The "Gift" of Psychic Abilities or "Knowing"

Childhood - "knowing things"

As a child, very early on, I "knew things." That’s a pretty broad and nebulous statement but it was what I called it – about the time I started to school. I finally told my Granny about it and her advice at the time was "don’t worry about it; everybody knows things. Just keep it to yourself" Believing every word she said, and although nothing changed, I just kept "knowing things" but assuming everyone else knew things, too (and heeding Granny’s advice) I kept quiet about it.

In high school I was involved in a car accident of some magnitude. We all escaped with minor injuries and my first thought was to call Granny and let her know I’d be late getting home and we were okay. When she answered the telephone her first words were: "Are you hurt?" To say I was stunned is an understatement. I was 30 miles away and back then there was no way anyone could have told her (there were no cell phones, etc.).

When I got home I questioned her intensely about how she knew I’d been in a car wreck. Her explanation was that she "knew things" too and had all her life. Being old enough to pursue the conversation; I refused to drop the subject and she was forced to share her experiences with me. It seemed she’d had some sort of "psychic abilities" since childhood. Her first experience pertained to her mother who died in 1903 when she was six years old.

She said she always knew her mother would die and leave her orphaned from her earliest memories. She apparently attempted to discuss her fears, early on, not only with her mother but other female relatives, and her apprehensions were ignored as a child’s strong imagination. Her relatives also chose to ignore her premonition after the fact and she was left alone to wonder how she had known.

She married and had four children. The oldest was 13 and the youngest was four when she had a second traumatic experience which proved to be accurate and tragic. Her husband, my maternal grandfather, worked at the cotton gin in the little town (200 people) where they lived. They ginned at night during the heat of the summer as the machinery ran better. She said she was sleeping soundly and was suddenly awakened, somewhere around midnight, by a premonition of danger to her husband. I asked if she’d had a dream or nightmare and she emphatically said "no!"

She arose and got completely dressed – not knowing why – and went outside to sit on her front porch. She said the old gin had a certain cadence that could be heard all over town -- with which she was familiar. She sat on the porch in silence until the cadence changed. She stood up, went out the front gate and began walking to the gin (about 4 city blocks away). She said she knew, without doubt, her husband had been critically injured. Before she was halfway to the gin she met the men carrying him home on a makeshift stretcher. He died three days later and she was left to raise her children alone and never remarried.

She advised me I obviously had her "unfortunate skill of premonition" – although she refused to elaborate on it – and said I’d have to make some decisions as to how I would handle it. She suggested that if I chose to make the ability known it could bring unpleasant consequences. Again, I took her advice and although nothing changed I just accepted it as the way things were and let it go.

Having been raised in the church – in fact, every time the doors opened – Granny and I were there -- I continued to study the bible, attended Sunday school and church and pretty well had my Christian values established at an early age. Within that period of time I came to one conclusion as to my "knowing things." Some of us have more "knowing things" talent than others but we all have it. I had more than my share and decided it was definitely a spiritual oddity that was best ignored.

I most certainly did not view it as a "gift" and avoided any discussions on the subject. I found, however, that some people took great pleasure in touting their "psychic gifts" -- some real but most imagined -- and I'd just listen. I always knew the difference immediately but remained quiet on the subject. In all these years I've only met one person, other than my grandmother, that produced a truthful witness in my spirit.

Stepping Out In Faith

Years passed, I married and my husband was transferred to a small Texas town by his employer. We’d lived there perhaps a year when a child (an 11-year-old-girl) disappeared – without a trace – and the town was going crazy trying to find her. As I’d done everything I could to "quit knowing" it bothered me greatly when I realized I knew where the child was and that she was dead. After much prayer and soul searching I went to the police. I told them the child had been beaten, left in an open field to die and after death had been moved to a site where fresh dirt was mounded. I knew she had head injuries and her left arm was broken in two places.

The local police obviously thought I was mad as the proverbial hatter but having expended all other hope they followed up on what I told them – and found the little girl two days later. She was about three miles south of town where road construction was going on, buried under a mound of piled up dirt and her injuries were as I described them. An autopsy proved the remainder of my premonition, including she’d been moved, after death, from the place of the murder to the construction site.

Thankfully, the police kept my part in her discovery quiet due to the ongoing investigation but to say what followed was a nightmare is a true understatement. They first considered that I must have had some part in the child’s death because I knew too much. They gave that line of questioning up when I proved I’d been in Las Vegas, Nevada for a two week period (a week before and a week after the child’s death) working and had not returned home during that time. Also, I’d never laid eyes on the little girl although I had met her parents socially.

They then decided that if I had known where the body was located I must have the ability to name her killer. No amount of explaining would convince them I didn’t know. It was the first time in my life I actually tried to come to "knowing" deliberately. I thought about it, prayed about it, and wept about it – but nothing. Obviously, I couldn’t "know" on demand. I even went to the road construction site, at the request of the police, as they believed it might help me "conjure up" (as they called it) something. At the site I only had an overwhelming sense of sadness and ultimate evil. I credited that to what I already knew.

From time-to-time the police would give me respite for a month or so but they were in pretty constant contact with me for about a year – off and on. I breathed a sigh of relief when my husband was again transferred and we left that town. To my knowledge they never found the person(s) who murdered the little girl and my heart grieves for her family to this day. I can not even begin to imagine the sorrow of losing a child; much less under those circumstances.

I did attend the child’s funeral as requested by the police. They hoped I would feel something about someone that would give them a clue. I stood in the back of the church and watched all the mourners file out after the brief memorial service. Nothing or no one rang any bells with my subconscious and I stepped outside to the church porch as we waited for the family to exit the church and go to the cemetery.

A friend waved and motioned me to join a little group standing close to the waiting family car. I left the porch and joined them just as the family came out. I’ve never had a feeling like that before or since. As they passed me I knew that I knew something – but had no idea what. It had nothing to do with any one family member or anyone surrounding them as they got in the car – it was all of them as a group. The detective that was standing a short distance from me quickly came to my side – I must have looked strange or something – and asked, "What?"

I assured him "nothing" and he again stepped back. I made my excuses to my friends as to not going to the cemetery, got in my car and went home. I was exhausted and totally, emotionally, drained. That day was the first time I had seen what I now know is an "aura." The whole family, getting in the car, glowed bright red – obviously in my eyes only. I knew nothing more than I had, no one stood out, and nothing came to me but the aura.

The Choice: To Know or Not to Know

I believe my early thoughts on "knowing" are valid. Our minds are wired as they are because we are neither intelligent enough nor strong enough, as human beings, to deal with some things. I know I’m not. Over these many years my prayers have been answered. Occasionally I’ll feel a twinge of "knowing" and immediately go into prayer dispelling the feeling. The Lord is good and answers me as it goes away. It’s now very rare and I’m thankful.

It’s difficult for me to understand how other "knowing" human beings use that mechanism for gain. Some make a living at it whether actually having the instinct or claiming it and becoming charlatans for the easily led. The late Edgar Cayce was perhaps the only person I’ve ever accepted as real and valid that was well known to the public. He only used his "talents" (if that’s what it is) for the good of mankind and peaceful purposes. It also took a terrible toll on him both mentally and physically.

Any one who subscribes to unusual mental capabilities in the field of the unknown, is far braver than I. The bible says the devil comes to lie, steal, kill and has super natural powers. So, no matter what any one of us "knows" beyond the realm of reality on this earth; it’s always prudent to ask some very pertinent questions:

Who or what am I hearing from? Am I absolutely, beyond any doubt, positively sure what’s in my head is of the Lord and not the devil? To what purpose will my "knowledge" be used? Am I strong enough to stand up for what I "know" when ridiculed? I succumbed to "knowing" one time due to the death of a child – which to me, at that time, was worth whatever consequences came to bear. The only result of my "knowing" was a family got to bury their child; as to my knowledge the killer was never found. I was, therefore, only instrumental in confirming death and the accompanying sorrow it brought.

Since that time when my answer is "I don’t know" those words have a far deeper connotation to me than anyone realizes. The reality is "I do know -- just not enough."