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Testimony

“My brother, may I share my story with you?”

“Yeah, why not?”

The letter came as soft and silently as any weapon devised by man. Nonprofit org. U.S. Postage paid. Permit No. 6655.

Two Homes Are About To Be Blessed...
Then It Must Go To Another Dear Friend

YOURS FIRST!

It was the last envelope in the stack, under the bills and credit card applications. It was the eagle that caught my eye before the text. The eagle carried an olive branch in the right claw and a bundle of arrows in the left. It was drawn with a crude majesty, a totem from some ancient cave.

I flipped the other letters down on the kitchen counter pile. The pile was about four days worth of mail, and growing.

On the back of the envelope was a prayer to Jesus. It assured me that this letter had been prayed over and blessed. It implied financial gain if the steps in the letter were followed.

This didn’t sound right. My old man used to tell me about these cons that ran out of abandoned churches. A new preacher would come in, bury the old folks that still attended, then swipe the land and assets for himself. Turn a legitimate operation crooked, then use it to get more. He said that he’d seen a lot of sick shit, but this took the cake. He never liked seeing old folks get treated bad.

I still remember him saying that. “Don’t treat anyone bad, when you grow up? O.K.?”

I opened the letter.

The envelope held five separate packets. The first was a postpaid envelope. In the return address, bold type declared THIS IS THE NEXT MORNING- The Church Will Pay This Postage. Drop In Any Mailbox. On the back, under a series of numbers, I noticed that this was all addressed to Resident - To A Friend.

The next item was a double tri-folded cream colored poster that declared itself to be a Prayer Rug... Soaked With The Power Of Prayer. This bit of miracle paper was printed on on side with Jesus. He had a crown of thorns and looked vaguely like Kurt Cobain. That kind of misery, you know? His eyes were closed. The directions were to meditate and to stare into his eyes until they opened.

The next paper contained the directions: the Prayer Rug and a survey that revealed personal information were to be mailed back immediately, so that my FREE SPIRITUAL GIFT could be distributed ASAP.

The next item was a tri-folded brochure that was filled with testimonials from initials from varied states. It promised that the Prayer Rug was a point of contact. Some had been blessed in cash ranging from $5,000 to $46,888.20. Others were blessed in houses and land. Others had been healed. All of them had followed the directions. They were rewarded.

The final paper was sealed with a clear plastic seal. It was very important that I not open this final prophecy until I had followed all of the directions regarding the Prayer Rug and the survey. This Sacred Prophecy was to be destroyed, unopened and unread, should I not follow all of the directions.

I took the poster to the bathroom and taped it on the mirror over the sink. I stared at the closed eyes for a moment, then looked at the paper from a few different angles. It didn’t look right. Too shiny.

I turned off the light. The Bright Open Eyes of Jesus looked back at me.

It was just that glow in the dark paint. Now I know that, but back then... I didn’t ask a lot of questions, you know? I just believed in stuff. “Heart of a Child” and all.

The survey contained a prayer request form with questions designed to ascertain the age, sex, health, and finances of the Resident - Dear Friend who returned it with the Anointed Prayer Rug.

So I did.

After I filled out the survey, I folded it into the Prayer Rug and mailed it at the mailbox next to the 7-11. Then, I went home and opened the prophecy.

It was written by Jesus. He called me his child. He said that no mystery could be withheld from the mind open to His spirit. He spoke in ALL CAPS.

He declared a great change to come. Unspeakable Power was now in my hands. All I needed was some direction.

Direction knocked on my door two weeks later.

I opened the door to see two men in dark suits, smiling, holding Bibles and suitcases. The younger man extended his hand and introduced himself as Brother Kenneth. “This is Brother Jaime. We’re here in response to your prayer request.”

I let them in and offered them water. It was a hot day. The wool suits must have been killing them. They showed no discomfort.

Brother Jaime laughed when I commented on the weather. “Hot? No sir. This isn’t hot. Let me tell you about hot. In Basra, the temperature can go over 130 degrees in the shade. Even that is a stroll through cool waters compared to Sudan.”

“Where’s Basra?” I asked.

Brother Jaime laughed again. “Far away, little man. Far away.”

“We are Soldiers of the Lord,” replied Brother Kenneth. “We go where we are needed.”

“He seems to need a lot of help in those places.”

“He sure does. That’s who we are. His helpers.”

Brother Jaime pulled out my survey from his briefcase. He put it down in front of me. “You have written of your problems and you have confessed them to our Lord. He has sent us to help you.”

Brother Kenneth leaned in. “You were remarkably candid. You have a strong faith. Your father would have been proud of you.”

“You guys know my dad?”

He reached into the breast pocket of his crisply ironed jacket and took out a picture. He handed it to me. A group of men, none older than twenty, stared at the camera. They were all trying to look hard as nails. I’d seen the picture before. My dad was second row, third from left.

“That’s me,” he said, pointing to the row behind my father. I couldn’t tell if it was him or not through the tears.

“When we got your letter, I saw your name and knew that this was the miracle that I had been praying for. You were looking for our Lord and all the time, He was looking for you,” Brother Kenneth whispered as he lay his hands on my head.

The two men stood and prayed over me. They prayed that I might be a mighty warrior for the Lord, as was my father before me.

“I want to be,” I gasped.

“We know,” Brother Jaime smiled. “Your faith is sincere and your heart is true.”

“I need to be healed!” I raised my left arm, which terminated in a fingerless flipper. “I want to serve.”

“There are many ways of serving our Lord, “ Brother Kenneth said.

“I don’t have any money,” I said.

“We know. That is not your gift. You will be a mighty warrior and strike back at the enemies of God.”

That was what they told me. I was eight years old at the time. I told them I believed. They gave me the Anointing. Now I stand before you sir, as proof of their power.

This arm that’s holding your neck? It was grown for me by them. To do their purpose.

I owe them. They made me, and now they send me to do their tasks.

I am an angel of the Lord now. Only a soldier in the Ranks, but an angel nonetheless. Like my father before me. As I shall pass it on to my children. Even until the end of the earth. Forever and ever.

Amen.

kelson.philo's picture

Whoa! SO, there’s gotta

Whoa! SO, there’s gotta be some incredible back-story here for sure, for sure. Eight year old flipper baby running an apartment and getting miracle healing one hot summer day! The testify bits were very convincing. Dad had a hand in some angel work and then decided one day to get out, perhaps?