Chapter Four

Gold

I dreamed that I was diving for gold in a northern California river.  In the dream, my young daughter, Joyce, was standing on the bank as I surfaced from the river with a large nugget in my hand.  “Here, Joyce,” I said as I handed her the nugget, “there’s plenty more where this came from.”

Because of my psychic world connection at that time, and because this particular dream was so vivid, I took it as an omen to go gold mining.  I knew (as so many before me have also known) I would soon be a rich man.

When this dream took place, I was the owner of a small mining equipment and supply store.  I closed it down in January, made myself an eight inch gold dredge and headed for the mountains to become rich, if not famous.

I was a bachelor father at the time, so I took my three children with me.  We arrived just in time to pitch our tent on the already snowy ground at the beginning of a weeklong snow storm high in the Sierra Mountains at a place called Oregon Creek.  This ice bucket was to be home for the next two months.  (I have never been so consistently cold for so long in my life.)  After finding virtually no gold there, we then moved on to the Yuba River.

Intuitively I knew this was where the gold would be.  Here we camped until early September.  (What little gold I did find at Oregon Creek I lost while crossing the stream’s mossy rocks.  With a full month’s worth of mining in one gold pan, I suddenly slipped, falling flat on my back, slamming the pan down hard.  The contents shot from the pan like they were dynamited, scattering tiny gold flakes everywhere.)

It was next to impossible for any miner with the type equipment I had to do as poorly as I did.  During that nine month period I found less than an ounce of gold—about $130 worth at that time.  However, some wonderful things did happen on that trip—I developed a love for nature and beauty.  And…  I discovered God.

Where I was camped I could receive no radio stations until after 7:00 in the evening.  Because I was alone, except for my children, I craved the sound of adult human voices—so much so, I was willing to listen to anything, even religious programs.  So, every evening at 9:00 o’clock when Garner Ted Armstrong’s, “The World Tomorrow,” would broadcast its message to all who would listen, I was one who listened. 

Garner was a fascinating speaker and I became a captivated audience who listened closely.  This was unusual for me, because I never liked radio preachers.  Too hell fiery.  Spent too much time asking for money¾often twenty minutes out of thirty were spent asking for moolah.  This guy never asked for money and never asked for donations.  Instead he offered books and literature free.  (This is not an advertisement for the World Church.  I am not a member.  It is simply a statement of fact.)

Discovering God in my life was probably helped by my laying out under the beauty of the stars every night, surrounded by the grandeur of the mountains and being serenaded by the sound of the flowing river. I was better able to appreciate him telling of the wonders of God—even though I was now deep in the throes of financial destitution.

This was a nightly ritual until September, at which time I finally came to my senses and realized I wasn’t going to be a rich man after all, and that my children needed to be back in school.  Unfortunately, I was so broke I couldn’t afford to leave.  Besides, I not only had no place to go, I had no gas to get there.  (It never dawned on me until writing this, that I was one of those homeless people we hear so much about today.  Shoot.  Now I am depressed.)

That evening, after laying in my sleeping bag listening to Garner Ted Armstrong and thinking worried thoughts of my dire situation, I got up.  Clad only in my undershorts, I walked over to the steep, sharp, rock cliff beside the river where my dredge was tied.  The night was clear and beautiful.  A billion stars were lighting the sky while the moon was reflecting off the river.  My foolishness was finally hitting home.

With dreams of wealth were utterly dashed, I was face to face with what seemed to be a hopeless situation.  Unable to hold back, I began to cry.  Not just a tear or two.  No!  I bawled tears the size of hockey pucks.  I began to pray in earnest:

“God, I know I misinterpreted that dream and I’ve been a fool” was the gist of what I said, although it took me about an hour to say it.  I then asked for help in getting out of there and finding a place to live.  Finally, with nothing more to say or do, I went to sleep.

The next morning I arose, fixed breakfast, put on my wet suit and was getting ready to start dredging when a man came by and asked if I was interested in selling my dredge.  He said he knew someone who wanted to buy it.  I told him, “Yes!  I want $500 for it.”

He whipped out his wallet, counted out five big ones, and handed them to me

An hour or so later the rest of my gear was in the back of my truck, Sean, Lloyd, Joyce and I were in the front, the dog was in the back, and we were on our way to San Jose.

This event happened so naturally that I didn’t immediately make the connection between my prayer of the night before and the buyer of that morning.  Sure, I remembered praying, but just assumed the man buying my dredge was a lucky coincidence.  Big hairy deal, right?  I mean, it wasn’t like it was a miracle.  Or even a real answer to prayer.  Some dummy just wanted my dredge.  Man was I lucky.

Right!

Maybe my dream was right.  You see, yes, I may have followed an omen into near oblivion, but I did find the treasure I saw in my dream.  It just wasn’t gold.  And, as I told Joyce in my dream, there was “plenty more where that came from.”  It was a relationship with God.

I never forgot the relationship established with God during that period.  At night when my children were asleep and I was alone, I would become overawed by the immensity and beauty of God’s handiwork.  It is the one time in my life when I actually worshipped, awe inspired.  For years afterwards I hungered for the isolation of the mountains, the song of the river, and the grandeur of the night skies.  So, about fifteen years later I gave mining another try.  This time it wasn’t so important I succeed—I had no dream of excessive wealth. 

My son, Lloyd (then in his early twenties) and I worked for a full year, and once again we were camped alongside a flowing river.  The Klamath this time, not the Yuba.  I’m pleased to report we did much better.  For me there is no more lure of the yellow, and I don’t care if I ever dredge again.  I now live in the mountains described earlier and what I had longed for since my mining days are all around me.  I have but to step outside and appreciate it. 

Lloyd, on the other hand, had gold fever so badly his pupils turned yellow.  But then, that’s his tale to tell…

During that last year when we once more lived in a tent, no one came up and offered to buy my equipment.  This time we didn’t need it.  As I mentioned earlier, it isn’t the event that’s miraculous.  It’s the timing.

As I said, all our prayer are answered one way or another, usually in one of three ways:

                  1.  In the form of an action response, like above.

                  2.  Direct communications, as with Farley.

                  3.  Intuitive feelings while praying, such as Mom’s feelings about Patty.

The first is the one most of us want, a direct response to our supplications.  A “Dear God, I need money for my car payment” type of prayer is an urgent request for fast action.  I.e., “send money quick!  I don’t care how!”  Then, when we get it, we don’t think anything of it.  We merely breathe a sigh of relief, possibly mumble a “thanks” and wait for the next month’s payment to be due so we can start praying again.

As a child, my praying consisted of the “Lord’s Prayer,” the “Hail Mary,” the “Apostle’s Creed,” and the “Act of Contrition.” I prayed because I was supposed to—and out of guilt.  (I was afraid I’d go to hell if I didn’t.  But, I really didn’t believe praying did any good.)

As an adult I continued to pray in this same manner.  Usually out of guilt established through habit.  Oh, maybe once in a while I would mention I needed more money, or a new car, or whatever.  I still didn’t think it worked.  Because of this, I was slow to realize that it really did work.  But, eventually, I began to learn that the hand of God is always outstretched, reaching down, waiting for us to reach up in prayer.  Not those prayers recited by rote, with our minds drifting off in space, but our real prayers; those prayers where we just talk to God; those prayers where we tell him of our inner most secrets and desires; those prayers where we reach up in hope; those prayers where we reach up in need.