girl in the Locker.

 Sonia also did, sometimes back-to-back, radio interviews around the country for three months straight, promoting her book The Girl in the Locker.

 She was also interviewed by several journalists for major newspapers and magazines, including online publications.

 Sonia was recently interviewed by a crime and court reporter for the online publication, Starts @ 60 by Jocelyn Nickels, after seeing her on ACA. 

Sonia also appeared on the Mike Walsh Show on Channel Nine regarding the effects of orphanage life in 1978

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Foreword

 

Where does one start to sum up an extraordinary life from innocent victim of horrendous injustices to miraculous survivor? Words are difficult to find after reading not only The Girl in the Locker, written by my aunt, Sonia St Clare, based on her and her twin sister Sarah’s lives, being raised in orphanages from aged three months old to fourteen years, but also her courage and determination to climb from her life of pain and humiliations to one of forgiveness and also gratitude, portrayed in her book, God’s Messages.

Sonia’s twin Sarah was not so fortunate; after years of the same torments and abuse she was unable to overcome the burdens life had inflicted upon her. She had been broken and fractured and was unable to heal. Her death was a tragedy for Sonia, who considered her brave sister her second heartbeat. Both had an acute understanding of each other’s pain. When Sonia wrote her book, The Girl in the Locker, she also wrote it for her sister; she needed to tell their story of heartache, personal pain, and to share their story also for the many innocent voiceless victims unable to do so.

Sonia’s book, God’s Messages, is based on her survival and insightful experiences from her very early childhood. Sonia’s faith in her loving God, her friend, comforter and confidant, gave her the strength to forge forward when life knocked her down.

Sonia’s holy insights, spiritual experiences and visions enabled her to look deep within her heart and by doing so she became aware she was not alone. Hope was forged and the seeds of forgiveness towards those who had caused her pain began to grow. Sonia was able to see her worth in the eyes of God: she was His child and worthy of love and happiness.

After a long grieving period, especially the first two years after the death of Sarah, Sonia was able to gather her strength and with the help of her loving God put her complete trust and confidence in Him, who became her strength.

God’s Messages is a testimony of a woman’s journey from victim to heroine. God was able to show her the way to move forward with faith and confidence. Moreover, to be a voice, witness and support for others, as she shared her love, insightfulness and truth.

I highly recommend God’s Messages to those who are searching for enlightenment. Who feel they are in need of encouragement, who feel alone, lost or abandoned, and for those who are searching for meaning in their lives. Or simply for those who know people who are struggling and are looking for ways to support them.

In a world where pain and heartache are so apparent, I am pleased and so very proud of my Aunt Sonia who has shared her insights and life’s experience to help others to also move forward in their lives and, yes, make a difference. 

Therese Piegdon (Social Worker) Retired.
 

Prologue

 Love is the most powerful energy in the world. God’s love touched me when I had my near-death experience at the age of fourteen when my appendix burst. The love I felt on the other side was unexplainable, all encompassing; it was beyond words, beyond anything you could imagine on earth. It was a love so powerful, so prevailing, it reached down into my soul. I was filled in every fibre of my being with God’s love and peace. I was loved beyond anything I could describe. I had no pain, no earthly wants or desires, all my needs were met in the moments, or however long it was, that I was heartened by God’s love. I wasn’t thirsty, hungry, angry, lonely, hot or cold, or deprived of anything. I had no needs or earthly desires. I was loved, I was love. I may not have been loved all my life, and never knew what love was or what it meant, but I recognised love when it touched me on that day. It was almighty and powerful. God’s love consumed me, and in those moments, I realised how beautiful love is, when you know what it means. I knew what it meant on that very day. It is impossible for me to try and love anyone the same as God loves us, as it is beyond the realm of my thinking and capacity.

To love another unconditionally the way God loves us, is beyond mankind. When I was experiencing my near-death experience, I was filled with so much of God’s love, I could have loved the entire world with that kind of love, unconditionally. It would have been impossible not to. However, once my experience was over, I never had that kind of love to give. Once I was earth bound after being saved by lifesaving surgery, the love, even in its purest earth form, could never be, the love that is on the other side. God is love; love is God.

When one has a near-death experience, it changes you. It gives you a bigger picture of life and death. Not the picture God has, but a much bigger picture, than you had before. An NDE transforms your life. You realise life is a lot more about loving and connecting to our fellow man. That life is about being loving, kind, and forgiving to one another; to see beyond the person, and see their soul. To let the trivial stuff go, as the bigger picture is about love and peace.

Sometimes life gets in the way, and one can be side-tracked, but eventually, you come back to what’s really important, and that’s having God in your life, and serving humanity, one way or another. It all starts with love, kindness and forgiveness.

 

Chapter One

My Primary Years

 

From the age of seven, entering my third orphanage in New South Wales, Australia, I knew and felt such a connection to God, it was palpable. God has given me many messages in my life which I have acted on, which resulted in my life being saved on numerous occasions, even helping to save the lives of others. I have also received messages about impending deaths and illnesses of loved ones. Ignoring my messages is something I do not do, not anymore. I haven’t listened in the past at times and I have paid the price.

We all have that gut feeling, that knowing, that little voice in our heads, that intuition that is trying to tell us something, trying to give us messages, warnings, sometimes dire warnings. We just need to listen and heed these communications. We all receive them, but a lot of us have chosen to ignore them, including me on many occasions as a young woman. In fact, I ignored them for years at one stage and I suffered greatly because of it.

These messages are from God. He speaks to all of us. He thinks about us always. Always loving us, never judging us, never needing to say you’re forgiven, because He sees us as perfect, His children, whom He loves unconditionally. I always know I am not alone, and that I am always loved. Even when my world, at times, has felt bleak, or I am having a bad day, I am never alone and I never feel lonely knowing he is in my life.

When Mother dropped us off to St Martha’s Children’s Home at Leichhardt at the age of seven, Sarah and I were taken up to the dormitory on the first floor by one of the nuns, to show us where we were going to sleep. Before I entered the huge room, which was off the landing, I noticed a large statue of Our Lord standing high up on a pedestal over in the corner of the room, towering over me – He was so imposing. He was dressed in a red and white robe. He looked magnificent, kind, loving and gentle; He took my breath away.

I was mesmerised by Him, and I could not help but stand still in silence, even though the nun was trying to drag me into the dormitory, pulling on my little hand; nevertheless I could not move. I stood frozen as if my shoes were nailed to the floor like a tree rooted to the ground. I was riveted. I couldn’t take my eyes off Him. In that moment, I felt such a connection to that figure, to God, the Almighty. I knew in that moment my life would change for the worse being in this establishment. I never sensed a happy moment for the time I would spend in this institution, or for many years to come. I never heard God’s words out loud; they were unspoken but felt within me. It was like my life had flashed before my eyes. Although I didn’t hear His words or bear witness to the sound of His voice, He spoke to me telepathically, and I knew in that moment, deep down in the recess of my soul, what He was saying to me. I accepted it, I had already surrendered and given in.

I was gifted with hearing God’s voice at the age of seven, back in 1957. I was gifted with seeing my future, as bleak as it was. I was gifted with God’s messages to help many, many people over decades.

After seven years of orphanage life and with still many years ahead of me, I was already weary. I had lost my smile and hope in the fact that my mother would ever take us home to live with her. Life ahead for me would be tremendously brutal. There would be abuse of all kinds including severe beatings, sexual abuse, physical and emotional neglect, bullying, intimidation, retribution, medical and dental neglect, commands and demands that we could not live up to, and then punished for. Chores that were beyond our years and too much to carry out for young children at the tender age of seven. Such atrocities that occurred to my young body during my stays in foster care during the school holidays, away from the orphanages, would change the essence of who I was supposed to be, forever.

God’s message to me that day on the landing was strong, it was loud and clear. I felt and knew what He transpired to me on that very day. It enveloped my entire being, it consumed me.

Although life for my little twin, my second heartbeat, and I was harsh, extremely harsh back in those days of the 1950s, I also knew I was dearly loved by God, and I loved Him. I never blamed God for my sorrow, for my terrible childhood, and for the life that ensued beyond those years as a young adult. It was society, and some of the people in it, with free will and choice, that chose to take out their pain, their unresolved issues, their shortcomings and anger on innocent children. The power and control had enveloped them. They did these things simply because they could.

We are all given free will. There are no excuses. We get to choose what we do with our lives, and how we treat each other, our children, our animals and Mother Earth. Listening to our messages and acting on those messages is vital for a happier life, for better decisions, for a more successful life, a more fulfilling life and most importantly, a more spiritual life.

Sarah and I were in this particular home for children for five years. Without having a loving mother in my life, I was incredibly lonely and sad in the orphanages, where we spent the first fourteen years of our lives. I was starved of love, affection, a soft place to fall and the warm embraces that only a mother can give. We had such room in our hearts for affection, but no one was loving us. My mother, sadly, had no capacity to love, to show compassion or tenderness, not even for herself, let alone anyone else.

The question was not ‘What was wrong with her?’ but ‘What happened to her?’ to make her feel so empty and void of love. No matter what, I loved her so much and needed her love, like I needed air to breathe. I never hated her, although I tried. Mother was the youngest of ten children growing up in the early 1900s. Her father died when she was only two years old. Her mother was extremely stoic and ruled the family with an iron fist. When she said ‘Jump’, you asked ‘How high?’ You never questioned her or looked sideways, in case you got the strap. Mother never felt loved and her life was harsh in different ways. She never had love to give. She couldn’t give what she didn’t know.

Growing up in orphanages with Catholic nuns, one would think my spiritual growth would have been propelled to the highest level leaving me in a state of complete grace. With all the prayers, rosaries, confessions, masses, benedictions and learning the catechism off by heart, one would think I would be exhilarated with spirituality, happiness and joy. I wasn’t; I was terrified and lived in fear of these nuns and did anything I could to avoid a beating that would render me unconscious.

I hid in my utilitarian metal locker which stood by my single bed up to the left of the dormitory, near the exit glass doors. My locker became my friend where I hid in the darkness and prayed to God. I would crouch down on my ankles with a level of anxiety that filled my entire body. I talked to God about my life and hoped that one day soon I would leave this God-forsaken place. I prayed each night in my bed to be taken up to Heaven, so I could be in the presence of God and in the arms of love. To take away the pain, the indignities, the humiliation, the loneliness that I felt each and every day. To be held and embraced by a loving Father. But this was not to be, and deep down inside of me, I knew it was not my time to leave. To leave this orphanage or this earth.

The nuns were so violent and cruel in their treatment of us. I looked to Heaven, to God, to be released from this world, while they raised hell. I wanted to see Heaven opening up for me, with angels singing on my arrival, but it was not to be. I always wanted to feel the immense love of God, and what that would feel like from a young girl. I wondered if the nuns thought about their messages, their dialogue with God. After all, they were married to Him, and devoted their lives to Him locked up in the convents. They wore gold wedding bands on their fingers to attest their love for Him. In addition, they wore rosary beads around their waists with Jesus hanging off the cross. He swung back and forth across their bodies as they moved in haste to beat me or one of the other children. What was their interchange with God as they struck me over and over again? Where was the beauty in their lives, that could have been shared with us? Where was the compassion, the love, the peace and the kindness that should have been bestowed upon us children?

Perhaps their cloistered lives and unresolved issues kept them emotionally stunted and angry. Moreover, when one has such power over children, or anyone, that power can be abused, especially dealing with children, the frail and the elderly. They had obviously reached that tipping point where they had crossed the line. They were never accountable to anyone, nor were they checked on by the Department of Child Services. God’s love and kindness was not revered or practised by any nun I spent years with, except two.

There was one elderly nun in this home who was crippled and walked with a limp, aided by a walking stick. She looked about eighty. She was small and lean in stature and had a hump on her back. When I looked at her, I knew she was in great pain. As young as I was, I knew she was suffering. I always felt the suffering of others. She glowed like a beam of light was radiating out of her body. Her kindness, her spirituality and her compassion shone through. I could tell she was at peace. She always smiled at me and asked how I was. I always replied, ‘Good, Sister’. But it wasn’t long before she had passed away.

I was so afraid in this home that I became mute for several years. I didn’t want to be brought under notice by any of the nuns. I always hid behind the older girls who were taller than me. That plan didn’t always work out. But it did save me many times. Whenever I was on the landing upstairs, I would stare at God’s statue. I understood His messages and felt and knew that nothing was going to change for me for a long time. I felt burdened and weighed down for such a young girl. I carried much on my shoulders for someone so undeveloped.

When Sarah and I turned twelve years of age, we left this home, but not unscathed, to enter another orphanage at Liverpool. We were so orphan-weary; we just did as we were told and accepted anything and everything that happened to us. We had never been to a dentist or a doctor, except for one time when a doctor and nurses were called out to the home we had just left in Leichhardt at St Martha’s. For some reason I and other children were covered in blisters all over our bodies. I remember a nurse who was applying some kind of lotion all over my skin, I realised later in life that it was chicken pox. I have scars on my face, so no doubt chicken pox was what it was.

I liked the new orphanage, St Anne’s, as we were not hemmed in behind high, prodigious walls that barricaded us in. There was no fencing around the property and lots of land. In fact, there was a white horse that grazed on the property. We rode it sometimes and I loved the freedom I felt with the wind blowing in my hair. As a matter of fact, I was the only one who could catch it and put the bridle on him. He was a feisty animal and would pig root and buck you off him if you weren’t careful. Riding him was something I looked forward to every week.

The Mother Superior of this orphanage was so gentle, so kind and different to the nuns we had just left. I could tell, at twelve years old, that she was a sick woman and she looked so frail. She never took to any of us with the strap, or beat us with her fists, like the others. Now that I was twelve years old, I thought the beatings would stop, but no, they continued.

In our dormitory where my sister and I slept, there were only six beds as we were considered seniors. Other dormitories had twenty beds in them. Us girls had a lot of fun and talked and laughed every night after lights out. We tried to keep the noise down as we didn’t want the nuns to hear us or we knew what would happen. One night we were having so much fun, which was something I never had in my entire life. To laugh and have fun at any age should be a normal part of life, but was not in mine, ever. I wasn’t as outgoing as the others in the room, as Sarah and I were beaten down a very long time ago. But we were learning from the other girls in the room that it was okay to laugh and to actually enjoy yourself.

This particular night we were all laughing when a nun crept up on us like a wolf in the night with her strap in hand, frothing at the mouth and ready to assert her power over me after hearing our voices. She singled me out for some reason. I think I had ‘beat me’ written all over my forehead. She yelled, ‘Sonia, come over here!’ and ordered me to go with her for another flogging. This time, I just couldn’t comply. Carrying the weight of the years of abuse I had experienced for my entire life, I just couldn’t take any more. I completely lost my senses and I yelled at her in a loud, screaming voice, ‘Leave me alone, just leave me alone!’ I was screaming at the top of my lungs, crying and shaking as I spoke.

‘I said come with me!’ she replied commandingly. ‘Do you hear me?’

‘No! If you want me, come and get me!’

‘How dare you speak to me like that, you impudent child.’

‘I don’t care. I’ve had enough of you nuns abusing me, strapping me, belting me and beating me with your fists. I just can’t take it anymore!’ I took a deep breath, then added, ‘If you come near me, I’ll turn the strap on you and knock you into next Sunday! Now get out and leave me alone!’

I was still screaming at the top of my lungs and sobbing with every word. The nun was shocked at my outburst and instead of challenging me, she turned her body around and left with her tail between her legs. I don’t know what happened to me that night. I lost all control.

I was taller than most of the nuns now and becoming a little too imposing for them. Although I was lean, I was wiry and strong and had an air about me – a confidence, a strength. When she left, I fell to the floor on my knees, lay my head in my hands on my bed and sobbed. I longed for someone, an adult, to console me. There was no one to play that role in my life. My sister and the other girls did jump out of bed and comfort me at my bedside. They couldn’t believe I stood up to a nun as no one had ever done that before. However, I was never beaten again. Word spread and not one nun ever touched me again. I was now considered a hero to the other girls, especially the younger ones. I wasn’t a hero, I never felt like one, but my outburst had saved me many beatings.

The belts the nuns used to abuse us with would have been at least two to two and a half inches wide, and they were made of thick leather. I had been beaten before so badly that I was left with wide strap marks around my legs that were purple in colour and the edges bled, where the skin had broken many times. I had these marks for most of my years in St Martha’s, Leichhardt.

Two years had passed and I was now fourteen. Suddenly, one day at school, I started to feel very unwell. I had agonising pain in my abdomen all over. I had become febrile and felt terribly ill. I tried to tell the nuns of my condition, but I was ignored. I could barely stand up. I was so ill I put my head down in the classroom and the nun told me to go back over the road to the orphanage and let the sisters know how sick I was. Again, I tried to tell another sister, but she told me there was nothing wrong with me and I was putting it on. This was now day two of feeling so violently ill. I was perspiring profusely and almost becoming incoherent. I walked up the stairs to the bathroom and decided to have a hot bath. Why I did this I will never know. I lay down in the bath, then fell unconscious. I don’t know how long I was out to it, but all of a sudden, I woke. I climbed out of the bath feeling very unsteady and perspiring more than ever. I got dressed and went downstairs. I asked the nuns again if they would help me, again they refused.

By this time the other girls were out of school and were in the yard at the back of the orphanage where we all played. They could see how sick I was. In fact, any fool could see I was gravely ill. They begged the nuns to let me go to Liverpool Hospital which was down the road in the same street. The nuns said, ‘No, she’s putting it on.’ The older girls said, ‘If she’s putting it on, then the hospital will send her straight back here, won’t they?’ Still, the nuns refused. My sister was now becoming very angry. The pain had now moved to the right side of my abdomen. Again, the nuns refused to call an ambulance, a doctor, or drive me to the hospital even though they had two station wagons parked on the grounds.

My sister Sarah blurted out in frustration, ‘I’m taking my sister to the hospital and there is nothing you can do to stop me.’

‘How dare you speak to me like that, you’re an insolent child,’ one of the nuns retaliated. ‘Your sister is pretending to be sick because she wants to get out of playing basketball tomorrow!’

‘My sister loves basketball!’ Sarah cried out. ‘Sport is all she lives for in this God-forsaken place. I’m taking her to the hospital whether you like it or not. You have two cars here, but you have refused to help my sister now for three days.’ This was the second time my sister had stood up for me and shown such courage against the nuns. With my body bent over, weakened by pain and fever, my sister cupped my hand in hers with compassion in her eyes and led me toward Liverpool Hospital.

‘Come on, Sis, I’ll take you to the hospital. I’ll take care of you,’ she said with such assertiveness. ‘Everything will be all right, you’ll see, we’re nearly there, see? You can see the hospital already, can’t you?’ I was surprised at her bravery as she too had been weakened by the misery of our lives. The walk to the hospital was slow, as I was too ill to move in haste. It seemed as though I would never be free from my misery and torment, or this unrelenting pain. In my young mind Heaven was my only redemption. In thinking this, I knew deep down inside of me that I was dying, and yet for me, I embraced it, and was looking forward to leaving my God-forsaken life.

Suddenly, as we walked along the footpath, everything went white, like a cloud around me. It was a white I had never seen before. The white was so sharp and bright, and I had a feeling of peace and love that I had never felt before and the pain was gone. These feelings were strange and yet, it felt so good, so serene. The love and the peace I was feeling was immeasurable. It was something out of this world. I knew it was Heaven calling me and I felt the love of God. I felt like my feet weren’t even touching the ground now. I felt so light, like a feather, as though I was being prepared for my journey to Heaven. The wash of brilliant white over me must have been angels to take me to Heaven. I was so relieved, so happy. Finally, after years of praying for my death so I could be free from the brutality of this earth, where love and kindness were non-existent in my world; my prayers were about to be answered. My heart had never held love and I didn’t want to live in pain and sorrow anymore.

I no longer felt earth-bound and I was stuck between two worlds. God’s world was where I wanted to be. I was pain free and felt so loved, I was love and all I could be. I was enveloped by it, I never knew what love was, but oh my God, His love is out of this world. At seven years of age on the landing at my last orphanage, when I stood in front of Our Lord’s statue, I felt His love for me and knew I was loved beyond anything I could imagine, but this love I was now feeling was a billion times greater. Not only the love, but what was so astonishing was the peace I felt. They were two different feelings and yet one was as powerful as the other. Far beyond any love or peace on this earth. I cannot describe to you how much we are loved beyond this earth. We are so much more than our earthly bodies. I felt no pain, no desire to drink or eat, no desire for any earthly wants. It was just love, pure unconditional love. I have never felt so loved in my entire life, and I will feel it again, when I am home in God’s arms. This I look forward to.

All of a sudden, we had arrived at the hospital with my sister’s hand still in mine. She marched me into the hospital and up to the triage nurse and stated, ‘My sister is sick.’ Standing tall and in control, she added, ‘She needs help.’ The nurse took one look at me and picked up the phone and told me to be seated, while Sarah was giving her the required information. My bottom had hardly touched the seat when my name was called. I couldn’t believe I was called so suddenly, when the waiting room was packed with people ahead of me on a Friday afternoon. In fact, it was 4 o’clock, on 14 August 1964. I will never forget it.

I knew I was dying and at the end of my short life. I wanted to go home so badly, to be with God in Heaven with love beyond your wildest dreams. I was not afraid of death; it was the living that filled me with fear. With my sister supporting me, I staggered over to the doctor and fell into his arms. I remembered his compassion as he cradled me and picked me up, placing my limp, dying body on a stretcher trolley. No one had ever held me like that before.

‘How long have you been like this?’ he asked.

‘Since Wednesday.’

‘Why didn’t you come to the hospital sooner?’

‘They wouldn’t let me.’

‘Who wouldn’t let you?’

‘The nuns at the orphanage.’

‘Does it hurt when I press onto your abdomen here?’

‘No.’

‘Does it hurt when I let go?’

‘Yes!’ I screamed out in pain.

‘Where is your mother?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Do you know where she lives?’

‘No.’ At that point I fell unconscious.

I was rushed into the operating theatre for life-saving surgery, my appendix had burst. Meanwhile, the doctors were speaking to my sister out in the waiting room. They told her that if I had not been at the hospital at that time, I would have been dead within the half hour. They were furious I was neglected and could have died. When I awoke from surgery, I was feeling very disappointed that I had lived. I wanted to die and be with God and feel His love forever.

In the meantime, the doctors at the hospital had rung the police looking for my mother as they needed her permission to operate as I was a minor. The police gave the permission instead and they couldn’t find my mother as she was not at home. She was in fact at work. The doctors also phoned the Child Welfare Department and told them of my medical neglect by the Catholic nuns. The Child Welfare Department told my mother to take us out of the orphanage and take us home once and for all. We had been in five different orphanages since we were three months old.

During my time walking to the hospital when my appendix had burst, I had a near-death experience. I was truly blessed to feel the love and peace on the other side. I was given great understanding of the power of God’s love, and how it is beyond anything on this earth. I hadn’t crossed over and gone through any tunnel and seen others in Heaven, as I was still alive, barely. But what I saw and felt was nothing short of a miracle, a blessing. It was not my time to go and I had to stay for reasons beyond my understanding. I prayed for years to be taken up to Heaven to feel God’s love. What you speak, becomes your life. I didn’t die, but I felt the love and peace of God and received the most beautiful blessing of my life. I had a greater understanding of how love, kindness and compassion, which I never experienced growing up, are so important for all humanity. Love is all there is.

 

 

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