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BORN AGAIN - Charles Kalman Pallaghy PhD

This is the story of how I was 'born again' in Christ.

In post-war Germany, I used to skip school. I would sit with a friend in a trench, well out of sight, reading an abridged version of the Bible until school was over. We were moved to tears by the compassion shown by Jesus. The Bible was alive and I soaked up every word as though it was happening right there and then. I was living it with the disciples, following Jesus around in my mind.

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However, my life was changed dramatically at the age of ten for the better, at least as far as escaping from our refugee status in Germany was concerned,  when in 1949 my father decided that we should immigrate to Australia. Events of the war had been exciting but here was a new adventure beckoning. We were shipped in cattle wagons to various refugee camps around Italy until we boarded the Fairsea in Naples bound for Melbourne, Australia.  It was in Australia that a Catholic priest renamed me Charles. He didn't like my Hungarian name Kalman.

My father had a huge influence on my education, forcing me to study things that I at first detested but later learnt to appreciate. As a scientist at university we often travelled with two little children almost penniless, hoping that everything would go well. I was not a Christian yet. Little did I know that the Lord was preparing me for the life ahead.

In my early years at university, in 1957, I quickly shifted my interests from medicine, to engineering, and later to chemistry, biophysics and classical biology. By this time I had forgotten about God, but often wistfully wished that what I had read in the Bible would be true. School and University taught me that miracles don’t happen and that the Bible was just an interesting story book. Life and the universe were all about physics, chemistry and mathematics.

I gladly joined  in my mother’s nostalgia about Christmas trees, carols and Easter eggs in season. I even enjoyed going to church and Sunday school, but knew that it was only a good distraction from having to study or from taking life seriously. Nevertheless, I was mysteriously attracted to Christianity and spiritual things. In 1956 my friends and I, at school desired spiritual powers after having read our compulsory matriculation text “Seven Years in Tibet” and Dennis Wheatley’s dark books on the occult. We even held a séance as I described in a more complete autobiography on the other website.

Upon graduating with a PhD in biophysics in 1967, I was more convinced than ever that the sciences held the key to the meaning of life, but I used to ponder on questions like, ‘Who am I? What am I doing here?' One day a surgeon asked me, “Charles, what is darkness?” Without hesitation I answered, “The absence of light”. “Quite right”, he said.

I remember nights lying in my bed wondering and dreaming what I would be good for. I thought of myself as a loyal and trustworthy person. I ignored the fact that I wasn’t squeaky clean, in fact far from it, had occasionally cheated in the past and gambled away what we had saved up for a house. I dreamed about having a job that involved handling a lot of money because I felt I could be trusted with other people’s treasures even if not my own. Gangsters would be able to trust me with their money. I would never double-cross the boss as I have seen happen in the movies. I wished that somebody important would employ me.


I would drift off to sleep still in fantasy land, but not before I said a simple prayer in German my mother had taught me,

"O Jesus of my joy,

Gather your little chicks,

Should Satan desire to swallow me,

Let your angels sing,

And your child shall escape unharmed."

It rhymes beautifully in German if not in English. I used to say that prayer nightly  right up to the age of 36. Imagine that - a simple child’s prayer but so effective as I learnt later.


Retrospectively, I now realize that God chose to grant me my secret desire, but not with any gangster. He was preparing me to serve Him. On the other hand, it is probably more correct to say that He was preparing my heart for that day. 


The books I had read about the spiritual powers of Tibetan monks and the power of some to levitate were never far from my mind. I took great interest in Uri Geller, the Israeli who claimed powers of psychokinesis, the power to affect a physical system purely through the mind. I watched his televised shows and was convinced that what I saw on TV was real. Too many TV personalities had watched him bend a spoon using his psychic powers on their show for there to be  any chance of collusion on a massive scale.

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Photo of a young man using his mental powers to bend a spoon. Uri Geller's ability fascinated me.

One night I noticed that Uri had a show on TV. As I watched he invited his audiences at home to place any old watch that no longer moved in front of their TV set and he would make them go. So I did as he suggested. I continued to watch the show with fascination but was suddenly jerked to attention by a loud whirring noise. I looked around the room trying to find out where the noise was coming from. I then looked down and saw that the hands on my watch were rapidly moving as the watch was unwinding itself. It created a huge noise with the coffee table acting as the sounding board. I was stunned believing that somehow Uri had loosened and actually broken the jammed winding mechanism. I looked up the TV guide to find out from which studio he was broadcasting. To my surprise, the channel was playing a BBC show that had been taped in England over a year earlier.

As I sat alone in the TV room and mulled about these things, I came to the conclusion that it could not have been Uri Geller tampering with my watch. I became more and more convinced that there was an unseen visitor in my room who was trying to trick me into believing that it was Uri’s handiwork. So I began to believe in unseen spirits, but still did not believe in the existence of God and of angels.


Round about this time, I was sitting in my office  when word came  that one of our members of staff received a letter from Queensland with an offer of appointment to professorship. We were delighted that our colleague would receive such an honour. – something that we all strived and hoped for. So I immediately got up and went down two corridors to congratulate him. When I arrived his office was dark and gloomy. “Congratulations for your professorship” I said bursting into his room. He just sat motionless behind his desk, with a blank look on his face. “Well, I might just as well commit suicide, I have nothing else left to live for. That’s all I ever wanted so there is nothing left for me”.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I tried to cheer him up by reminding him that he played cricket for the Methodists, had a lovely wife and children, and now a professorship as well, but nothing I said released him from his morbid mood. He was just there looking miserable behind his desk. I was speechless and left his room. As I was returning back to my office, I said to myself “Doesn’t he believe in God?” At the same time, a loud inner voice asked “And what about you?”

The question pulled me up for a moment. Yes indeed, what about me? I didn’t really believe in God either. That started me thinking once again.

God?  I prayed my mother’s short prayer almost automatically every night. I started exploring the depths of the universe in my mind wondering about God. I was disenchanted with Christianity because, in 1976,  Irish  Catholics and Protestants were shooting each other. I saw newsreels of a Lebanese Christian, in priestly garb, machine gunning away from behind a column. Definitely not the Christian God, I concluded! Maybe He is one of those Asian gods. Our Asian students at university were gentle and well mannered. I must read about Buddhism and other Eastern religions, I told myself. Fortunately I never did.


Easter was approaching. My best man from my wedding, a generous Irishman, invited us to spend Easter weekend in his country house in Donald, Victoria. Our children were welcome to come too. When we arrived we were impressed by the old Victorian terraced house they were renting. It had the usual tall ceilings and inside, the house was a  labyrinth of corridors, with a wide open space behind the house for a vegetable garden that led down to the almost dry creek-bed. Just the place for our children to explore the paddocks and the main river a couple of hundred yards further on.

On Sunday evening we all relaxed in their lounge room with a glass of port after dinner.  Time passed quickly because Joe was a good story teller and had the ‘gift of the gab’. He was well traveled, had worked in America, and had lots of stories to tell about his days as a construction worker and meat inspector. As the night drew on his stories were beginning to focus on folktales from the old country. I began to feel uneasy as the ghoulish stories became more and more vivid. It was getting on to midnight.

By this time I was getting nervous wondering how I would be able to sleep. My spirit was stirred and the ghost stories troubled me. Deciding that enough was enough, I attempted to break everyone into laughter when I said, “This house looks old enough to have ghosts in it”. Suddenly Joe and his wife sat up in their arm chairs and became dead serious. “We have”, they responded in unison!

The hair on the back of my neck prickled and I sank deeper  into the arm chair. I was becoming terrified. They told us how, while they were washing the dishes in the kitchen, the door would mysteriously open. They would feel the unseen visitor moving closer and watch what they were doing over their shoulders. They soon expected visits on a regular basis and actually welcomed ‘his’ presence. I can’t remember what else they said because by this time I was only half listening -  I was filled with dread.

“Well, we had better get to bed. It’s Monday tomorrow and you are driving home after breakfast”. With that, he and his wife, and Milena my wife, got up and disappeared through various doorways to bathrooms. I was left alone still shaken. I looked along the long corridor I would have to traverse to get to our bedroom. Fear filled me. Trying to build up courage I ventured into the corridor my mind silently shrieking for help. I was convinced I would see one of these things around the bend in the corridor.

In those few seconds  I became aware of evil trying to draw me into its realm. The corridor seemed like a tunnel with unseen hands coming out of the wall beckoning me to join. I knew, that there and then I would have to make a decision which way I would go. Towards the evil spirits drawing me or to a good spirit. The only good spirit I could think of was Jesus. I had just read an editorial in the Melbourne Age, of artifacts scattered around the world that supposedly had once belonged to Jesus. There was no longer any doubt in my mind. As I walked cautiously towards our room my mind was screaming silently, “Help me Jesus. Help me Jesus!”

To this day I can’t even remember my wife coming to bed or how I managed to get to sleep in that state. I must have been asleep several hours when a rumbling noise awakened me. It was getting louder by the minute but I did not open my eyes. I listened intently. I thought it might be a heavy truck going past. The noise increased and the entire bed was shaking. The noise was increasing and the vibrations became intense.

An earthquake! We were in an earthquake I thought. Quick get up and get out of here before the roof caves in on us. I sat up and opened my eyes expecting the chandelier to be swinging and pictures on the walls at all angles. But no, in the moonlight I saw that nothing was moving except that by now the shaking and the noise was as if a train was hurtling through our room. Nothing moved and Milena was fast asleep beside me.

Suddenly a soft globe of light, the size of a basketball, came drifting towards me from a dark corner of the room. As soon as it passed into my chest the vibrations and noise ceased. What was that?  I sat still and motionless in bed. I can’t remember how I drifted off to sleep again.


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My wife and I turned up to a delicious breakfast waiting for us in the garden. I dared not tell anyone about my experience during the night for fear of ridicule. As we drove back to Melbourne I was amazed by the vivid green of  the pastures and how beautiful and peaceful the trees and grazing cattle looked - strange that I had not noticed that on the way up.

One of the first jobs  back home was to sort out my son’s bookshelves to ready him for school. I came across volume 1 of an encyclopaedia which supermarkets once gave away with each docket. We had stopped frequenting that supermarket so we never acquired past volume 1 which covered subjects AA to B. It was evidently still in brand-new condition and had never been looked at. Before discarding the book into the recycling bin I decided to flip through its pages.

I stopped on one page which had a glossy reproduction of a painting of men in eastern garb with flames above their heads. It caught my attention. I had never seen a painting like that before. I read the caption which said something about the infilling of the Holy Spirit from the book of Acts. I had been to plenty of Lutheran and Reformed Church services before but I had never heard about Pentecost. So I took the dusty, old bible off the shelf and couldn’t stop reading it for the next hour or so. Something like that happened to me during the night, I thought.

As I flipped through the encyclopaedia I was arrested by a picture similar to this one. Its caption described a mighty noise and flames. Something like that happened to me. I read the associated story straight away.



I began to feverishly read the Bible from then on. For a few weeks I drove half an hour earlier to work so that I could read the Bible in my car before turning up in my office. One day I read a very strange story in Exodus about the Israelites having to smear the blood of an innocent lamb on their door posts. This allowed God to perform his last plague on Egypt - the death of the first-born of every man and beast. I thought it very strange. God promised that anyone inside the house would be spared from the death angel. God was going to kill the first born of man and beast.

By this time, I had gathered a few Christians around me and, having my own office, I invited about 10-12 of them to have their lunches in my room on a regular basis. The Christian students were from all sorts of churches - one of them was already signed up to attend a Lutheran seminary by the end of the year.  Since I was a lecturer, they were very courteous and allowed me to explain what I had read in the car that morning. One by one they began to explain what they thought the blood on the door meant. After listening to about six possible explanations, an older chap who worked in the Department of Agriculture began to tell us what he thought.

As soon as he spoke it was as though a rush of wind was going through my ears. He explained that Jesus referred to Himself as the door to salvation. The blood on the horizontal and vertical posts foreshadowed what He was going to accomplish on the cross. I had just enough Bible knowledge by then to understand that his was the only explanation that made sense. From that time on I began to listen to Gordon Butterick.

Gordon would answer all my questions. At times I would have a burning question on my mind and who should I bump into on campus but Gordon?  Those chance encounters were miraculous because Gordon always had a satisfying answer. He wasn’t just guessing. He always had scriptures to back them up.


One day Gordon asked whether I would like to hear a charismatic speaker at his church. I didn’t even know what charismatic meant, but it sounded mysterious so I agreed to come.

On that first night I heard the purest gospel message I had ever heard from a Catholic nun called sister Annette Marsnik. It was then announced that her traveling companion, a sister Lane, was to hold a healing service the next evening. I was getting excited because I was interested in medicine and had originally enrolled into medicine at Melbourne University for that very reason. To have bodies healed without cutting them open appealed to me immediately.

The church, an old theatre in Maling Road, Canterbury, was packed. I was in the middle of a row, about half-way towards the end of the large hall. Sister Lane, a squat middle aged woman in white, an ex-Mother Superior of the Catholic Church, presided with a very clear voice. She had a torch in her hand and called for anybody with dental problems. A huge queue soon formed and she prayed for people while looking into their mouths. The queue had dwindled to one person after about two hours. She looked into the mouth of this young teenager and then asked whether anybody would like to see this miracle. The girl had a gaping cavity in her wisdom tooth. That can happen at that age as a dentist told me much later.

Nobody responded to her invitation. I was dying to go out and have a look but I was locked into my seat halfway along the row in the middle. She repeated her invitation and still nobody responded. So, shrugging her shoulder, she turned her attention to the girl. I could no longer contain myself. I shuffled past everybody and ran to the front. She was rather short so I stood behind her, looking over her shoulder. I peered right into the girl’s mouth. She had brilliant white teeth and sure enough, the torch was focused on an enormous cavity.

Sister Lane began to pray in the name of Jesus. I kept my eyes on the cavity, and lo suddenly, there was a little silvery ball at the bottom of the cavity bouncing around much like a bead of mercury on the floor after having broken a thermometer. The bouncing bead steadied, grew in size filling the cavity. It suddenly set flat looking perfectly like an amalgam filling any dentist would have made. And that was it. I was overjoyed, not only for the girl but also for myself for having seen such a miracle. God was actually real! Not only did I hear a fantastic gospel message the night before, but now I saw an amazing miracle. What a privilege.

The enormous cavity was filled perfectly with a smooth silvery amalgam like this dental model shows.

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I knew that he was an elder in the Presbyterian Church. I told him what I had seen. His response? Try and get a scrapping of her filling to see whether we could discover a new element. He didn’t seem in the least interested in the miracle, only in the possible chance of publishing a new element for science. I was not going to tempt God so I didn’t do anything about it. How would the girl have felt?

All the while though, I was wondering why God gave her an amalgam filling and not new enamel. When I thought about this many years later, I came to the conclusion that God did it so that I would never forget. Had He caused the tooth to grow and fill the cavity with enamel, I might have doubted what I saw years later thinking that I had just imagined it.

Gordon next suggested water baptism by immersion. Great I thought. If Jesus did it, so will I. I turned up that night and changed into swimming togs. When it was my turn to enter the water I felt really good. Two men prayed over me (I can’t remember what) and then immersed me totally under water.  I got out of the water, thanked them while the piano played something, and began to return to the dressing room at the back of the hall.

A woman wearing a black, glistening fur coat stopped me and said, “When you came out of the water I saw a white dove come down and alight on your head”. How odd I thought excitedly, just like Jesus. So I asked a few other people but nobody else had seen it. As I was walking towards the change room an elder of the church, Bob Holland, asked, “Well did you speak in tongues?”. "What’s that I asked?" When he became agitated I said, “Look, I didn’t come here to speak in tongues only to get baptized”. As I walked away, I overheard him tell another elder, “This is what happens when you don’t teach people before they get baptized”. That rang in my ears for the next couple of weeks.

Anyhow, I suddenly became interested in the dove story. So I looked around, rushed into the corridors, but no one had seen anybody in a glistening fur coat. It had been only a couple of minutes earlier that she told me so. As a result of all this I began to attend every service and bible study for the next few years, but I never saw that lady or her coat ever again. I am now convinced that she was an angel  sent to encourage me.


On the way back from church I asked Gordon  what speaking in tongues was all about. Using the scriptures he referred to the Day of Pentecost when the disciples were first given the gift of tongues, and many other similar scriptures. Gordon knew his scriptures and by this time I remembered what I had read about Pentecost.

Later on I began to desire this gift. Gordon explained that it can come suddenly in an outburst or just by a word here and there over a matter of days. That certainly began to be the case. Whilst driving the car to work, I felt the desire to verbalize a phrase that would come to mind, even though it made no sense. I have always had a poor memory so I would become stressed as more words came. I wrote them down so that I wouldn’t forget. This would go on until I had about 20 meaningless words.

I told Gordon rather proudly one day showing him the list. He held the list and said, "Alright would you like to repeat them for me"?. So I did. He said that what I said was nothing like what I had written down. I had twenty or so more new words and I couldn’t remember what the others were anymore. Gordon laughed. “Charles this is not like learning a new language. God will open your mouth by the Holy Spirit, as the Holy Spirit will give utterance to whatever He wants to pray through your mouth to the Father. It has nothing to do with you. You just have to surrender your mouth to Him”.

So I did that whenever I drove my car. I found it fascinating to listen to myself, not understanding a word I said. I would speak fluently in what sounded like French, then Chinese, then Polynesian, then American Indian together with a tune, then something else. The languages switched without me willing anything. I tried to control it but then found it better to just let go.

What did I learn from it?  Firstly that, as Paul the apostle said, it is the Holy Spirit interceding on your behalf (1 Corinthians 14:14-15) and secondly that the story of the Tower of Babel was true. It wasn’t fiction after all. God does invent and give languages.

And Jehovah came down to see the city and the tower which the sons of Adam had built. And Jehovah said, Behold! The people is one and they all have one language. And this they begin to do. And now nothing which they have imagined to do will be restrained from them. Come, let Us go down and there confuse their language, so that they cannot understand one another's speech. So Jehovah scattered them abroad from that place upon the face of all the earth. And they quit building the city. Therefore the name of it is called Babel; because Jehovah confused the language of all the earth there. And from there Jehovah scattered them abroad on the face of all the earth’ (Genesis 11:5-9).


Of course, most certainly – didn’t I see one, and a few weeks  after that didn't I see a very short leg grow to match the normal one through prayer only?

I was overjoyed by the miracle of the tooth filling that I had witnessed because I had been afraid of dentists since my childhood. In Germany I jumped out of the dentist’s chair and ran down the street. The old-fashioned drill, powered by a foot-driven leather belt, vibrated my whole head and no anesthetics had been applied. I did the same at the age of 13 in Melbourne. My poor father chased me for several blocks along Collins Street.

That night, I went to a  dental miracle meeting and I joined the tooth filling queue. The lady said that she felt the power of God moving through her. I told her that the cavity was still there. Never mind that, she said, just have faith. The healing can come a day or two later.

Well, for several days I stood in front of the mirror waiting for my tooth to be repaired by God. My wife thought that I was going insane. She told her relatives about my madness. After three months  I finally made an appointment to visit the dentist. The only thing that hurt was the bill.

He was a very good dentist. He had piped music and a poster of a fern glen and waterfall on the ceiling. I found that relaxing as he drilled away. Injecting the anesthetic did not hurt. The only thing that disturbed me was the stench of burning tooth from the speed of the drill.

The whole situation made sense much later. When I saw the first miracles, I had visions in my mind of clearing out hospitals and making medication redundant. Not so, God was apparently saying. All the health services and medical technologies are provisions of God. That is why I also prayed to God for guidance during the 2021 COVID pandemic in Australia. Both I and my wife received the AstraZenica shots with absolutely no aftereffects except for a slight itch at my puncture site.

On another question, why God should use miracles in one case and medical technology in another case to heal is beyond my understanding.  I had a hint of an answer when I got to know a lady with a healing ministry. Being interested in miracles I became a fan of a sister Beckinsale, who had been on a South-Sea Island (New Hebrides I think) with her husband. He was a medical missionary working at the hospital. While he was curing the sick in the hospital, she was curing the most dreadful skin diseases in the villages just through prayer. She told me of people with ulcerated, horrible looking arms and hands coming to her. As she prayed brand new skin would grow from the finger tips until the whole arm was renewed. The islanders received the best of both worlds. Nevertheless I prefer divine healing whenever God grants it.

When Sister Beckinsale tried the same prayers in Australia God did not respond in the same way. The person had to go to hospital for treatment. Why? I would suppose that perhaps villagers had no money for expensive treatments and in a developed country like Australia, prayer would put health workers and supporting industries out of business. We would have a huge rise in unemployment.

Nevertheless, God still does miracles amongst us. Why? I suppose to increase our faith that He is real and cares for us. In addition, doctors have limits and there are many cases, especially terminal ones,  where only the intervention of God will help. In other situations when we seek medical help, Christians pray before they are treated and their recovery is faster than that of normal patients. I have also heard it said that going to a doctor can be a ‘cop-out’ because we don’t trust God enough. The truth is probably a mix of all these factors. Sin and unforgiveness in our hearts can also hinder miraculous healings. These might have to be dealt with first! God has certainly answered some of my prayers over others.

One major problem of modern society is our general  lack of belief in satanic angels who cause physical ailments. If one  reads the gospels, one will find that Jesus often had to deal with an inhabiting spirit that might be the cause of madness or blindness. The woman with the permanently bent back was the victim of a demonic spirit. Medical treatment is unlikely to have caused healing. Drugs might just numb or quieten down a mad person, but it doesn’t take away the root cause of the problem. We can think of examples of healing in the scripture.

'Then one who had been demon-possessed was brought to Him, blind and dumb. And He healed him, so much so that the blind and dumb one both spoke and saw' (Matthew 12:22).

'And behold, there was a woman who had a spirit of infirmity eighteen years, and she was bowed together, and was not able to be completely erect. And when Jesus saw her, He called and said to her, Woman, you are delivered from your infirmity. And He laid His hands on her. And instantly she was made erect, and she glorified God. And answering, the synagogue ruler, being angry because Jesus had healed on the sabbath day, said to the crowd, There are six days in which it is right to work. Therefore in them come and be healed, and not on the sabbath day. And the Lord answered him and said, Hypocrite! Does not each one of you on the sabbath loosen his ox or ass from the stall and lead it away, to give it drink? And ought not this woman, being a daughter of Abraham whom Satan has bound, lo these eighteen years, be loosened from this bond on the Sabbath day? And when He had said these things, all His adversaries were ashamed. And all the people rejoiced for all the glorious things that were done by Him' (Luke 13:11-17).


I believe that in times to come we shall see the revival of healing miracles through prayer as medical treatments become more expensive or even unavailable as a nation’s fortune changes for the worse. In countries with Christian minorities where Christians are severely persecuted, they are sometimes left to die awaiting treatment as is happening already overseas. Even currently, in 2021,  in the Southern States of the US there are no free beds in ICU wards in Texas, not for covid patients nor for victims of car accidents.

The apostle Paul was also mystified why God did not answer His needs until the Lord said, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness. 'Most gladly therefore I will rather glory in my weaknesses, that the power of Christ may overshadow me. Therefore I am pleased in weaknesses, in insults, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ's sake; for when I am weak, then I am powerful' (2 Corinthians 12:9-10). St Bernadette of Lourdes certainly willingly took that upon herself and did not go to the healing waters at the Massabielle cave-grotto even when she became painfully sick.

I am convinced that she had a genuine series of 18 visions of the virgin Mary in 1858, at the age 0f 14, which has blessed many since. Nevertheless, she was confined to a religious system at the time that put a constraint on her which I am sure the Lord understands in His compassion. Even Martin Luther's Reformation, which was so valuable,  went out of control into the hands of flesh and initiated violence. So who are we to criticize Bernadette and her followers? The following scripture is most telling,

"And I heard another voice from heaven, saying, Come out of her (Babylon), my people, that ye be not partakers of her sins, and that ye receive not of her plagues"

(Revelation 18:4).

Isn't that interesting? Here the Holy Spirit is saying that many of His people are caught up in 'Babylonian' churches and Jesus wants them to come out and free themselves from religious yokes.

On the subject of healing around the communion table I have a number of things to say in my article on "END TIMES: ACCORDING TO SCRIPTURE" which will be published before the end of 2021.



Over the past few months I have been drawn to watch YouTube clips of people bearing testimonies how they died and then were given the opportunity to return to life. There is a fairly common thread of an out-of body spiritual  experience where they can briefly see their own lifeless body. They then generally float fully conscious along a tunnel that leads to a flaming hell with demons taunting and tearing at them. Subsequently they float towards a light or walk along a beautiful garden path that leads to the presence of Jesus. By grace they are then allowed to return to their bodies so that they can testify to their families and friends of the reality of hell and heaven.

Soon after my water baptism, by immersion, the first vision the Lord showed me was about the reality of hell and the eternal torment from which there would be no escape. I commissioned a friend, Robyn Uglow, to paint for me a scene from the virtual 'video' that appeared on a wall that I read out in the presence of many elders when they had gathered to pray for me. I saw many, with a dazed demeanor,  slowly gathering towards an open volcanic crater which I gathered was their fate unless they repent. The white scroll floating down symbolically represented the gospel coming to them.


The next day I was to see an Associate Professor in the Physics Department at Melbourne University with whom I had a joint research grant to use the 3 story-high Melbourne Pelletron – a machine capable of analyzing almost every element in the universe. Here I am at the business end of the very long machine.

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At first I was very skeptical of such testimonies, but I have changed my opinion in recent times. Why? Because of my own many visions and because some of the testimonies bore parallels with mine. The more I watched the more the testimonies began to ring true. The parallels that strike me in my born-again experience are the  presence of evil identities in the 'tunnels' and the ball of light that floated towards me, together with an overwhelming sense of peace that finally comes. I am beginning to believe that some of these testimonies are true. I can certainly personally verify that mine is true.


A Colombian woman testified that Jesus told her that as we daily walk the Christian path and take up our cross in His name, ministering to the needs of others, then its the fruit of those actions that comprise the currency for the number of building blocks of the mansion designated for the individual.  Are we going to inhabit a 30-, 60- or 100-fold mansion? There are degrees of rewards in heaven as I explained in my Kindle book as well as in hell.

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