34.   The green shirt and Avila

If my website was a fictitious story to wet the appetite of those who love fanciful reading, I would say the time had come to find a climax and close with a final punch. But my stories are all for real. I have lived every page I wrote, walked every path just as I had described and still do to this day. What happens next, the twist the story takes is not up to me. In a way I am the onlooker, reporting what is taking place.

What I experience and write about is what God’s Spirit leads me to see. HE gives me guidance and the strength to take the action I think is necessary at the time. This does not mean that I would not be responsible for any of these actions. God forbid, HE would not make me do something that was breaking the law.

In the unlikely event that this became necessary, I would do it and suffer the consequences. But thank God, Australia had not reached a point as critical as that of other countries, where Christians suffer for their belief.

Chapters 32, 33 the one you are reading I had planned to finish and upload on 3/5/05. As the time approached 10pm last evening I realized I would not be finishing the three chapters that day. This gives me a chance to report the bit of magic, which happened this morning. It was a rather familiar sequence of events, but still unexpected and amazing as it always is, when all things just seem to work together for good.

I woke very early after 4 ˝ hours sleep (hey… I just noticed this figure fits the picture beautifully). At first I resisted listening to the transistor, because talkback often stirs me to the point of wanting to phone up. After some time I did it anyway. I turned it on without changing the station and listened for less than 3 minutes. When I heard a word I had not heard before (after living in Australia 36 years) I thought for a moment and looked at the clock radio. It showed 4.50am. 

This is what I meant by familiar events and 4.5 hours sleep! The date today is May 4th. Within minutes I was composing and emailing the following to the BBC, London. Actually I will print the email I sent moments later to our ABC, the station, where I had been listening to:

 

Email to ABC Newsradio,

Subject: Thought of you

Dated: 4/5/05

(After pressing the sent button, I thought I should have sent you a copy - here it is). Do I owe you a poem, or did I just dream it? Have to wait for an international row, then I'll send you a poem and how! 

(To BBC Worldservice, London)

Hi all,

Listening to a report on one of your programs I learned a new word - implicably. ("The politicians in this particular Muslim society were implicably opposed to giving woman full rights" or similar). Because it was 4.50am and I was listening half asleep, I didn't get the country or all the details. But I got up (yes, at 4.50 - today's date) and looked up the word, which is not a very nice one.

In German it means unversoehnlich - unforgiving! Just the opposite what Christ taught us.

Kind regards from Australia

Dieter R. Fischer

PS   One Muslim cleric recently got into hot water here in our country. He said some woman, the way they dress ought not be surprised when they get raped, or words to that effect. To a point I must agree with the man. But to make all women cover up their whole body, only allowing the face to show, I can't agree with. To this extreme I am implicably opposed.

Thanks to spell-check I just realized that the actual word was – implacable or implacably. 

Either way I must have recognized the PL ace bit, which made me virtually jump out of bed, wide-awake. 

The PS of above email hints at a subject I had thought about a lot. Not women per se, but the way even Christian females dress. There must be a middle ground that can be reached between the two extremes: Allowing only the face, or even just eyes, of a woman to show and the western, often provocative other extreme: Ladies trousers cut so low that a slight bend forward or merely sitting down, gives a clear view of … you know what I mean. 

 

Talking of clothing, on Easter Sunday morning March 27th 2005 another unusual chain of events led me to pick up a men’s shirt from off Kesters Road, in our suburb of Para Hills. 

The story had a prelude about 3 weeks earlier. I was taking my dog for a walk when we passed a church. A man was sweeping the yard and I made a point of stopping to say hi. It was the home church of the lady, who was killed outside 65 Kesters. Road, Para Hills West. I will never forget the day it happened.

The young man stopped sweeping and we had a brief chat. His name was Andy. Since I had never been to this church before, I promised I would show up for a visit one day. He said I was very welcome anytime.

Easter Sunday, March 27 05 was the day. How I came to pick up a green shirt and what I discovered was rather weird, because it linked to my Bible Reading Kalender from Germany. Therefore I took the liberty and sent the story to the publishers on Monday 28/3/04 (translated from German).

Subject: The consonants of Avila

Hello friends,

Easter Sunday 05. Walking by a church I promised the man that one day I will visit their service.  Yesterday I said to my wife, I’d like to visit the church service at the church on the hill. She dropped me off on the way home from our own church service. Shortly before arrival I notice on the other side of the road a green piece of cloth. I registered it, but when my wife is with me, I can’t do anything drastic (such as clear the road of debris and have a look what the cloth is).

I had much joy. Not only did they sing one of my favourite hymns (When I survey the wondrous cross), but also a song which I learned in Sunday School 50 years ago – “When the Lord will appear as king ….yes, we will shine...”

At the end of the service I spoke to the man I had promised that I would attend. In the background I noticed the organ was being covered over. Strange, the cloth was exactly the same colour as the cloth I had noticed on the street before.

Then I realized that I also was wearing a green shirt. I wore it that day, because it symbolizes new life. On the way home I fought with myself, should I make a detour and pick up the cloth? Infront of a house I saw a car with the registration plate ‘Codeman’. Man, I’m going crazy, is this a code for me? I saw a white piece of paper on the ground and picked it up.

Only then did I notice that people were there, watching me. The piece of paper was empty, white, nothing on it, no code. Are they now laughing behind my back? Did they read, how I always pick up stuff and then find something on it? Or does blank white paper mean something?

It was not a big detour and I love walking in the beautiful sunshine. The cloth is still there; it’s a shirt. Thank God there is a fence, I feel silly to be picking up rubbish off the road (and people watching). When I read the collar, the brand of the shirt, I am happy again. It was no mistake, everything makes sense.

The tags of the green shirt and  a bit of blank paper in my diary.

V Blanc L is on the collar.  Blanc means white, this much French I still know. And the victory V of the L, my symbol on the cross was won on Easter Sunday. (Does not every cross consist of 4 L’s?) 

On the way home I am thinking about all this. I could do with a new shirt, but it would not fit me, size L. (large). Another Code is on the shirt pocket, it reads “LINER. L IN (a L in a cross) together with the picture of a boat. This also makes sense.

This morning however, I saw a connection to my reading of the NK. It’s too dramatic to ignore. Even the year1515, number, which for years I have admired, since Habakkuk 1,5 came into play;  but more prominently, the two consonants of Teresa (a cross in SA – South Australia) VL.

Must I die for such thinking?

I can do not other.

Many regards (in tears).

Dieter R. Fischer

 

According to the Bible-Reading Kalender that day Teresa von Avila was born in 1515, on the date, when I wrote the email, Easter Monday 2005. I was so moved by the name Avila, because in the past I had looked at words leaving out the vowels. Without vowels, all that remains of Avila is VL, the two letters I found on the shirt collar the day before.

Needless to say, how remarkable is the timing of this highlighting V & L, Easter Sunday! Easter Monday saw another world event occur, an earthquake measuring 8.7 on the Richter scale.

I have yet to find a brave newspaper reporter, who had the guts to acknowledge that three major earthquakes in the past 16 months all happened at the end of either Christmas or Easter, big days in the Christian calendar.

The huge earthquake destroying much of the town of Bam, Iran occurred on December 26th, 2003. I never forget the day. The number 963, which is a cousin to 123, if you can see the link, was birthed in my story on that day. Exactly a year later, December 26th 2004 was the date of the shocking size 9 earthquake and the devastating tsunami in the Indian Ocean. 

Another huge earthquake in the same region, measuring 8.7 on the Richter scale and mentioned above, also happened at the conclusion of a major Christian holiday, Easter. Nature does not know the Christian church calendar. God does.

Those catastrophes were a clear wake-up call for the world. God wants us to heed HIS call – a plea to take HIM seriously, to turn back to HIM, who made us, who loves us and offers forgiveness to all. Those rejecting HIS authority, but join the mocking crowd instead, will feel HIS anger, when the measure of his wrath is full. It will be a sad day for some.

It is hard to believe that the timing of the three earthquakes, two of which were amongst the strongest the world has seen, was co-incidence. To believe is much simpler; to trust in a God, who is all-powerful and holds the whole world in HIS hand. 

Another incident with a German connection had me dumbfounded. It escapes me how it happened. All I remember is I was surfing online and opening a URL, which must have looked attractive. The mystery was an entry of data on the website of the German Faculty of a University in Michigan/USA. I emailed the University. 

 

Subject: Am having fun with names – Dated 25/3/05

Hi all,

Searching the internet sometimes takes one to strange places, like your website http://german.lss...Somehow, I came across the following entry and had to smile to myself. 

N-F Fischer, Hanns, ed. Herrand von Wildonie, Vier Erzaehlungen Niemeyer Tuebingen 1969

My name is Fischer. I was born not far from Tuebingen. I migrated to Australia in 1969 and read the name Wildonie as " iWild one". Hanns Fischer may well be a distant relative of mine. It’s good that German is being valued in the US as a foreign language. I wished my son was learning German at school rather than Japanese.

Greetings from Adelaide

Dieter R. Fischer

I wasn’t having a go at my son’s school or wanted to express dislike of Japanese. Being German I have a natural bias and wished I could help my son in learning the language.

The name Herrand I had never heard before. The German word ‘Herr’ means Lord and ‘and’ is a whole iceberg on it’s own. The word Herrand therefore, more than my name or the year I migrated to Australia, had me thinking seriously after this URL had crossed my monitor. 

As March turned into April my diary reports unusually hot weather. Politically our state was going through one of the toughest times since the speaker of Parliament, Peter Lewis, had first been thrust into the spotlight, after being linked to a criminal. In late March Mr. Lewis claimed to have information that a Member of the ruling Labor Government, a senior Minister, was seen in Adelaide’s South Parkland engaged in pedophile activities. PL could not give a name for legal reasons.

When under much controversy and confusion the ‘big’ name was allegedly faxed to a large number of media, all hell broke lose. Allegations to and fro dominated the news for days. Speculation as to who this person was still hangs over our Parliament like the legend of the Loch Ness Monster.

The other PL, the jailed Magistrate Peter Liddy was also in the news again. Police (and Channel Seven) had located some of Peter Liddy’s property, which had previously gone missing. It was alleged Mr. Liddy had secretly stashed away his valuable gun collection, plus other valuable, historic collectors items, to avoid having them taken away, when his victims claimed for compensation in a civil court. I had my own theories, which I aired for the first time publicly, outside my website in late April 05. (More later, God willing).

 

April 4th 05 - A small group of protesters, I was one of them, gathered on the steps of Parliament House, Adelaide in support of Mr. Peter Lewis, the Speaker of the House. Mr. Lewis decided to resign from his Speaker’s position, rather than facing removal by Parliament. The affair created such an interest, initially there were more media present than protesters. 

Our state was becoming famous, for all the wrong reasons. A confused public lost faith in their politicians as well as the judiciary. More confusion and outcry was to come over the Eugene McGee case. An ex-policeman and lawyer (who had acted for Peter Liddy) was on trial for hitting a cyclist in his 4-WD. The man died as a consequence. Mr. McGee did not stop and render assistance after the accident.

Ironically, the case was being held on the same day, Mr. Lewis resigned. Also very timely is today’s front-page headline in the Advertiser newspaper – “McGee case isn’t over”. I say Amen to that. But the final outcome may be different to what people expect.  

 

My diary - Sunday April 03/05:

According to my diary, it started to rain rather heavily, but just for a moment. It was exactly at 9am, as our church service in Enfield started. (I had uploaded Chapters 26-28 the night before).

The Catholic world was in shock. Their Pope had died at 21.37pm on the Saturday (Sunday 5.37am EST – Sydney time). Early that morning I was out (still or should I say again) to remove an election poster I had spotted two days before at the end of Hampstead Road. I knew it had been put up as homework for me. It had been bent into the shape of an L. After removing the poster I hung up an L-plate and a P-plate in its place. (Forgot the camera).

Returning home out of the corner of my eye I saw a Real Estate sign on a post. I would have not bothered, had it not been folded in the shape of a V. I made a point of turning around and removing it. When I saw the phone number .…0777 and then realized it was near the corner Chaucer Street, it all made sense. Now I also saw the number of the nearby bus stop – Nr. 26.

My diary says – this was planned. By whom I had no idea, but I did what I had to do, of which I’m certain. Before driving home I first went to an address in Pooraka. I wanted to share my ‘loot’ of election posters with a special person, W.U. She had been in the news when the bombshell announcement on Friday April 1 hit, naming the Senior Minister, who was an alleged pedophile.

(The person was never named in the media. On the grape wine of Talkback Station 5 AA I have heard two different names as to who the person is. Like many South Australians, I don’t know what or who to believe any more).

I literally shared the election posters with W.U of Pooraka. I cut it into two sections and placed the top section discreetly into her front garden. I didn’t know the person at all, but a simple tool, the Adelaide telephone book, revealed her address. (If any Pooraka resident, whose initials are not WU, found half an election poster in their front garden on Sunday 3/4/05, that’s why).

Almost as regularly as the rain, after an upload onto my autobiography, I noticed things that could have been a reference from somebody, who had read (and liked) my writing. Perhaps this was the intention of the disc jockey, who played a song by German singer Udo Juergens: “I had to get a ticket at the door”. I didn’t hear where to? Perhaps to a Cher concert?

In the evening, still Sunday April 03, I felt to attend a Catholic Church, which I had done before. There is something about the atmosphere, the silence of a large Cathedral. I drove into Adelaide and sat quietly at Saint Xavier Cathedral. (Alert readers from Adelaide will recall, that I had mistakenly called this place St. Martins in a previous chapter, nobody is perfect). I just sat and prayed for a while, thanking God for HIS goodness.

In a side street near St. Xavier Cathedral I saw a large group of homeless people. I joined a young couple and asked, if this was the place they would spend the night. The young lady said, they were waiting for a food delivery. Her name was Nicole. Underneath the neglected façade I could see a beautiful woman. I chatted with her and her man, Jim, for a while.

They had come over from Melbourne. As I listened I felt a deep compassion and, at the same time, frustration that people needed to live on the street. Before leaving I gave them 3 dollars. I had seen Nicole whisper something into Jim’s ear and giving me a strange look. Then she asked me for 5 dollars. 3 was all I had in change.

On the 5th I was to fly out to the USA. I’d be donating more coins and notes to the homeless and experience more outside the box adventures, which seem to follow me everywhere I go. 

Chapter 35

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