THE WINNER GAVE IT ALL GIVEN YOUR ALL - NOW WHAT ? HOME ISBN 0 9577 426 7 3 Bk 7 Ch 26 Written/published 29/6 - 2/7/09
Uploading the previous chapter was delayed by 11 minutes. This is how long I took to find the problem. When I finally pressed the correct button, the P/C's time showed 10.46 - perfect timing.
|26. Weighty piece of
It was time to leave Melbourne after a most eventful, on the surface unsuccessful, few days in Victoria's capital. Not only did Adelaide's football team, the Port Power, lose their match, I had to drive back home without a visa for the USA. Even my attempt at donating to Global Interaction in Hawthorn was a failure. Instead, my Giant's tyre went flat, caused not by a thorn, but a broken valve stem.
Cycling back to my parked Suzuki I stopped at the same Supermarket, the one I had shopped on my way to the camping ground four months earlier (and became hopelessly lost). This time a young man served at the check-out. His name-tag started with CA and ended in AI.
Something else I had to write into the record book, my forever journal - the registration plates LILCAZ, plus the previous day's ...ILL. The latter was the exact one I had taken a photo of a year earlier, when it was parked in the same street in South Yarra. This time it drove past me, near the same place, the Como Centre. (Chapter 6).
A long journey lay ahead of me; both, the immediate ten hours of motoring back to Adelaide; plus, who knows, how many miles* beyond? Having been delayed by the mishap on the bicycle did not really matter. I had planned to stay the night in the Victorian country town of Castlemaine, which was only a couple of hours drive away.
(*A smile story, sorry miles story is coming).
The time that Monday afternoon 11/5/09 was around 4.30 PM, when I loaded my bicycle in the back of the Suzuki. I had expected a parking ticket, since I had stayed 3 hours in a 1 hour zone. But, thankfully, no such bad luck. Right ahead of me a Western Australian registered vehicle had parked. I pondered its personal registration plate: INSIDEOUT. It must mean something to the owners, surely?
I found my way onto the Western Freeway and over the West Gate Bridge without delay. During most of the 120 kilometres it was still daylight; a most enjoyable ride through Victoria's countryside. The autumn colours and old buildings were absolutely stunning, as I slowly cruised through small towns and villages . Many places made me feel I was somewhere in Europe, back in my childhood days.
The next morning, while letting the dew dry off my small tent, I took a cycle around Castlemaine. I took my time, slowly pedalling around the streets on that crispy, clear morning. The historic place was just waking up. The town hall and other historic landmarks looked as impressive, as I remembered them from a weeks holiday 30 years earlier. The visitor's information centre, the old market building, is another gem I remember taking photos of in 1979.
I also remembered the cute little town of Chewton, only five kilometres away. So I decided to cycle out there. On a marker beside the road I learned that the first explorer in the district was Thomas Mitchell in 1836. After gold was discovered, the area was flooded with hopefuls, up to 30 000, many of them Chinese immigrants.
Quaint Chewton, 3 miles from Castlemaine
Top: Chewton, looking east from the Red Hill Hotel.
As I slowly climbed the hill riding east, leaving Castlemaine, I noticed on the roadway something silver. It was square shaped. I felt something brewing. I can't explain it, but it made me look up and read the name of the side-road. The sign read Mont ... Those 4 letters made me turn around and check out the silver item on the roadway.
It was a business card for an auto repair place. Except, perhaps because of the silver, shiny business card, it was called Automotive Enterprises. Their slogan - Precision engineered to move. On the back of the card the three letters C A E made me think: Aha, an ACE of a mechanic! Only much later did I read the address (to match the ACE): 7 iMan Road
A few seconds later, maybe this what it was all about, I spotted the 5 cents coin, which I had alluded to at the end of the previous chapter. I like to keep my promises, even when it only involves 5 cents.
The coin looked like it had been there for many weeks or even months. It was impossible to pick up. I needed the small screwdriver, which I carry with me to do minor repairs, and to dig up coins embedded in the bitumen. Normally, I would not have bothered, but the ACE card near the Mont sign made me do it. Plus, there still was a financial crises, so I was told!
Between Chewton and Castlemaine on a side road I noticed a worker, busy on a small Kanga tractor. As I cycled over to have a brief chat I noticed two old cars, a vintage car with black/white registration plate DEEJE. A few minutes later, arriving back in Castlemaine, I met it's twin DEEMU, same style, same colours. (As a kid I used to love doing the spot-the-difference puzzles).
That morning, on the outskirts of Castlemaine, I had occasion to do my good deed for the day. Not far from where I had unearthed the five cent coin I saw a letter in the grass beside the road. I was going to ignore it, but only meters away lay another. Both looked fresh and clean, as if they had just fallen out of the postman's bag. Both were addressed to the same house, No. .. Duke Street.
A passer-by told me that Duke Street was the one we stood at. As I dropped my find into the appropriate letterbox I could not help taking note of a street name - Merson Street, the next road opposite Montgomery Street. I had picked up the letters, one each, on either side of Merson* Street. Friends, I never claimed my observations were not weird, only that they were true!
*Discovered on editing: Nice street name - sermon near the Mont.
Souvenir from Castlemaine - precision engineering to move!
On leaving the caravan park I felt to leave a small booklet of Bible verses with the reception. When nobody answered the bell, I scribbled on it 'Just returning the key' - and left it on the counter. Since I never had a key to hand in, I wonder, if the lady got the message?
My Suzuki and I toured on through the Victorian countryside, enjoying life, singing or listening to the radio. The fields and trees looked so much better than I had seen them in the summer, a few months earlier. Amazing what rain can do!
As I chewed up the miles Neil Mitchell on ABC Radio 774 interviewed a famous trumpeter, James Morrison. They talked about Morrison's name, how the letters could be jumbled up and made into .... Sirmoon ... (just kidding).
It was entertaining radio, as Morrison described his role as co-host of the Australian production of Top Gear. His four-hour jet-ski adventure, racing against a motor car across Port Phillip Bay, sounded fun - for the first ten minutes at least. Bit like pressing the mouthpiece of a bugle against your lips, trying to make it sound like music; OK for ten minutes, but 4 hours...?
Sorry, I hope if the genius is reading this, he's not brassed-off, me calling his horn bugle. I didn't mean to insult anyone. It was so amusing, how Mitchell and Morrison had fun, hearing people refer to the world-class musician as: "Ah, you mean that trumpeter?"
I soon arrived at the regional centre of Maryborough. Many years ago we travelled through, but this was my first hour-long stop-over. The bicycle was just the right transport to explore this historic place.
There was no particular agenda. I first inspected the impressive, historic railway station, which looked more like a red brick castle, featuring a massive octagonal tower, whose clock had stopped at 4.55 PM (or AM, not sure). The size of the structure gives testimony to an earlier era, when rail travel was the number one mode of transport. A visit to the bakery, and more exploring on two wheels.
Out of the corner of my eyes (very much takes place in that corner) I spotted a large phone number, above business premises downtown ...2233. For whatever reason my curiosity was aroused, so I took a little more notice to discover the street name and number. It did not take an Einstein to work out the number 55. But only a N brain would see [No] L in the street name - Nolan Street.
Up a little hill I saw an ancient stone church. It was shut. Six cars where parked outside. Whatever made me do it, I do not know. I did another Kingston job ...
In my head I remembered and added the six registration plates - 142, 146, 777, 318, 213* and 560. At first I could not make sense of 2156. It came later.
My de-coding tour on two wheels around Maryborough continued. A parked vehicle, obviously that of a business, was sign-written: Healthy Effect. I liked it. I put one of my 'God has indeed done miracles for us' cards under the windscreen wiper. As I did I noticed the number on the letter box - 16. It was across the road from No. 5, which in this little tale is also of significance.
Fast forward approx. 3 hours. I had just eaten my last meal on this trip at a place called Bordertown, South Australia. Passing the police station I noticed the registration plate of the police ute, parked outside - 124.
Since it was similar to the first number outside Christ the King Church, (142) and only needed a 0, the next morning my outside the box mind took me on this numbers trail.
It it's all nothing, there still remains one healthy effect, exercise of the brain again, not to brag.
(Photo: Source unknown)
A few miles out of Maryborough I felt the strong urge to take a detour. I already had passed the turn-off sign to St. Arnaud, when the sensation became so strong, I had to turn back and follow the sign. At St. Arnaud I ate soup and bread for lunch, and brewed some coffee. The small reserve was called Walter Ellis Park. A quick walk up and down the Main Street and I was soon on my way again.
Next came the surprise photos I took at (and nearby) Murtoa, the 1000 strong town, which means Lizard. I still am amazed thinking about the link to a friend in Germany, as described in the previous chapter. A final stop for refuelling in Bordertown and more nourishment for the 3 hours back home, concluded my five-day adventure.
The next morning, back among familiar people and surroundings, I had much to write into my diary. The final entry for Tuesday 12/5 was: Home 8.15 PM or so.
After writing this I remembered to check the odometer on the Suzuki; how many kilometres had I travelled? I did not forget to allow for the 11 kilometres that were already on the dial as I left. This brought the total mileage to 1805 km. O the number of it all!
Pointing the finger at 185:
Salvation Army - Warcry Magazine Think - Quiz.
*Looking back at Chapter 23 I noticed something most God-incidental:
During the first few months of 2009 I engaged in a practice I do not recommend as normal. I visited a different church every Sunday. It was interesting to find out, on location, how each denomination conducted their services, the types of song they sing, the sermons being preach, if any, and how a visitor was being welcomed.
At every service, as I had experienced in previous chapters, I found some reference, which I could link to my writing. I also have this annoying habit of noticing mistakes, be they in the notes handed out, or spoken by the preacher or song leader.
For example, on 17/5 the preacher quoted a verse in Genesis. Josef received the ring from Pharaoh in Genesis, Chapter 41, Verse 42. The preacher had said Verse 40.
That morning, 17/5, it was interesting, the speaker on The Hour of Power, John Maxwell, also spoke on the story of Joseph. I picked up that day's date 17.5: Mr. Maxwell recalled how his first conference as a Minister went for 5 days and 17 people attending.
On Sunday 23/5 I attended the Oakden Baptist Church. This congregation was celebrating their 127th anniversary. Considering that South Australia is only 173 years young, Oakden Baptist is rather ancient. A lady I knew from years ago, the wife of an ex-missionary, sat in the same row. We had a little chat about everyone we knew from the Paradise congregation many years ago. Her name was Florence.
I don't know if she, or anyone else, picked up Code C7 during the Pastor's sermon. I did. At one point the pastor quoted a scripture from Isaiah, saying it was written 700 years ago. I'm sure he meant to say in 700 BC. Unless he meant a different Isaiah, a blogger, who lived in the 14th century AD. (One must never assume).
The following week, 31/5, was Pentecost Sunday, time to attend a Pentecostal church. The weather was fine, the distance to Elizabeth, a northern Adelaide suburb, just right for a cycle. It's such a healthy sport cycling and you always find things to pick up. On my way to Elizabeth I found a very colourful sunglasses case, Brand Jay Jay, and ... what else, a five cent coin on the corner of Barbara Street.
Parked right by the church entrance I noticed two vehicle registration plates. SAN... was one. The other was ...177. It took until the next day, when writing my diary, to see a connection from 177 to this church. It happened years ago in Book 2, Chapter 40, when discovering numbers was a painful experience, hence the title of the chapter - Heartache by the number:
Writing my diary almost five years later, I realized this was the same pastor, who now runs the church I had visited in Elizabeth that day. More people must be reading my story - eight?
But there was more. During the 31/5 Pentecost Sunday service the congregation watched a presentation (on the screen) by the head pastor of that church group. That morning I had been writing my diary, as this gentleman's TV program was aired at 6 AM. As happened so frequently, as I was writing a word, the same second it was spoken on the TV screen.
That morning it was the word: today. The strange part is. This had happened before on the same show. Not only did I write a word, which matched, but I previously had also written the word today - which then was spoken on the screen that same second. No, I'm not hearing things. Just as I'm not seeing things ...
Consider this ... Watching TV on Sunday early morning I do sometimes close my eyes and only listen to the sermon. You still follow what's been said. On Sunday 14/6 Pastor Jane was preaching on this locally produced program. (It was the Sunday, where I had heard Mr. Guillen speak and discovered U and I together make J).
As I briefly opened my eyes to listen to Pastor Jane, the camera showed a man, who I knew very well. His name was Les, as in L IT, if you know German and can cope with outside the box thinking. During the one second as Les appeared on the TV screen, I just couldn't help taking notice, Pastor Jane spoke the words 'Almighty God'.
Continuing my Sunday [Church] crawl, exactly one week later the letters Les came up again. However, it was in the afternoon, and not in church. (Details in a moment).
That Sunday, June 21, I decided to visit a local Baptist Church at Salisbury, which I had cycled past the afternoon before. During my five minute drive to church I was thinking about prayer etc. A little story kept going around in my head, one you probably have heard before. It goes something like this:
Not knowing what to expect at the Baptist Church (on Park Terrace) I thought about this little tale, but came to a different ending. (Read on).
The service started a little late and slow. The announcements, among much business arising, was a field trip to the Victorian bush-fire region, took almost 45 minutes. The *Pastor was ready to close the service early, without a sermon. I am glad he didn't. During his challenging talk, I could hardly believe it, he told the story as above. The only difference, his believer was stranded on the roof top of a house.
After the service I made a point of telling the pastor, how I had thought of just that illustration on my way to church. But I came up with his sad ending:
*On the morning of publishing this chapter (7.01.09 in America) on the US TV Show Today, one segment was about dogs, big dogs. They showed a selection, those who were available for adoption in New York City. One was called Marcus. He was a German Shepherd.
The above Pastor (shepherd) was German. His name was Marcus. (He had smaller ears, though, and his tongue didn't hang out).
As mentioned earlier, the afternoon before the above church incident, I had cycled by and briefly enquired about their services. Not far from the church, during the same ride, I came across a friend from church, who was busy loading something onto his trailer. The elderly, Christian gentlemen was outside his almost finished, newly-built house. His previous place was destroyed in a fierce fire.
We had a good chat, which gave me an opportunity to ask him: "What happened across there?" Days earlier I had noticed that another house, almost opposite to his house, had also been destroyed by fire. It was very unusual that two houses, so close to each other, would burn down.
My friend told me four young girls were responsible for burning down the other house opposite. What spooked me - heartache by the number - I added his house number and that of the other house fire. It came to 27 - amazing timing once again. (Date of publishing.)
That Sunday afternoon, still 21/6, I took the opportunity for a little exercise on the Giant. I climbed the hill to Golden Grove and cycled through the wonderfully green hills of Adelaide. It was just glorious seeing everything green after good rainfalls in the weeks prior. The drought in parts of South Eastern Australia is far from over. Our River Murray and its tributaries are still in bad shape. (How good to know politicians don't vote about rainfalls in parliament!)
Sunday afternoons was the only time the small Uleybury School Museum was open. I had never been there; so why not a little break from cycling and a step back in time? Entrance was by gold coin donation. An elderly gentlemen, Lance, was on duty. I was the only visitor present, possibly all afternoon, since the old chap couldn't give me change for my 5 Dollar note.
One reason why I decided to visit the museum were the opening hours displayed (1 - 4 PM) on the junction of One Tree Hill Road. 1 and 4 fitted the visitor from 5096, who had made a remarkable discovery in his Autobiography in Chapter 25. The only vehicle in the small car park, assuming it was Lance's, showed registration plate ... 025.
Being the only visitor was great. It gave me opportunity to ask all kinds of questions. (You know what I'm like!)
Again, writing my diary later and pasting in above map of the area, I saw that the location was right across from Miles Road. What a word to play with - Miles. It makes one smile, or think - Im Les, or where are mi ELS?
If not numbers, it's names teasing us. The corner, where the School Museum is located is Kaiser Drive. Let's not follow that trail, or we'd end up in Riverside, California - in a hospital. (Let's not go there, without a visa, anyway).
That evening my wife was watching television, while I was writing my diary. It's hard to totally switch off the background noise and what shows on the screen. It still occurs very frequently, surprising moments, where concurrently my mind thinks, or my fingers type exactly at that time, what's shown and/or spoken on the TV screen or radio.
The drama, murder mystery series that Sunday evening was Agatha Christie's Miss Marple. Toward the end, I was by then half asleep, my mind contemplated the afternoon; particularly how I enjoyed my visit to Uleybury School Museum and that lovely old chap Lance.
Seconds later, Miss Marple was asking a co-actor: "You know who the murderer is?" Lance. (One day I must ride to One Tree Hill again, to tell Lance, and collect my change, maybe not.)
One more Sunday in my dairy is worthy marvelling at. On June 28th, mid-winter in Australia, as usual I rose very early and watched various Christian TV programs. One preacher quoted two scriptures. Both pointed to the two significant numbers, which were responsible for my initial fixation with numbers - 228 and 301. We had two vehicles in our driveway with those numbers.
That Sunday morning I never made it to any church. Having been up from 4 AM to 6.30 AM I fell asleep again, on and off, until 9.18 AM. This was the latest I'd stayed in bed since the moon landing (maybe not?).
Looking back, I wasn't meant to attend any church that morning. On Adelaide's ethnic broadcaster, Radio EBI FM, the long-time presenter Ruth had returned to do her regular show after an illness. Perhaps she felt emotional when she selected the music that morning. She picked one of the most touching songs ever. As a child I remember my father playing it and how emotional he became, which was very rare.
Das Wolgalied is a prayer by a lonely soldier, as he contemplates his fate on the Russian front. (Wolga is a river in Russia, the longest in Europe.) Wikipedia tells us the name may have originated from Roseh; very interesting, read on. Only this morning* ...
... it came to me, the composer is Franz Lehar - L HEAR! The lyrics, as those of every prayer, are as touching as the simple melody. Your heart would have to be made of stone, if such a song was not stirring your spirit, feeling the sadness of the soldier praying:
During the program I had been reading my bible, the story of the final hours of our Lord, before he was killed (Matthew 26). After hearing above song I interrupted my reading and emailed EBI, thanked them for the beautiful music.
Returning to my Chapter 26 not long afterwards [not this one I'm writing but Matthew 26], I came to this passage:
I am sure, Franz Lehar had this scripture on his mind, when he composed his famous song.
The Day Christ died, published by Collins, written by Jim Bishop in 1957.
... fontana books - nice name, fan of ...
... rose, nice verb - Rose, nice name - rose, nice flower ...
A Rose joke, which made the rounds recently:
As much as I would like to dwell on rosy subjects, roses do have thorns. Did God make a mistake, when HE designed such a pretty flower. Did he have to add these nasty prickles, which cause gardeners pain and gives bicycles riders annoying punctures. Or was it as a defence against the enemies of roses, who would eat them up, were it not for those thorns?
I have not read the above book yet, but I'm sure Jim Bishop will describe, and find meaning, in the head dress Jesus' tormentors made for him - a crown of thorns!
In the previous chapter I briefly touched on the new turn my battle for justice was taking me. Out of the blue I had been contacted by a Catholic Sister, who not only had regular communication with my imprisoned friend, Peter, but is also distant relative of the gentleman.
The lady let me read a stack of letters Peter had written to her from his prison cell. There was much new information in the letters, some of which shocked and saddened me. Guilty or not, a prisoner still is a human being with certain basic human rights.
From his letters Peter is still being bullied by the system.
Let me summarize what I learned after reading those letters (from the horse's mouth):
Salvation Army booklet, promoting the Bridge Programme
This booklet tells the story of Captain Neil. I shall retell it here for a good reason:
The story stirred me into telephoning the Salvation Army Headquarters in Adelaide. I asked to speak to the public relations officer. The gentleman was familiar with the story. I even detected a sense of pride during our conversation, and rightly so. God is a specialist in taking broken lives and putting them back together again, miraculously, against all odds.
And as wonderful as it is, how God is using the Salvation Army, couldn't HE not use them even in a bigger way?
During our 10 minute conversation I learned that the gentlemen knew about Peter Liddy. He knew the officer, who used to visit Peter, who had supplied me with valuable information about Peter, not the least about the dynamite document, which was never permitted in court. (Read on).
I made the point, how wonderful the work of the Army was, but should we not put a fence on top of the cliff, rather than putting more ambulances at the bottom?
"But we are doing that," the captain at the other end said. We are going into schools etc. etc.
As much as I understood this, and how wonderful it sounded, I dug a little deeper and asked: "Why does the Salvation Army not stand up for this unfortunate man, who has been imprisoned innocently because he had put drug dealers and corrupt police behind bars?
In a follow-up letter, thanking the gentleman for his time on the phone, I again questioned the reason, why the Salvation Army had a policy to not interfere with legal processes. Was it the separation between church and state, a concept I regard as bad policy by secular elements, who want to keep God away from the public arena?
I argue that a fence at the top of the cliff is not enough. What if unfortunate victims are being pushed over the fence, down the cliff by drug dealers and other criminals? Is the answer still, another appeal to buy another ambulance to place at the bottom of the cliff or is it time to change policy?
An army needs a fighting force on the battle front, not only a well equipped field hospital!
Of course, the corrupt state does not want us to point the finger at their corruption? Too much money involved? And the politics of power get in the way, too.
I wish I were wrong. But if I am wrong, why have I not received any correspondence, not even a letter of acknowledgement, regarding my challenging letter to our Attorney-General, printed in the previous chapter?
Friends, Peter Liddy was put behind bars after 25 years of sending drug dealers to jail; men who led a life of crime, as did Neil in above story.
Such a person was instrumental in putting Peter Liddy behind bars. As Neil says, when drugs have become your priority in your life, the line between right and wrong disappears. Lying becomes a habit and you don't even know you are doing wrong any longer.
I am talking about witness W, the man referred to by defence lawyer Shaw as a career criminal, the man flown to Adelaide from a Queensland prison to testify against Peter.
In an unexpected stroke of blessing, not luck, I was handed a copy of the document, which proves that witness W. either lied in 1993 about his past, or that he was lying, when he testified in the Liddy trial in 2001.
Seven years ago Peter wrote to me the following:
After my Salvation Army contact had confirmed that indeed this document existed (he may even have sighted it back then?) I had raised my whistle-blowing to another level. I emailed or wrote to, on rare occasions I phoned, many powerful people, from local lawyers to politicians, from the Governor, both State and Federal, to the chief of the Federal Police, from the local newspaper to the head of the Australian Broadcasting Commission.
Why nothing has happened in seven years is beyond my understanding. Didn't they believe this document existed? Well, here it is, in black and white:
Prisoner Assessment Committee
Assessment Social Work Report
There would be no logic in W. saying he had never been sexually abused. If what he claimed later against Peter Liddy had really occurred, it would perhaps have helped him receive a more lenient sentence. If W. had been abused in the three years between 1983 - 86 the time to say so would have been at the time of the above report in 1993.
Reading my research of the 2001 Liddy trial W. was the one, who had allegedly been fondled by Liddy for two minutes inside his swimwear. He was so confused, he didn't know if he was gay, straight or what.
W. was also the one who said: "Liddy picked three boys [victim to abuse] and that was it". This made no sense, because how could he have known if more victims exist or didn't exist?
How can W. say that he had an uneventful childhood?
The argument often raised that sexual abuse caused W's life of drugs and crime is not valid. W. was the boy, who was barred from outings, because the ten year-old had lied to Peter and stole money from the van.
W. should have been thoroughly cross-examined, explaining above damning evidence against him.
As I understand it, the above document was not available at Peter's initial trial. However, the report was available, but not permissible, as evidence in Peter's later High Court appeal.
Why was it not presented at this hearing, when it clearly proves the unreliability of witness W? Peter had placed his hope of justice into this, what he called it, 'seemingly weighty piece of evidence'.
I'm no lawyer, but even if the document needed to be backed by a real person, there should have been a way of protecting this person, so she could back up this evidence without fear or intimidation! Could this lady (I know her name, and address in Innisfail, Queensland) perhaps have given testimony remotely, via video relay or via a third party?
As it turned out, (I am only guessing the only possible logic here) this witness realized, she was the king pin, who could make or break the defence case. She calculated the risk of retribution from corrupt, powerful elements, and withdrew her support at the last moment.
It's possible that this person was threatened about giving evidence. Evil forces find a way to intimidate those who stand in their way. Those kind of men usually wear dark sunglasses, brand name - Intimidate).
- - - - - - -
The evidence in favour of Peter Liddy is overwhelming. All three alleged victims, the initial group who came forward, have all pointing material against them:
Why did the jury in the end accept the testimony of these three witnesses, but did not believe the respected magistrate or other witnesses, who claimed nothing improper ever happened?
Friends, wouldn't we all like to see the Andrew W's of this world turn around as did Neil? Wouldn't it be wonderful if people demanded truth and justice, for the sake of our children? How many more will be thrown over the safety fence and down the cliff. Thank God, an ambulance is ready at the bottom ...
... but would it not be more effective in the long term, if the problem were tackled at its roots?
English philosopher Edmund Burke put it very plainly:
Turn back the clock 10 years and 2 months. I stood in front of a large church, telling everyone there is corruption in high places in Adelaide. I read out Psalm 94, which ends like this (translated from the German edition):
Five days after I publicly read this psalm, the first person to make allegations against Peter went to police.
The countdown began ...
Friends, justice will be done! If not here on earth, then on that day, when all will be judged, everyone's deeds will be made public. All that is hidden will be laid bare.
Best to turn to the ONE while you can. Give HIM your all.