30. Born for a reason
Reporting about my journey and travels may seem slow to some. For some unknown reason, however, the timing always appears to work out just right – Chapter 30, my travels on August 30th, due for uploading on January 30th. Before continuing the Sydney experience, however, a brief switch to Adelaide, Australia Day 2006.
The notion that only ½ dozen people or so read these chapters, something my wife still believes, to me is unthinkable. Usually, very soon after uploading a chapter, I would stumble across an unexpected something, which stops me in my tracks. My mind, full of what I had just written, would pause and say: "Aha". Aha-moments were becoming more and more frequent.
A few of these occurred on Australia Day 06. On that hot and sunny Thursday, January 26, I was on my way before 7am, driving south to an Australia Day Breakfast, a tradition on our National Day.
During a moment of deja-vue I thought about a summer morning, just before Christmas 04, when I took my green Suzuki to Victor Harbour, also planning to attend an outside broadcast by our ABC Radio. I was reminded, how I reset my trip-meter on the corner of Prospect and Regency Roads and ended up passing house number 1053, just as the Suzuki's trip meter clocked 15.3 kilometers. Just for fun I reset the trip-meter again on the same intersection. I was not to be disappointed.
The Australia Day Breakfast was arranged by Radio 5AN 891 at Somerton Park, where they were also broadcasting from.
I had loaded my Wheeler 2600 bicycle into the Suzuki and planned on parking it, to cycle the rest of the way. Driving down Anzac Highway, I considered, where to park the car? It came to me in an instant – Immanuel College.
At the time I didn't know the suburb was Camden Park – DN came! (Hey I just discovered another link, while writing - read on about an old Toyota). It turned out that it was exactly 15.2 kilometer from where I had reset the trip-meter at Prospect. (But, what’s 0.1 kilometers between friends?)
Still on the Anzac Highway, I looked at the figures on my dashboard and saw a strange combination. The odometer read 212 111, when the trip-meter showed 011.1, exactly 100 kilometers difference. These figures switched me on, so I made a point of looking around. Should I be seeing something? For a split-second my eyes indeed read 4 huge letters to my left on an office building - BACK.
It was the Back Centre, situated at 130 Anzac Highway. (More strange odometer readings at the end of the chapter. Please note, we will come back to BACK with the name BROCK later).
Isn’t it spooky - 111 outside 130 ANZAC Highway? The letters ANZAC immediately take my mind back to ANZAC Day 1999, where the traumatic events of Chapter 9 of my first book, More in number than the Sand, took place. In perfect timing, I knew since the previous weekend that I would be visiting this church on the day of writing 29/106.
(One person who played a role in that eventful chapter (9 Sand) happened to walk into church at the same time as I did. I had called him Jonathan, which is not his real name. His [real] surname in German means - War).
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At first I ignored this bit of rubbish in the carpark of Elizabeth City Shopping Centre (in early 05 or so). On the return, something told me to have a closer look. Was there a message? If there was, I don't think it had anything to do with Candy (lollies).
I took it more likely as a reminder that I was in the middle of a non-conventional war.
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After the heat wave the previous week, Adelaide’s temperature was expected to again reach the high 30’s. It was not only hot in Adelaide that day. On 26/1/06 Victoria was experiencing large, devastating bushfires. The worst one was in the very mountain range I mentioned in the previous chapter, the Grampians. Even the major holiday town of Halls Gap was under threat.
There were many people already walking their dogs or taking a refreshing dip in the surf, when I arrived at the Somerton Park Surf Life Surfing Club. I had been a very pleasant 20 minute cycle.
The atmosphere on the foreshore by the newly renovated Clubhouse was friendly as people chatted, while enjoying the free BBQ and listening to the live broadcast from under Radio ABC 5AN's large umbrella.
The presenters - the Bald Brothers - are called that, because they get up very early every morning for their 5.30am start on radio. Bald in German means early. I bet listeners thought they are called Bald Brothers, because both are bald-headed. (Then again, that would also make sense. May be my German side got carried away translating, when it wasn't necessary?)
I stayed only for about an hour. There was another event I had in mind visiting. I knew, I would be arriving late. When I did arrive, however, I was astounded at the precision timing, over which I had absolutely no control. Read on.
I cycled back again along the foreshore. Near the Camden Reserve Oval, however, instead taking the bike track to the east, I felt like turning off and riding around the western end. On my left I noticed two properties for sale. The name on the first sign read Profile. A nice word; even nicer if we change it to ProLife.
The second sign, right next door, had the company name BROCK written on it. The letterbox number was 3/12, which started my Da Ninci brain - Brock minus r plus the o to a swap brings us back to Back. (I did exactly this in the previous chapter, where Cromer changed to came. (Aha, just discovered this on the second edit - came goes well with back).
But there was more. Only a few meters away, on the opposite side of the road was a business card. Something inside told me, pick it up, there is a connection. I did, there was. The business name was a clear Da Ninci “Hi – I see L”. It could not have come plainer than that. The letters LIC may have been in response to the hidden letters on the sign Dee Why – PubLIC School, in the previous chapter. Link, link!
Friends, if anyone thinks what a strange world they have entered, reading my codes, I agree. I keep saying to my wife, either my illness is getting worse or what God is doing in my life is getting bigger and bigger. There is no middle ground. How could I be just a little crazy, being firstly led to and subsequently shown the complex linking? To those familiar with the code, it is not really complex.
As time rolled on, and I observed those around me. I became more and more convinced that many read and believed my story and were entering into my world of thinking, codes 'n all.
If they did, put their trust in God, the ultimate power behind it all, they would experience the same fun, the same joy, the same sense of freedom as I have. Codes in itself are dead.
A further, very obvious reference, to what I had written in Chapter 29, came in Adelaide's West Terrace Cemetery, 15 minutes after leaving Immanuel College. Every Australia Day the German/Australian Community honours a composer, Karl Linger at his gravesite. The Adelaide Liedertafel, which I used to be a member of, sings a song or two each year at this famous German's memorial service.
As I drove into the cemetery, scanning the limited space for a space, where to park, I nearly turned left, but decided to follow straight on. Not far on the right was enough room for my Suzuki beside an old, large grave, the type which has a fence around it. As I reversed and manoeuvered into place I automatically asked, whose name is on the gravestone?
It had absolutely no bearing on what I was doing, parking beside this grave. Yet, I sensed something special was coming. So it was. The name (both Christian name and surname) on the gravestone was identical to that of a Member of our State Parliament's Upper House. Even the spelling was the same.
That’s interesting, I thought. Only weeks before I had written to this MP, saying quite plainly, what I had discovered in the Peter Liddy case and that somebody very close to Peter believes he is innocent.
(I have also met with another State MP, making the same impacting statement. Both attempts at obtaining hi-level support for getting a man out of jail, who may otherwise rot there until 2026, met with a shrug of the shoulder).
To my surprise, a moment later, I came face to face with this MP, whom I had not seen at this annual function before. I resisted the joke of telling him that my car was parked beside his grave.
I had arrived at least 20 minutes late for this service. Walking toward the group between two rows of graves I spotted a plastic flower on the ground. At first I walked on. Then the aha, kicked in: Did I not write in the previous chapter about seeing a plastic flower in a cemetery? I took two steps back and picked it up.
The plastic flower on the right is the one I picked up in West Terrace Cemetery on Australia Day 06. The one on the left, more like lavender in colour, I picked up a day later, walking my dog.
I never thought of reading any name on the nearest grave. My ears already picked up the distinct sound of male voices singing. The Adelaide Liedertafel was just singing the last line of the hymn: “Das ist der Tag des Herrn”. (This is the day of the Lord). I knew the song well. Just as I sat down in a seat in the last row, the choir sat down too, having repeated the last line of the song. What incredible timing!
(Back to Sydney – 30/8/05)
I had risen early, had gotten groomed and was ready to cycle into the centre of Sydney from Dee Why at 7.30am. My daughter’s partner allowed me to use bike his for the day, which to me spelled ultimate freedom – no worrying about parking spaces or traffic jams.
Traffic was very heavy, especially before the Spit Bridge and the narrow corridor along Military Road, leading to the famous steel giant, the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Along the way I picked up numerous bits and pieces, my mind always seeing a link to what I had written: A salesperson’s name on a sign read Sandra Good - her Company name HE DE IN (Da Ninci coded. I just saw it - the pronunciation of this name is exactly like my daughter's partner's name - Darin).
Struggling up the hill on the other side of Spit Bridge I noticed a traffic cone. It looked out of place. When I saw that it was outside house No. 12, I placed it onto a garbage bin, just to leave my mark. Nearby I picked up a piece of white, soft tape. (Three days earlier I had picked up some identical tape in Mitchell Street, Stockton. See picture later in this chapter).
My first stop was Martin Place in the heart of Sydney’s business district.
A Busker, sitting on the footpath, sang John Denver’s Country Road. His voice and performance deserved a better setting than a street corner. I placed a couple of dollars into his hat and had a friendly chat. He was from Leeton. I liked the name, plus his surname - Hodge.
I had hoped to reach the Studio of TV Channel Seven before 9am. I did with a few minutes to spare. During their popular Breakfast Show Sunrise, because of large windows to Martin Place, passers-by regularly get into view of TV cameras inside the studio, and appear on national television, some without knowing it.
The program ends usually just before 9am, when the presenters wrap up the show by talking to visitor's outside. If I made it on camera, I don't know (or care). I got a chance, however, to say hi to the main presenters and take this photo:
Tuesday 30/8/05, Martin Place, Sydney: The presenters of Channel Seven's Sunrise mingle with a group of students from a Lutheran School in Toowoomba, Queensland. I didn't know Mel was camera-shy!
For a while afterwards I just sat and took in the sights and sounds of Martin Place, trying to hear the heartbeat of Sydney. The logo of the Bank of Singapore looked a little puzzling - four vertical lines with a horizontal line through it.
The slogan on the many flags, which flew on posts right around the plaza, read: Show your true colours. As I looked around, taking it all in and wondering, where my day would be taking me, I overheard a conversation right behind me. Two well-dressed gentlemen had bumped into each other. They held an interesting, lengthy conversation. I had trouble not following what they were saying. One gentlemen was a retired magistrate. I bet he knew the Peter Liddy story.
I rested a little longer and prayed quietly for guidance for the day. Around 9.30am I moved on. I cycled south on George Street, past the Town Hall, turned backward toward St. James Park and followed the access road to the end of the Peninsula, adjacent to the Botanic Gardens. The views of the Harbour Bridge, Opera House and the city skyline were spectacular.
Next I explored along the famous, fashionable boulevard called Macquarie Street. I visited the New South Wales House of Parliament. I had been in touch with a Member of the Upper House.
In an email I had also expressed strong disapproval that paid police officers (in official uniform) were taking part every year in the annual Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras parade. (Not as policemen, but as gay-lifestyle supporters.).
Somewhere I had seen a poster advertising an exhibition at the New South Wales Art Gallery. One artist on show was Margaret Preston. The name must have triggered my Da Ninci instinct to kick in – He PT son.
I noticed a painting for sale in the Art Gallery Shop. The label read 55.5 cm by 55.5 cm. The price mounted was $ 100, un-mounted $ 20. In my strange way I interpreted the message as - You N two won! Silly, I know, but that’s the truth, that's what is recorded in my diary.
(My son came into my room earlier on the day of writing - "Dad you would like this". He heard on the news the attendance at the Australian Open (Tennis) was 550 500. Was that meant to be a birthday present?)
Exhibit in the New South Wales Art Gallery, Sydney. This huge piece of artwork, steps constructed entirely of bee's wax, would not fit into an ordinary room of a house. The artist, named Laib, was from Stuttgart, Germany. Two Da Ninci names in Macquarie Street. Dendy is a Movie theatre, and Cadmus the name of a bar. In a loading bay of the Sydney Hospital I saw the three letters DON in graffiti. Isn't Mr. Da Ninci's first name DON? Is Don is good.
Security around the northern end of Macquarie Street was high that Tuesday. From media reports I learned that 350 world leaders were holding a talk-fest at the Opera House. Some names were so big, they were kept secret. It was evident by the number of uniformed police, barricades and men in dark suits and sunglasses, that a major event was taking place. I didn't think they would go into all this trouble for somebody riding a pushbike. (Then again, George does, I heard him say).
I continued my Sydney bicycle tour past Circular Quay to look around the historic district called The Rocks, the original Sydney, born at the beginning of the 19th century. A girl was standing on a piece of grass with a camera and tripod nearby. I walked up to her and had a little chat. Her name was Laura. (More about two other Laura's in a moment).
I had walked into the TV crew, who was about to present the Finance report on the ABC TV midday news. Now I recognized the famous face, the regular reporter Anita S. a short distance away. Laura discouraged me from saying hello to Anita, because she was on standby to go on air at any moment.
Another famous face, how interesting, was walking along George Street. I noticed the well dressed gentleman a minute after getting back onto my bike. The young man looked right at me. I gave him a quizzical I-know-that-face look. Famous people must love and hate it at the same time, when everyone in the street gives them that look.
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One would have thought that the face of the Premier of South Australia is well recognized. Not so, according to a recent Advertiser Poll in his Northern Suburb Electorate. A large number of people did not know his name nor recognized his face. But he is still expected, according to the same report, to win his seat at the March 18, 06 election.
Doesn’t this suggest that many people do not vote intelligently? Is there an argument for voluntary voting? Can we assume people vote for how a person looks? If so, the media, who can decide on how they want to present a person, has a great influence, who gets elected.
Strange timing: On Friday 13th January I was saying the following to a friend: “I think the next election has already been decided by The Advertiser (Newspaper). I am tired of reading that Labor is going to win. Who knows, if the polls conducted are correct?
The timing amazed me - the very next day in the Advertiser, Saturday Jan 14th was just that – a big, fat headline, predicting a Labor win at the next election. I am a strong advocate for free speech, but only IF IT IS* true!
*Adelaide residents: Visit Light Square and see an astounding piece of artwork surrounding the theme - IF IT IS.
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The well-dressed, young man with the famous face in George Street Sydney expected my question, I think. I yelled out real loud, so he could hear above the traffic: “ABC?”
He shouted back: “Channel Seven!” I liked that; he could have played the snob. Or did he think I was somebody else on that bicycle in George Street?
It took a few days before I saw his face on Channel Seven News. Then it hit home. If there ever was a name, which put awe into me, it was his name. I only needed to add one letter – t. The reason I am overawed - it’s Chris.t, plus his surname, which I will not mention for privacy. (Those who know the names of Australian TV journalists can work it out easily).
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(Fast-forward to December 7th, 05)
The following incident holds a complex connection to Channel Seven, plus it features the name Laura. It is one of those, which makes me touch my head and say: If all this is a co-incident and an illness, so be it. If it is God, then I stand in awe and say: God, you’re AWESOME!
I had been to an event at the Adelaide University. On the way to my car I reflected: What on earth did I go there for? (It was the launch of a website). More so, I held in my hand a small, chrome metal part, which I had seen glittering in the grass in the parklands on King William Street and had picked up.
The writing on it read HELLA 04. I preferred to read He for all into this and ignore any other negative interpretations.
As I boarded my Suzuki to drive home I noticed the car registration plate of the Honda parked behind me - LAURA .... Just across the road, on the front steps of St Peter's Cathedral, was some activity. I was curious, but felt tired. I ignored it, did a U-Turn right at the Cathedral and headed north to drive home.
Within seconds, driving past the Women & Children’s Hospital, I felt the familiar, gentle tug in my spirit, which said – go back. I really didn’t want to. So I bargained with this inner prompting (not a voice, there is a difference): If the next parked car has a Da Ninci rego number I will turn back.
It so happened that at the University meeting 10 minutes earlier, the number 2010 had been shown on a screen as the postcode for Surry Hills, NSW. When I looked at it, I thought for a moment: This is a spelling error. Isn't there an e in Surry? (In the Melbourne suburb there is, but not in the one in Sydney).
Now, minutes later, just as I prayed, Lord if the next registration plate is a Da Ninci number, I will turn back, the next plate I saw was 012. Friends, guidance like this is much different to hearing a harsh, accusing voice, which commands attention and immediate, blind obedience.
Within 5 minutes I was sitting inside St. Peter’s Cathedral, waiting for the 8pm start of the Choralfest, presented by Choirs from Pembroke School, Kensington. It was one of those - what on earth am I here for’ - moments, but I never doubted that evening, I was meant to be there.
The service consisted of lessons and carols and lasted only about an hour. The connection to Channel Seven took a rather obscure path, which I just happend to stumble onto. In the program sheet, which was handed out at the door, I noticed something peculiar. The Christian names of participants in the program were written up in alphabetical order, as shown here in this excerpt, pasted in my diary):
I blocked out parts of student's surnames, as to maintain privacy. The two Laura's drew my attention, simply, because I had seen Rego No. LAURA moments earlier parked right behind me.
Why registration plates play such a pivotal role in my life, I do not know. All I know, they do.
Opposite the Cathedral I took a photo of LAURA... and BEL. .. (followed by one of my numbers.) If we read BEL backwards, it comes to leb, live in German. (Remember Ca.leb?)
The morning after the Laura incident I followed a Mazda into Adelaide, Rego Number ... ...AU 560, a number with an amazing history. (Sand, chapter 28).
Having been alerted to the two Laura’s, I took special note of their surnames. The first Laura had the identical surname to a very influential Australian, connected to Channel Seven. I had written a letter to this man in or around 2003, trying to tel him about a discovery I had made, a possible hoax (not about the media).
The second Laura had a nice surname, beginning with Good and ending in Victory. I loved that message.
For me the highlight of the evening were not registration plates. It was the rendition of Silent Night, sung in German. There was strong pressure under the eyelids to let it flow, but I managed to control my emotions.
When I got back into my Suzuki I noticed that the 4 WD BMW, parked right behind me, had a for sale notice in the window. I phoned a day or so later. I should have known the $ 62 000 Munich-made machine was not in my price range. But what a strange method of selling a vehicle in that category?
How exciting to imagine that the students of Pembroke School, read my website and played my game? Would this mean they also believed my writing? Playing games means nothing on it’s own, just like my numbers or names don't. Data, no matter how magic it is, means nothing, without knowing the miracle that lay behind it. I may never know the full extent of what God was doing, on this side of the eternal shore.
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(Back to downtown Sydney)
It was still Tuesday 30th August 06 in Sydney. Every Tuesday from 1.15pm a short church service is held at the Cathedral, next to the Town Hall. I was only 2 minutes or so late as I sat in a vacant seat beside a young lady. The scripture reading was from Colossians 3, 5-17. I can’t remember what it was about. I must have been distracted by the numbers, and the pretty blond beside me.
She was a visitor from Munster in Germany. Just as I was about to say that I have been there, she pointed out that it was not the large town by the same name in North-Rhine-Westphalia, but a small place near Donauwoerth. (Do I detect some German Da Ninci? If so, how powerful it is!). Her mother, the young woman said, had died exactly two years earlier. This is why she decided to come and attend this service.
Her name was Christine. My mind took a while to comprehend it all, the German DN OA worth name, plus her name Christine, if I dropped the final e. How did I come to sit beside her and not anywhere else? I remember clearly, she had sat in her seat before me. Where was life taking me?
At the end I got talking to an unshaved man, having a drink near the side entrance. He talked with me as if I was his best friend, telling me he was suffering from schizophrenia. He said, he coped OK with medication. He normally attends Wesley Central Mission, the same place I was going to visit straight afterwards.
His told me his name – Hilton. What co-incidence, Wesley Central Mission was right across the road from the Hilton Hotel in Pitt Street (Hey, don’t those two go well together! I don’t mean a church and a Hotel, I mean the L on the T etc. I became aware that I was on one of those strange walks, where one thing led to another.
I had never been to the Wesley Central Mission in Pitt Street, the place this Church had occupied for over 100 years, as I understand it. Just before leaving, after a brief look around, I saw a poster with the name ULLRICH, a name which couldn't be more German. By chance, the event, where Mr. Ullrich was the speaker, was happening right then, on August 30th.
I saw a sign pointing to the event, and followed the trail. In a large downstairs foyer area I got taking to a lady, who was attending a stall, one of a dozen or so small cubicles, where companies show off their products. She talked and talked. I read her name tab and played with it. I mean, I changed one letter to read - En go. Her first name Nicole, also rolls along nicoly (sic) with my story.
Nicole told me of another function, across the road at the Hilton. I had the feeling she encouraged me to walk across and see for myself. This I did.
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There is a fine line between genius and madness. You will need to decide, in which category to put me, after looking at this mini-museum display. It consists of bits and pieces I picked up from off the streets in Newcastle and Sydney:
Clockwise from top left: GU Energy Gel, climbing up the hill, just after the Spit Bridge I read GU, GEL. The size of the sachet is 32 grams, (1.1oz) = 123 OZ won!
This black plastic I picked up on the road, a short distance from the Harbour Bridge, at the Rocks. Can you make out a J an attempted L? Not shown are two huge nails I collected as I walked up the hill, on the northern end the Spit Bridge. One nail, how coincidental, was bent to look like an L, the other was similar, but looked more like the letter J. Both are 230 mm long = 9 inches. What do they use big nails like this for?
Three days earlier I had picked up this piece of white, flexible tape outside the Stockton (Newcastle) Newsagent. It was shaped like a large C. (I have not included this in chapter 25).
Again near the Spit Bridge, I picked up an almost identical piece of white, flexible tape. It clicked and joined the souvenir collection.
The large orange J is almost a story in itself. On the return journey to Adelaide I stopped on the outskirts of Sydney. I struggled with the thought of making a phone call to John Laws' Radio Program. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a sign Jolly Knight, followed immediately by Supa Star. I decided to stop and just do it.
I phoned the number given and simply expressed, off air, that I doubted a story, which had been big news in Sydney at the time. Walking back to the car, I picked up this orange, round bit of plastic. The shape J made me do it.
I know, friends, picking bits from off the road sounds like a display of madness. Why then, if I am not mad, did I do it? Was it simply a free memento to take home, instead of spending money on a real souvenir? This may have been part of it, but there was a far more important reason. (Nice word reason).
In my mind I imagined that many, far and wide, had read my incredible story. My wildest dream would be coming true, if there were honest readers, who doubted what I had written. But because they are genuine doubters, with a spark of faith, they challenged God: “God if you are real, show yourself to me. (All God requires, is faith, even if it's the size of a mustard seed).
If one of those honest doubters indeed had placed a piece of black J & L tape in the middle of the road, under the Harbour Bridge, and I was meant to pick it up, but didn't do it, what then? That person would not have affirmation that God is indeed all-knowing.
For me to pick up a piece of tape on the road is neither magical, nor difficult. The magic lies in the powerful story behind the scenes. HE showing HIS power is the real reason. This is the only way to make sense of what was happening in my life. The other option is - I am mad. If so, I am happier and enjoy a fuller life, than when I was normal.
Realistically, it is impossible for me to personally run around, trying to show every one that God can see and hear and guide. It could send me crazy, if I was not over that line already. On the other hand, what excuse could I give to refuse to do the lowly act, the unpleasant thing, one which on the surface looks crazy?
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I crossed the road from the Wesley Central Mission building and caught the lift to have a look at the Fair, which was taking place that Tuesday afternoon 30/8 at the Sydney Hilton. From what I understood, the event was to promote liaison between Government and the Not-for-Profit sector.
The first name I came across, and said hello to, was Nick Warren. Now I had a fair idea, pardon the pun, what on earth I was there for! (To understand this connection it would help, if you were a Baptist).
I talked with a girl at the Tasmanian Tourism exhibit, plus a young man named DAN, promoting his software company. As I spent about 20 minutes, walking from stall to stall I noticed, many names and numbers. The four letters, INEC (*International Not-for-profit Convention and Exhibition), removed any doubts that I had come to the right place – Had somebody seen the EN, as in I C ENfield?
I would have liked to stay much longer, and visited other exhibits, because I liked talking to people and learning about their world, their goals and achievements. But I was planning to check on a few more places, before my return cycle to Dee Why. A surprise was waiting on the other side of the Harbour Bridge.
A short time later, as I cycled past the Queen Victoria building, I remembered that one of Isobel's relatives had mentioned this place, when I had spoken to them that Sunday. A moment later that inner uneasiness again made me turn back and take a brief look. As I walked past the QV Café, I became aware of the letters, the QV - Question Victory! There were other business names I interpreted, but it was too much to take in. Mind mind was getting clogged. (Nice word clog).
God loves Real Estate salesmen. I keep picking up their business cards. This one I found in the suburb of Cammeray, where I boarded for some months in the early 1970's. As I write I can't help seeing the word "came" in the suburb's name, plus other possibilities. But I won't crow about it.
On the way back to Dee Why, late in the afternoon, I made a slight detour for a mini-walk down memory lane. I cycled via Cammeray to the house, where I rented a room in for a time in the early 1970's. I am glad I did, because I discovered a classic link from that era, which fitted incredibly into my story.
By chance, or divine appointment, somebody was in the driveway of the house at No. 301 XYZ... Street. I told the man, a tradesman, who had just arrived in his work van, that I had rented a room in his house when I first came to Australia. He not only knew the Czechoslovakian couple, who had owned the house back then, he was married to their grand daughter.
The sign writing on his work van in the driveway was potent V/He/T/IT. The couple's name, I never forgot it, was SISKA. It really IS SO. What perfect timing to be first publishing this encounter outside No. 301 - on 30.1 in chapter 30.
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Excerpt from Church Newsletter Jan 29th 06
Numbers, numbers, numbers. It was as if God wanted to make a point about numbers on Sunday 29/1/06. (I had thought that numbers were fading out some months ago. The opposite seems to be the case).
Malachi 3,10 was the text in the Hour of Power message that morning. I usually watch this TV program from California. The same scripture verse was printed on the front page of the church newsletter, where I attended that day.
The bible reading in Every Day with Jesus on that day was from Philippians. Philippians 2, 10 was one of the 2,10s of Jesus and fitted so well that day.
The figures on the left, I noticed as I left for church , were the odometer reading on my Suzuki dashboard - 212 301. The trip-meter numbers were 201.3, still 100 kilometers difference. What does all this mean? I do not know, to be honest; only that it was so.
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Three days before the planned uploading date (30.1, when else?) I took Becky for a long walk. At the top of Murrell Road, near the corner Ystwyth Street, I found the plastic flower shown in the earlier photo. Turning into Kelly Road I said hello to two road workers in a Ute, Rego No. 077.
Moments later another car drew my attention. Predictably (sorry, if this is becoming boring) it was again the car registration plate. It consisted of four letters - GABE - the German word for gift. But there was more. On the side the old model Toyota were the large letters TWIN CAM 16. (That word cam(e) again?)
This day, the date of uploading this chapter, at the end of January 06, is special for a number of reasons. It is my birthday. More so, the same 3 digits point to one of the most simple, but powerful words ever written. They are found in John 3, 16:
For God so loved the world that HE GAVE HIS only son that whosoever believes in HIM should not perish, but have everlasting life.
(As I am writing the section of my driving-school website, where this verse and the name JESUS feature very prominently, has again been hacked into. The twins I work with, repaired the previous damage only a few days prior).
Let me remind those, who hate the name Jesus that one day all will bow to that name. In Philippians 2,10 it says it so plainly. Please note that it does not say all will bow before Jesus - at the name of Jesus every knee shall bow.
For the first time around, Christmas this year, it came to me - there is exactly 1 month and 5 days between HIS and my birthday. I wonder, what is the reason?