Why do you go to mediums and spiritualists and claim the Pentateuch as your Bible when (Lev. 19:31) condemns such action? You are defiled by your own Bible. Just throw it away. You don't believe it.
Quantrill
The two mediums I went to were the real deal. I live under American civil law not 3000 year old Jewish Civil law.
The first lead me to my family. I never knew them and had no information at all. She lead me to them in 8 months by telling me facts about them that turned out to be true. Read my book its all there. Ill copy the chapter for you. Every word is truth and fact. So help me God
Week Five
Crossing over, here goes nothing
I can’t believe that I am doing this, but here I sit in the home of Carol London, a psychic reader. I have no idea of what to expect and I am determined to keep an open mind. Since I have so few facts and I am looking for some very specific information, it will be easy to determine if the session will be a success. It will either give me direction or it will not. It will either help or it will not help. My questions are concrete and categorical, where is the adoption agency, where is my birth family, what can you tell me about the events of my birth and adoption?
The session begins with Ms. London and I seated on her sofa, in her home in Elkins Park, PA. She asks me if she should withhold any information that might be upsetting to me, to which I reply, “No, I want to know everything.” I give her the only information I know, I was born in Jersey City, New Jersey on Jan 28, 1951 and Jewish Family and Children’s Service was the agency. Carol looks away
for a moment, as if to collect her thoughts, and then she speaks to me; “Your mother is thin, very thin, she has green eyes and dark hair. Her pregnancy is known to her family, you were 6 LBS at birth, your father was in the Army, traveled, and never knew you were born or that your mother was pregnant. I see a red cradle or rocking chair, and you should search in Cape May, New Jersey. Look for a place called Lutheran Ministries Adoption. In its name is a red cradle. You were not born in a hospital; you were born in a place with a red shield. I see the seashore and you have something to do with the ocean. You were wanted and loved by your birth family.” Ms. London also spoke of my adopted family and stated that my father had a terrible cough at his death. She then said he felt like he drowned when he died. That really got my attention because my father was on a breathing tube and he pulled it out of his throat causing a cough. He couldn’t speak to me in the last moments of his life because of that cough. He died of congestive heart failure, the equivalent of drowning, caused by fluid draining into the lungs, and only two people alive were aware of that; my wife and myself. I began to take Ms. London
seriously, but the information she gave me didn’t really make any sense. Red cradles and shields, Cape May, Lutheran Ministries; I was Jewish for heavens sake, where is all this coming from?
The next morning I sit once again at my computer, with new information that makes no sense whatsoever. It’s as if I was given a puzzle with the pieces scattered all around and little idea of what the picture should look like. The last thing Carol said was look for Lutheran Ministries Adoptions in Cape May, so that’s what I put into my search engine. As the screen began to form, I could see that the picture was mostly red; a representation of the state of New Jersey appeared. If you used your imagination, you could say that the state looks like a red cradle on its side or even a rocking chair. Encouraged, I contacted them and they said they would research it and that I should call them back. Three hours later I called them and the intake worker recognized me from my request. She told me that this agency didn’t handle my adoption. Failure once again, and, in all honesty, what could I really expect from a session with a psychic?
Like so many kind hearted people, the intake worker said, “Wait, don’t hang up, maybe I can help you. Tell me, where, were you were adopted?” I tell her what little I know, that I was born in Jersey City and raised in Trenton. She says, “When you were adopted fifty-two years ago, there were not many adoption agencies and only two that handled adoptions in the Trenton area. Since you were raised in Trenton, you should look there for the agency.” She gave me two phone numbers and said good luck. I called the first number and that was the Children’s Home Society of New Jersey. Once again the case worker said she would look in the records and call me back if she found anything. I felt it was time to stop and take a rest for awhile. I’m emotionally tired, and worn out, and I really don’t know what to do at this point anyway.
The phone rings and a caseworker named Marie is on the line. “Is this Bob?” she asks. I say, “Yes,” and she says, “I can help you.” I can’t speak. I’m not prepared to hear what I wanted so desperately to hear to hear, and she repeats her statement; “I can help you.” I am unable to speak and she says, “If you can
fax me some identification, I will mail you some
information.” Recovering my composure, I ask, “What time do you open tomorrow morning?” Now the journey begins.
It is 9:00 the next morning and accompanied by my wife, I am sitting in the office of Marie Braun at the Children’s Home Society of Trenton. I am five city blocks from my adopted father’s place of business, and five miles from the home where I was raised. After looking across three states for the agency, I find myself back home once again. Marie sits smiling at us from across her metal desk; in front of her sits a manila folder with the answers to the most important questions I have ever asked. I am tempted to grab the file and run out of the office, but the feeling dissolves as she begins to speak. She tells me that many of their adopted children return and I am not alone in my search. It is her job to bring me in and help me deal with the issues that I will be facing. She states that she can only give me non identifying information and then she reads to me from the folder. “Your mother had green eyes and dark brown hair, she was 5’4” tall and weighed 110 LBS, your father was in the army
and never knew you were born, you were 6LBS 11 OZS. Your mother didn’t want to give you up and her family considered adopting you themselves. After you were born, you lived in a foster home and your mother visited you often.” I was stunned; Carol London had spoken almost those very same words to me two days ago. Then I asked Marie about the red shield and where I was born. She showed me a symbol that I recognized immediately, the Salvation Army Shield. I was born at a Booth Home called the Door of Hope in Jersey City, New Jersey. That’s the red shield, the symbol of the Salvation Army.
When I found my mother she had died many years ago at 44.
