A Heavenly Gift

By Pauline Johnson

Pauline gets to talk to angels and her spirit guides just as normally as the rest of us see and talk to each other. Through her card readings that she does in Co Tyrone Northern Ireland she has used this incredible gift to help others make sense of their lives. Healing and wisdom pour through her to touch the lives of so many in need of a glimpse of hope. Through amazing stories of her experiences with others, she reveals how the angels work in the world. In these real-life, first hand accounts Pauline shows us how the angels change and heal lives every day and reveal how we can call on their aid to make miracles happen in our own lives.Regardless of religious belief - Pauline's message is for everyone and that has given people hope and the knowledge that no matter what life throws at us we are not alone. Our guardian angel is always there, powerfully working to help us on our way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pauline Johnson
• Release date: Mar 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393353881

Pauline Johnson

Pauline Johnson (1861–1913) was Canada’s first native author. Her most famous collection of verse, Flint and Feather went into many printings and was successfully followed by two volumes of short stories, The Moccasin Maker and Legends of Vancouver.

Book preview

A HEAVENLY GIFT

By

Pauline Johnson

Pauline Johnson

197 Radergan Rd

Co. Tyrone, Northern Ireland

BT70 2EH

0044 28 8556 7788

[e-mail]

www.angelwood.info

PROLOGUE

The Angel appeared before my bed, green light pouring off of him, like waves on the sea. I was overwhelmed with a powerful sensation of peace, and every wave washed my worries away with it. On his head a white crown burst forth in a dazzling light. Wisps of energy fanned away from him like smoke in a breeze though everything in the room remained completely still. My eyes and mind beheld him and the sheer magnitude of the vision shut out all other senses. No smell, no sound… until he spoke.

I am Archangel Raphael.

The entire room was filled with the glorious green light that emanated from him. I could not see his face clearly, like it was behind a fog. I looked for wings as well but there was only light. Light, and more light. I knew somehow that he was there to heal me. My hurts, my sorrows, all of the things I had locked away that were slowly tearing me apart began to mend.

CHAPTER 1

Childhood and children

This book was written to share with you the beautiful fact that you are not alone. You matter. You are loved more than you know, you always have been, and always will be. I know this because it has been shown to me repeatedly. Many words are used to describe what I do: psychic, clairvoyant, and medium to name a few. I communicate with the deceased and Gods Angels to help heal and give hope through my readings. In reality, I just try to get out of the way to let the amazing healing guidance through. I have met with people from every gender and occupation, every social strata and religion. This divine help is available to everyone every day of their lives if they choose it. This is the story of the journey that has brought me to this wonderful place in my life, how it all began and what led up to knowing the Angels and deceased are actually with us, helping in all aspects of our lives.

I was born in Chorley, England, in November 1963, the middle child in our family of four boys and two girls. Every one of them was born in Northern Ireland, except me. I had another brother that passed away as a baby, but more about Noel later. We were a very close-knit family, my childhood was happy and I believe what most would consider, normal. Being brought up in a house full of brothers, I was a bit of a tomboy. I could most often be found running through the fields with the dog, lying in the rushes and making forts in the hedges when we went to live in the countryside. The thought of Angels and the deceased was far from my mind as a child, but the occasional paranormal experience wasn’t unusual to me and the spirits of the deceased were, and are, just as real to me as the living. As adults we can learn a lot from children who look at life through their eyes of innocence. When we need a fresh perspective in our adult lives we should use more of our own childlike energy more often.

The first time I ever had any sense of spirits I was about seven years old. I remember I was out on a drive with my parents and the rest of my family. My dad always had an interest in speed and motorcars. Growing up, my dad liked to have a flash motorcar about the place. In those days such things weren’t very common, but it was one of the things in life he really enjoyed. Whether it is from my dad or just in the genes I don’t know, but that same love of speed and cars is something I have always had as well.  

It was on a bright sunny day on this family outing in the 1970s and no one wore seat belts then, so I was standing behind my mother’s seat, looking up to a hill at an old ruined house. A feeling of what I can only say was sadness came to me and I said to my mother, ‘There is someone in that house and they are very sad mum.’ My mother laughed, ‘Pauline, no one lives there, it’s all falling down. Years later as an adult, I was driving with a friend of mine and we passed the same old house and started to talk about it. They knew a lot about the history of the place and told me that the person who had lived there died of suicide and was found the next day. Even after so many years I just knew that they still needed prayer. It was the first encounter with the feeling of the energy of the deceased that I can remember as a child, but I would be in my forties before I would realize I had spiritual gifts. When I became older in life, in the same area and near that same old ruin of that house I got to see my first fully formed spirit of a person.

My father and mother were publicans; we had a bar in Belfast, then Downpatrick, Stewartstown, and finally Coleraine of which I have fond memories. As a child I didn’t speak much and I liked to wear my hair very long so it covered my face. I was constantly walking around with my head down, like Cousin It, trying to avoid attention. I was always bumping into things, telegraph poles, railing, even people. My parents were constantly telling me to walk with my head up, but that didn’t always work out so well. An example of how I could be as a child is made a little clearer in this story. One day I was walking in Coleraine where we had a large, three story bar called The Plough Inn. Earlier, my mother came home with a new pair of black and white patent leather shoes for me. I thought they were awful and I could not get away from the thought that my feet at this moment are the most prominent part of me, but I wore them anyway. As I went down the street, I was mindful to walk with my head up for a change. I parted my hair a bit, kept my shoulders back and my eyes level. I began to feel a new sense of confidence as I strode through town, but it wasn’t until I got home that I noticed that somehow, I had walked right through fresh concrete. I really have no idea to this day how I missed it. I only noticed my feet when I was home standing outside the front door. I panicked, the new shoes were ruined and I thought my mother would kill me. I quickly snuck inside and desperately tried to find a place to hide. It was then that I had what I thought was a great idea.

The hot cupboard, as it was then called, was where my mother put all the fresh washed and ironed clothes. It contained the hot water tank and would keep all the linens fresh and warm. It was also the perfect place for a seven year old to hide. Climbing up, I wedged myself into the cupboard on the middle shelf and closed the door. Well there I was, thinking of all the bad things that were going to happen to me when my mother saw what had become of my new shoes. The cupboard got so hot that my hair was plastered to my head. To make matters worse, the concrete hardened and my shoes were stuck to the clean sheets. As I sat in my misery, I could hear my parents talking. They had begun to get worried because I wasn’t home yet. Still, I stayed put, fearing the repercussions of my shoe escapade. After awhile their worry grew more serious and they were going to call the police. I covered my face with my hands, thinking what a disaster it would be. Now the police were going to get involved! I might get arrested, me, a seven year old girl! I was so afraid that I couldn’t move. Thank God, my father decided that they should search the house first. It wasn’t long before the door of the hot cupboard opened and he found me, red faced to say the least, with solid blocks of concrete for feet. As my dad lifted me out, the sheets came with me, cemented to my socks and shoes. I was terrified, but he just laughed. I tried telling him why I had hid, and about putting my head up for a change. This made him laugh even more. The story is a good illustration of what fear can make us do. It must be the reason we have so many misadventures as children, so we can learn that our fears are all for nothing. Now, when I look back at this story it serves as a metaphor to not always be looking too far ahead, be more grounded in the present and watch what pathway we choose.

While we were living in Coleraine, my father’s health began to fail. It was shortly after the cement shoes incident that he took his first heart attack. I remember that he was taken to the hospital and when he came back home, he was very tired. He spent a lot of time in bed, which had to be moved into the main sitting room while he recovered. I would hide behind him on the bed while my brothers would watch horror movies in front of the fire. Slowly, my father got better, but he knew that he needed a change. Working in the pubs was too much of a strain on him, so my parents decided to move back to Garvaghy, in County Tyrone, where my mother and father had grown up as children. All of us children were very excited at the news. Over the years, we had many visits to Granny’s and would often spend whole summers there.

I think that granny had spiritual gifts of her own. All the children knew that Granny would read tea leaves, an old way of telling people’s future, but strangely, she would never read for any of us kids. Granny was a central figure in the community and lived to the age of ninety-eight. I remember people would come over to ask her about local history. She was always willing to share what she knew. Her house was a typical cottage style. When you opened the front door, you were straight into the living room. Other doors led off to bedrooms and a hall to the back rooms. It was always cozy and beautiful. Granny and my aunt Mary lived together. Mary was the local primary school cook, so there was always fresh baked bread and scones. We loved being sent to bring the cows in for milking. Mary and Granny would make butter and have fresh buttermilk everyday for baking. There were only two cows but they also had seven or eight hens, two cats, and a fluffy collie dog named Shep. In contrast to town living, Granny’s house in the country was total freedom and fun.

The things kids can get up to. One of these summers long before we moved to live beside granny, we where staying for our holidays at Granny’s as we often did, the adults went out leaving Brendan, my oldest brother, to look after us kids for the evening. In his youth, Brendan was the practical joker in the family with a mind full of mischievous pranks.  It was later in the evening and I had gone off to bed. Well, this was his idea of a laugh. He knew I was terrified of cows, but he obviously thought it would be hilarious to lead a full grown cow through the house and right into my bedroom. That the poor animal didn’t break through the floor was a miracle. I’m still not sure how I woke, but when I did, I was staring into the face of Grannies big black cow. All I could see was this huge animal’s head leaning into me with its big brown eyes and the smell of its grassy, milky breath huffing into my face. And here’s me, a small female about three-foot tall, compared to a ton of cow! I think I froze, because no words or sound would come out of my mouth. The cow was probably more afraid than I was. I backed into the corner and covered my face in shock as it suddenly turned trying to get out of the room. Brendan was doubled over with laughter as I braced for the inevitable crashing and breaking that would come from this massive animal in a tiny room. But astonishingly, the animal calmly walked out and continued on out the front door. I sat there shaking in stunned disbelief, which sent Brendan into further fits of laughter.  When I told my parents of the incident, I think they didn’t believe me at first, but when Brendan was hauled in and questioned the truth finally came out. He got some telling off for that stunt! It was a very dumb and dangerous thing to do and could have been much more serious, but as children we never think of the consequences. Clearly my Angels were looking out for me that day but it wasn’t the last time Brendan would demonstrate his knack for mad ideas.

It was during another wonderful summer at Grannies that my brother got up to his old tricks again. Granny loved her clothes and she had a long coat and gloves made from a luxurious, dark, brown fur. She hung a fox fur over the shoulders; it was the old style fox fur collar with the tail and face still on it. I was completely afraid of this coat. It was hung behind the door in the bedroom where I slept. I know it sounds ridiculous but it scared me so much I would make sure I passed it quickly and not look at it. One night I had gone to bed and was fast asleep when I woke to an awful howling and groaning sound from the corner of the room. As my eyes snapped open, I saw the fur coat, still hanging on the door flailing and moving wildly about. The fur gloves waved and the fox face seemed to glare at me. I screamed so much that by the time my parents ran up, I was hyperventilating. Even when the light went on and Brendan was pulled out of the big coat, I keep screaming. It was just too much for child to handle. Brendan, still in the fur gloves and the fox skin dangling from his neck, was laughing uncontrollably, but his mood changed as my father removed him out of the room by his ear. When I think of it now, it was really funny. We still laugh at the things we did as children. With so many siblings life was never dull, but I love them all and we are still very close.

***

This is a story of a family and the loss of both of their Grannies and what happened when they came to visit me many years later when I was doing a reading for a mother and daughter.

Grandparents are such important members of any family.  Their wisdom, kindness and love is sometimes not really missed until they have gone from our lives. When Ann and her daughter Gemma came to me for a reading they really wanted to hear from their family members that had passed on. Ann was much more interested for this to happen than Gemma. The reading for Ann turned out to be very detailed and positive but for her no-one from the spirit world came through. She was disappointed but I always let people know before they come along that I do not call or ask spirit to be there it is up to my Angels and Guides who is allowed to be there for each individual person. Now when Ann’s daughter Gemma came in it was entirely different. I could only laugh at what I was being shown. Two elderly ladies where walking in a tunnel of white light, but the light that separated and surrounded them where shades of lilac and purple. They had linked arm in arm and where nattering away like they where out for a dander on a sunny day. They arrived both with loving smiles in Gemma’s direction. So I explained to Gemma what I was seeing. I said, These two ladies look like Grannies. Gemma said, Yes both my grannies had died within a short time of each other and they had been really good friends as well. I was also guided to mention the colours of their clothes because it was important to the family.  I carried on telling Gemma, The two ladies are wearing suits one lilac and one purple and that they where both called Margaret, when I explained to Gemma about this detail she just gasped and then laughed, I had to laugh as well it was all so amusing. I was feeling a little doubtful of the correct names because the chances of both of them being called Margaret was rare in my experience. But Gemma explained to me that each granny was indeed called Margaret and that they had requested before they died that one wanted to be buried in her favorite lilac suit and the other in her favorite purple suit. Gemma did not expect to be hearing this kind of detail about her deceased grannies. So here they where standing in front of us letting Gemma know that this was indeed her two grannies and the details where so much of a testimony and validation for Gemma she was a little shocked to say the least. I felt it was a wonderful gift for the family and gave them a great feeling of happiness to know they where together and so happy. Gemma had no expectations about the reading and sometimes it easier to connect to the spirit world if the person getting the reading is in a very relaxed state. Ann her mother had been emotional and had really wanted to connect and had not been able to, so maybe her need for that to happen and her emotional state had closed that door to her. I always realize the special gift it is to have a loved one be brought through to say hello and I am always amazed each time it happens and I never tire of it.

CHAPTER 2

Life and Loss

As I explained I was born in England, when I was only two weeks old, I had pneumonia and nearly died and at six weeks old, we moved back to Northern Ireland from England.

As a family of six children, our house was always busy, made even more so by the fact that we lived over bars most of our lives. Still, my parents tried to give us a normal upbringing, doing the normal things families do. We would have treats on Friday nights, like fish and chips, and walks in the park. Then there was the wonderful two-week holiday every year, when my parents would take us to Donegal each summer. I loved being at the seaside the outdoors was where I was happiest.

One of our family trips took us to Bloody Foreland in Donegal. We rented a house on the coast and would go out exploring the area. The scenery was wild and beautiful and we never tired of it. One day we went out on our usual explorations of the area, I was walking at the seashore with my brothers, Colin and Brendan, when we heard other children laughing. Suddenly we felt showers of, what was like small stones being thrown over us from the rocks above. We looked, but no one seemed to be there. We just thought we could make some new friends while on holiday, but we could only hear them