40. Heartache by the number


In the early hours of Sunday May 23rd 04 I had a dream. It came very early in the morning during a trance-like sleep. I had been up for the weekly Hour of Power from Garden Grove, California, and crawled back to bed. I was barely awake as my spirit prayed and pondered the wonderful things God had shown me and brought me through. How could I have experienced all these adventures and not appreciated the mighty power and wonders beyond our galaxy?  All things had worked together for good.


My mind relived events of the week, as I listened to the sacred music of EBI FM Radio. On the Monday ABC Radio had held a family fun event. It was sometime after uploading the “rubbish clean up” event of Chapter 22, outside house number 75.


(My diary of 10.5.04 mentions my discovery following events of Ch. 22, pure magic. The text in my version of “FrontPage” on my computer happened to place the two numbers 75 exactly inline with each other, eg. 75 in one line was exactly underneath 75 in the next – about 1 in 80 chance of this happening).


Jon and I arrived very late that rainy night at “The Dome”. Despite Jon’s protest I decided to sit with “The Stand”, the supporter’s group of the Adelaide United Soccer Club, who also sponsored the event. After we had sat down toward the front, I smiled when I found out that I had chosen to sit on seat No. C 57 by sheer fluke.


My diary also reports that on 19/5 – an ice cream van drove past our place, playing the “Happy Wanderer”. In Chapter 23 I reported that I had noticed these words on the T-shirts of a group of ladies, out for a walk one Sunday morning in far away Tamworth NSW.                                     


A major news story that week made headlines and filled the airwaves on radio and TV. It was about an Adelaide MP’s travel rort. It was alleged she had four years earlier taken a ‘boy friend’ on an overseas trip and declared he was ‘her spouse’. I discovered some anomalies in the case. That week my mind had been occupied with questions on the case, and my feet busy, walking to find the truth. (More on that in the next chapter).


On Friday 21/5/04 my diary says: “I drove past a large sign turned upside down outside a Garden Centre– PALM SALE NOW ON”. Of course I read the sign as “P&L1, SA EL No won’. Another fan showing support?”


On the way into the city that morning something else had caught my eye - Road works at the corner of O’Connell and Barton Terrace West. Something looked not right. On the return trip, a few hours later, I parked my Suzuki nearby and had a closer look. After a few moments it clicked – Barton Tce. and O’Connell Street form into an L’. The other two streets, which make up the intersection (Prospect and Main North Roads), shape into a V. Unless I was thinking too far outside my square I could see parallels to events in chapter 21, when a V & L was shaped by the layout of streets.


On the Saturday afternoon, about 15 hours before my dream, which I will come to shortly, I finished a driving lesson at One Tree Hill, a semi-rural community on the outskirts of Adelaide. I had heard on the radio and TV News about a major crime. News reports actually stated that this apparent murder of a woman had already been declared a ‘major crime’. (It had puzzled me before, when incidents were declared as ‘major crime’ within hours of them happening).


A woman’s body had been driven to and dumped on the side of a road. I had seen a minute detail on the news and wanted to view the crime scene for myself. The name ‘Seaview Road’ therefore made sense. The report said clearly that the woman’s body was transported to the spot and dumped there. Why then did the TV News showed men in uniform, as if systematically combing the surrounding paddocks? Why look for clues there? It’s either one or the other.


The chosen spot was most unsuitable for dumping a body, in my opinion. It was right near a sharp, blind bend, where traffic could have turned the corner any moment to witness the disposal of the body. There were much better hiding places nearby.


Further bits of trivia bugged me about the crime scene. One, a property nearby is called ‘L…” The name contains a D & N and is mentioned in a previous chapter of my book, linked to a major world event. (For privacy reasons, I’d rather not give the full name).


Two, the sharp bend is signposted as 25km/h advisory speed. I had taken learner drivers around that bend many times. This time I could not read the sign. It had been covered in black plastic? Why? It had no bearing on the criminal activity that had allegedly taken place. By now I had experience in deciphering clues and it took little time to see it - the letters in the word plastic and the date of the alleged incident – 20.5!


A large truck, belonging to a nearby Garden Centre slowly went by. I had noticed their phone number before – it ends in 1111. I hadn’t planned at the time to visit there, but as I drove by on my way home, the letters P T and Roses sprung into my eye. It was enough do a U-Turn in my Suzuki and to pay a visit to the busy Garden Centre.


Since it all happened so quickly I felt a bit strange. What on earth am I here for? I asked myself. What was it that I was supposed to discover here? I did not want to buy any garden supplies. In a way I was afraid a shop assistant would ask me, if I needed help. How would I have answered that question? Yes or no – or a decisive - yes and no?


I walked slowly past the checkout and turned left for no real reason. I knew I was meant to be here, but had no clue why. Then in an aisle, hidden on the right, I spotted a face. I remembered the short man with the baldhead and round face as an employee of the MCA, the Motorist’s organisation I had worked for as driving instructor. His name I re-made into ‘Y he, why a N’. We had a brief chat; the kind you have with someone you worked with years ago and you bump into him at the Garden shop. 


What would he have thought had I told him as it really was: “Well, up the road two days ago they were supposed to have dumped a woman’s body. I think they were lying. Because of the bit of plastic over a 25 sign and one truck from this Garden Centre drove by with the number 1111 on the back and because  I saw the P & T Roses sign outside, I turned around, came in here and now I am talking to you. How about yourself?”


That is how it really was. I could only think of one thing worse than saying this to this ex-workmate in the garden shop - trying to explain it to my wife who lay beside me in bed that Sunday morning.


How I longed for a human being to discuss some of my thoughts! Not necessarily to agree with everything, just to listen and say – that’s interesting! If under their breath they thought I was Cuckoo, I wouldn’t have cared.


In my innermost being I was desperate to find out the truth? Had I deteriorated mentally to such a point that I was totally unaware of major flaws in my thinking - my evaluation of my self worth, my call to the ’mission’, my ultimate destiny?


I was sobbing quietly as not to wake up Isobel. Those were the loneliest times of my life, the pain almost too much to bear. Yet, during those moments God was closer than ever. How fortunate that there was ONE who did not condemn, who was there, listening to my cries, always understanding.


My spirit cried out that morning for clarity – “please God show me!” Are these crazy events really as I see them? Is it really you, is it really true, all these strange discoveries and thoughts? Are your doing something extra-ordinary in and through me? Lord I have been going places, doing things I would not normally have done. Lord, am I really doing your work?


As I was laying in bed begging God for clarity in all sincerity, I fell in and out of sleep. Then for a fleeting moment I saw a vision. Before my eyes flashed a cylindrical shaped, structure, about the height of a bus and about two meters or so in diameter. It looked much like a “Litfassaeule”, a tall, round community notice board, which I remembered from my youth in Germany. (See photo Chapter 24 - Book 3)


The  top section of the cylinder’s main body was wider. On it I saw four letters, shaped out of what looked like very small clouds. The letters were two two-letter words - IS SO. It hit me in an instant, the flash of a thought in a dream-like state.  I believed that God gave me this four-letter message to confirm “it” is from God. I had believed this all along; that I am not ill. To now see these four letters, two insignificant words, in a vision, woke me and brought me into a state of awe and amazement. (This is the first time I am sharing this with anyone). But again, there’s more.


Writing my diary later that day, I was still amazed at the way I received the answer to my pleading. I took it as clear confirmation that indeed I was not mentally ill. The genius of the 4 letters IS SO struck me, after looking at the four letters on paper. I saw the uncanny similarity to the number I550; almost like the number, which had previously struck me as very special. (Chapter 17).


Was this number 155 haunting me? It almost seemed so on the afternoon of Monday 9/8/04. I happened to drive through Light Square in Adelaide. After I had stopped for a red traffic light, I scanned the surroundings. For the first time, while living in Adelaide, I took note of an address - No. 155 Waymouth Street. It was the address of a well-known bordello, operated by the lady, who in 2001 had lobbied strongly to legalize prostitution. The Family Standards organisation, which I actively supported at the time, had campaigned to have the bill defeated, which is what, thankfully, happened. (Chapter 41 More in number).


As if organised just for the occasion, as I stopped at the red traffic light outside No. 155 the registration number of the vehicle in the lane beside me read …155.  


This was not the only reason my Spirit was stirred that Monday. I had been in the city to take my computer to my Internet-Service-Provider for trouble shooting. To fill my time productively I decided to take a walk around town and pray silently outside important public buildings.  


In King William Street I paused in front of the plain façade of the Advertiser Newspaper building. I prayed: “Lord we need truth in the media. Please let journalists see the important role they play in society ”. At the Supreme Court building I reminded God: Your Word says that you love justice. Heavenly Father, YOU are a God of faithfulness, without injustice; YOU are righteous and upright. God loves it when we tell HIM that we rely on the promises in HIS Word.


Strange that right outside the Supreme Court building a vehicle was parked; the number in my language read: Re: victory 123, the letters also mean “WHO” in German.


I crossed King William Street and prayed briefly outside the Magistrate’s Court and the Coroner’s Court. Not long before, I had read in the newspaper that through sheer overwork, the Coroner investigates only a very small number of reported deaths.


At St. Martin’s Catholic Cathedral I prayed for an awakening amongst the traditional churches. Father, may those in authority realize that the church is people and not fancy trimmings, pomp and ceremony. YOU look at a person’s hearts, not on the colour skin, their education or outward beauty. 


A sign outside a tall, more modern building on the eastern side of Victoria Square read “State Administration”, a subheading “State Treasury”. Father I pray against corruption. Put honesty, diligence and wisdom into the hearts of those in public office, to serve the community with a humble spirit.


Just as I paused for my short prayer outside this building, a senior Minister in the State Labor Government exited the building. A moment later I bumped into a young man, whom I had known well from the Speaker’s Club. We exchanged a few words. His name was Jason. ’Ja’ is the German word for ‘yes’.


Still further on out of the corner of my eye I thought I recognized a face, a young lady from Paradise Community Church. She was the second person from that church I had bumped into that day. Should I pay a visit there? Why not straightaway?


It was not a great detour, via Northeast Road, to drop into the Paradise Community Church, a large, well-known and respected church in the suburb with the heavenly name. After arriving in Adelaide in 1983 Paradise was our regular place of worship until 1997. I knew many people, because I had been active in music, children’s work and home groups. I once remember saying to a pastors wife, as a kind of serious joke: “I don’t know what’s harder for me, looking after 4 kids, 14 people in the home group or 40 in Royal Rangers?”


“Should I go and ask for Pastor B. or sit in the Café and have a drink and see what happens?” I asked myself. Just as I walked up to the front door the Pastor I had considered contacting, walked right towards me. (The church has a large staff; the telephone book lists 26 pastors).  Incident’s like these made me feel that God confirmed that I was meant to be here, even though no great in-depth conversation happened.


On the contrary, I mentioned if he had heard about my story on the Internet. He said no. On the other hand, he confirmed the name of the young lady, who partly prompted my rolling up at Paradise that afternoon. It was Lisa. I left after a bit of small talk and walked back to my car.


I felt a little confused behind the wheel of my little Suzuki, the cute little ‘bus’ that had taken me to so many places on this strange journey. Why did God guide me to this church and then let me leave confused? Was I not proactive enough? Should I have just blurted out all my thoughts, my incredible story? Within minutes it was going to get even more incredible, but perhaps HE planned this apparent fruitless, brief stopover? I am convinced HE did.


On the Saturday prior, during a driving lesson, I had noticed a driving school vehicle (their name includes ALL) practicing parallel parking at a spot, where I had in mind practicing with my client. Something had raised my awareness level, so I decided to not choose another spot for parking practice, but to later return to the same spot in a back street near a creek in Modbury.


After more than 20 minutes the vehicle with the roof sign ‘ALL …” was still there, practicing moving in and out between two poles. As we drove by the vehicle, I noticed two pallets on the grass. (A pallet we call the wooden base to transport bricks or tiles on). The word pallet I read as P, all & cross or P & LL’s and cross.


Now, two days later, a picture of the two pallets at that spot flashed through my brain as I left the Paradise church car park. Despite feeling tired, I felt prompted to drive to the spot and see, if the pallets were still there. A few kilometres further on, near the Hope Valley Water Reservoir, I noticed my odometer showed a lot of sevens. But the last digit was a 2. Then I looked carefully and thought – this is unreal. Is this the reason for me driving to the short back street in Modbury, about another 5 kilometres away?


As I turned off North East Road and parked the car my odometer had indeed moved forward to read 177 777.


But there was more – isn’t there always?


In this short street a man had lived, who very early on in my story, around 1999, had played a part. Before my first hospitalisation I had had plans to teach road safety classes in a large High School. He was the Deputy Principal of that school. He was the man to whom I had said: “I am going through a Joseph experience” (Chapter 9 - More in number). During my second hospitalisation I had escaped one evening. His address, where I walked to for help, was in this street. That night I had also knocked on a door just over the creek in Saxton St. (Chapter 14 – More in number). 


I was so taken with the reading on the odometer that I considered taken a photo. But my camera would not show the detail; and I had nothing to prove to anyone. I just lay back in the seat for a moment, tired but overawed by what was taking place. The 2 pallets, the picture that prompted me to drive here, had gone. 


Sometime later, I can’t recall when exactly, did the name of the street hit me - Ward Street. Ward – Word!! How amazing! If this is not from God, I don’t know, where this magic came from. I certainly had nothing to do with it. No, it is God’s working – a theophany, HE was showing Himself to us. 


In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

(John 1:1)


Friends, I did not invent this tale, God forbid. HE is real. HIS Word is true. All will come to pass, just as HE told us it would. It’s not too late to turn to HIM and to take HIM seriously.

Chapter 41