A Flickering Light Becomes Aglow

Catherine J. M. Hughes

Description

This book is about my life story from my childhood the earliest memory
And the sufferings I experienced from such a young age.
Included are my spiritual encounters of when I saw a vision of the Mother of Jesus (Our Lady)
when I was 14 and my encounter with a Monk and Paul who were angels.
And my encounter with Jesus in heaven at my near death experience when I was 17.
There are other stories of miracles of people being healed.
And miracles at Lourdes.
I also included a dialogue to my foster mother in the form
of letters and Scriptures that helped me overcome my traumas and bad memories
and how God helped me to get well and grow to become a strong Christian.
I have also included some poems that I received inspiration from the Lord in the circumstances I was in at the time and some family pictures.
I hope readers will be encouraged to find their own peace with God
As my experiences are true and God is truly real and he loves his people and he is
A faithful God and he will help us and answer our prayers
And God will bring us to heaven if we love Him and are faithful to Him.
I know because I have been to heaven and Jesus brought me back
To testify of His love, salvation and hope for His people.
By Catherine J.M. Hughes

Sujets

• Personal Memoirs
• Biography
• Autobiography

Informations

• Publié par: Xlibris UK
• Date de parution: 15 août 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781664117983
• Langue: English

Extrait

A Flickering Light Becomes Aglow
 
 
 
 
 
Catherine J. M. Hughes
 
Copyright © 2022 by Catherine J. M. Hughes.
 
ISBN:
Softcover
978-1-6641-1799-0

eBook
978-1-6641-1798-3

 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
 
Scripture quotations marked KJV are from the Holy Bible, King James Version (Authorized Version). First published in 1611. Quoted from the KJV Classic Reference Bible, Copyright © 1983 by The Zondervan Corporation.
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
 
Rev. date: 08/15/2022
 
 
Xlibris
UK TFN: 0800 0148620 (Toll Free inside the UK)
UK Local: (02) 0369 56328 ([phone] from outside the UK)
www.Xlibrispublishing.co.uk
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Contents
Chapter 1The Early Times
Chapter 2My First Encounter With Jesus
Chapter 3Bad Games
Chapter 4When I Had A Vision
Chapter 5Family Holidays
Chapter 6Back To School
Chapter 7The Last Family Holiday
Chapter 8Surprising Changes
Chapter 9When I Met Our Lord
Chapter 10My New Family
Chapter 11Our Happy Marriage
Chapter 12The Extended Family
Chapter 13Amazing Miracles
Chapter 14Unwanted Spirits
Chapter 15A Prophecy
Chapter 16Holidays Abroad
Chapter 17Big Changes
Chapter 18A Healing Retreat
Chapter 19The Healing Process
Chapter 20A New Therapy
Chapter 21The Trip To Lourdes
Chapter 22A Miracle Of Light
Chapter 23Another Miracle
Chapter 24A Witness
Chapter 25The Guidance Of The Holy Spirit
 
 
 
 
The Picture on the Front Cover
The picture on the front cover of this book, reminds me of what I saw when I went along a tunnel, in my near death experience, which was a small light becoming much brighter. So this picture represents what I saw.
Dedication
I dedicate this book to Almighty God; Our Lord Jesus Christ, who is my Saviour, who protected me and preserved my life during my childhood,
I also dedicate this book to my family and friends, and all children and orphans suffering as a result of a broken childhood. I pray that by reading my book, they will receive the comfort I have received, and they will also receive healing, freedom, and salvation through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.
Acknowledgements
In producing my testimony, I wish to give a huge thank you to Peter and Josephine Cropper for their care and patience in editing this book.
Names of my foster family were changed along with some of my friends’ names to respect their wishes to protect their privacy and identity.
Cha pter 1 THE EARLY TI MES
I was given the name Jean Mary Hughes when I was born on 18 February 1954 to Grace Edna and James Raymond Hughes at a hospital in Doncaster, Yorkshire. When I was two, I lost my mother to a car accident. I was then placed in an orphanage in Guildford, Surrey, because my father was unable to cope and left to start a new life in the United States. I was told this by Aunty Mary, my father’s sister.
I received my name Catherine when I was baptised in 1998 at a Baptist church in Sale, Manchester, Cheshire.

My mother and father, Grace and James Hughes
At the orphanage, the bells rang out so loudly that they nearly drowned out the voices of the children. Tots to teens ran in, following their noses to dinner. I yelled out, “Mum! Dad!” as I struggled to climb out of a wooden box swing, but no matter how hard I tried, I could not get out. No one came to the rescue.
Alone at the back of the field, I screamed with all my might. I saw a man in a lorry near the gate, and when he looked my way, I could sense an evil presence about him. I thought he was going to get me, so I screamed all the more. Finally, someone ran over and saved me.
“What are you screaming for?” she asked. When I pointed to the man, she laughed and said, “Don’t be silly. He can’t hurt you.”
Reassured, I calmed down, and we went in for dinner. At only 3 years old, I was one of the smallest there in the children’s home. The place was massive, like a mansion house. This is my first memory.
My first encounter with the Almighty came shortly afterwards, when I was still 3 years old. After the trauma of being left on the wooden swing, I was upset. I demanded to see Mum and Dad, to no avail. I promptly threw my dinner on the floor to gain attention. I was told by the matron that my mother and father had gone forever.
That evening, I cried a great deal for my loss, and the matron told me that my mother and father had gone to heaven. Whilst putting me to bed, she pointed to the stars and said, “That’s where they are, in heaven. You must pray to God to help you to be a very good girl, and then one day you will meet them again.” Thereafter, every night, I spent hours gazing at the stars, thinking of when I felt my parents’ love and longing to be with them. It was then that I started to feel God’s presence and his peace around me.
In the large field at the back of the house, we had swings and slides to play on. This is where we played games too. The bells would ring to call us in for mealtimes.
I can remember sometimes getting into trouble. When I wouldn’t eat my meals, I was punished by being locked in the bedroom all day. From there, I would watch the other children playing outside. I didn’t feel lonely, as I felt God’s presence, like that of a father, close to me.
* * *
Another year passed at the children’s home. I was now 4 years old. That summer, Mr and Mrs Dylan came and took me to their home in Croydon for two weeks. Their son Ronald was a month older than me, and we got on great. Malcolm, their eldest son, was four years older than me, and he went out a lot. Their other son, Shaun, was a baby.
Mr and Mrs Dylan decided to foster me. They lived in a five-bedroom house with a large back garden. They each had a smart car. Mr Donald Dylan was a domestic-science lecturer in South London, and he brought cream cakes and buns home every night. Mrs Joan Dylan was a clinical officer. She didn’t bring anything home each night except her bad temper.
One Saturday morning after we had been shopping, they left Shaun in the pram and told me to watch him. Mrs Dylan went in and answered the phone, but I was preoccupied with thoughts of my real mum and dad and how much I missed them. I also missed playing with the children in the orphanage.
There were twelve eggs in the pram, and Shaun threw them out, smashing them all on the ground. What a mess! Mum came back, and she was furious. Shouting and swearing, she rapped my knuckles with the cane she kept above the kitchen door. That was the first time she hit me.
From that day on, I was afraid of her. As the weeks went by, I started to have nightmares in which she chased me and hurt me. I could sense there was something bad in her. Because she shouted at me and hit me, I soon got the message that she didn’t like me. There was none of the love and affection that my real mum and dad had shown me.
* * *
My first day at school came when I was 5 years old. But as I was not told it was school, I didn’t understand what was happening. When Mum said goodbye, I screamed the place down, thinking I was going to have to stay in a worse home than the one I had just left. The teacher was gentle and kind; he reassured me that I would be going home at three thirty. A week later, Ronald started school, which made life much happier.
Mrs Gertrude Daniels was the grandma who came to stay and look after us in the six-week summer holidays. She taught us to read while the Dylan’s were at work. She seemed to be the only gentle and kind person in the family.
When Grandma went home, things between Mum and me got worse. She seemed to have a bad spirit in her, and she became more aggressive and abusive towards me. Dad seemed to be like her, and he started to shout at me too. I had a lot more nightmares; often I dreamt of Mum and Dad as witches who would chase me. I was convinced they wanted to kill me. I’d wake up screaming, but no one ever came to my aid.
* * *
When I was 6 years old, I had a bad fall. One Saturday, riding a scooter downhill, I bumped into a lamppost and fell off the scooter. At hospital, I learned that I’d broken my right wrist, so they put it in plaster.
While I was there, the nurse said, “What’s wrong with Jean? She seems so depressed.” Mum said, “Oh, I guess I’ve been too hard on her.”
I realised the nurse picked up that there was no love or closeness between us, just coldness. Because Mum worked full-time, I had to spend eight weeks at school with my right arm in plaster. During those weeks, I was not able to write. Once out of the plaster, I had to spend another eight weeks learning to write again.
Lots of children and teachers signed their names on my plaster; some even wrote rhymes and poems all the way up my arm. I didn’t realise I had so many friends. When my plaster was taken off, Ronald asked me if I was going to keep it to bash people with. I said, “No, of course not. It’s a souvenir.”
At the weekends, Ronald took me to the woods to our tree house to get away from all the fights at home. We would take a bottle of orange, peanut-butter-and-jam sandwiches and either raid the biscuit tin or