Joshua’S Precious Book

By Marjolaine Caron

Joshuas Precious Book reminisces the childhood and the young adult life of Joshua, a predestined being gifted with exceptional medium capacities. Filled with synchronicity and unsettling twists and turns, this touching story illustrates in luminous fashion that we are spiritually guided, that grace is omnipresent, and that death is a transition toward a new form of life. In todays anguished and tormented period, Marjolaine Caron offers us here an eloquent and touching message of hope and love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Aug 6, 2018
• ISBN: 9781982208639

Marjolaine Caron

Born in Qubec, the only French province in Canada, Marjolaine Caron has written in her native language , an initiatory novel.This vibrant narrative was inspired by the successive passing of her mother, her two brothers and of her best friend. Published in 2004, it has since touched the hearts of more than a hundred thousand Qubec readers. The authors recognized medium gift has been in the service of persons in mourning since 1992. This messenger of the hereafter indulges us with her teachings in this strong and lively English version. She profoundly wishes this healing reading touches your heart and enlightens your soul.

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Copyright © 2018 Marjolaine Caron.

www.marjolainecaron.com

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Translated from the french original version best-seller

"Le Petit Livre de Joshua » © 2004

Marjolaine Caron, author

Translator: Martine Diffley Kezber

Graphic design and infography: Christian Morency

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Balboa Press

A Division of Hay House

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.balboapress.com

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

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.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

ISBN: 978-1-9822-0862-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-9822-0864-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-9822-0863-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018908467

Balboa Press rev. date: 08/01/2018

CONTENTS

FIRST CYCLE

The Disclosure

Chapter 1 The Encounter

Chapter 2 Mathilda

Chapter 3 Joshua

Chapter 4 Surrender

Chapter 5 The Connection

Chapter 6 The Voyage

Chapter 7 The Revelations

Chapter 8 The Quantum Leap

SECOND CYCLE

Soaring

Chapter 9 The Transformation

Chapter 10 Noctural Visits

Chapter 11 Initiation

Chapter 12 Freedom

To Martine Diffley Kezber

for translating this healing novel with profound faith and devotion.

To André Thibault, my soulmate

for his unwavering support and unconditionnal love.

FIRST CYCLE

The Disclosure

1

THE ENCOUNTER

That night, the lamp was moved back to its proper place in the corner of the living room. On the floor, a few remaining pine needles from the tree set the scene for the stormy beginnings of the year 1975.

Mathilda’s heart was heavy as she could feel the mounting tension in the room. Her husband, seated in front of the television stomped his feet in agitation; the heavy tapping resembling the beats of the loudest symphony ever composed. He was no longer paying any attention to what the news anchor was reporting. His cold calculating expression, large frown and pursed lips expressed the upcoming and inevitable outburst!

Mathilda was waiting for this moment, just like one waits for bad news that will eventually bring relief. Similar to when one dares deliver the dreadful news to the dying: sorry, there is nothing left to do, it’s over, and you will die… unappeasable and liberating at the same time. One door closes another opens. The end of suffering is announced.

This is exactly how Mathilda was feeling as she was awaiting her husband’s provocation, curled up on the corner of the couch, short of breath, tongue twisted and teeth nervously biting the inside of her cheeks.

She had been observing her husband for quite some time already before he finally opened his mouth. Intuitively, she already knew every word he was about to say. Without looking at her, after one sigh and one deep breath, his ultimatum was finally brought to the table.

"Mathilda… I can’t take this anymore. It’s him or it’s me! He goes or I leave. This child is killing me, he is all consuming and really gets under my skin. I no longer want to see him in my house. Do you understand Mathilda? Do you really understand?’’

Mathilda said nothing. The tears she was expressing were not the same ones Jack saw. She cried for joy. Mathilda was finally going to be free from this man she could no longer stomach. No more would she be caught between a rock and hard place. The tyrannical and jealous nature of her husband removed any desire for his affection. His abuse and lack of respect made her suffer long enough. Without realizing it, her husband had just given her and little Joshua their wings of flight.

She didn’t dare say a word for fear it would unmask her sadness and expose the real joy and freedom she was feeling.

Mathilda! Did you hear me? For god sakes it’s easy enough! Answer me… you merely have to choose between me, your husband or some kid you found in a park. Come on speak! I’m starting to get pissed off! Then suddenly, he hollered spit it out Mathilda!

He was asking for it. The door was now wide open; what a marvelous invitation for Mathilda to now spit it out!

I choose that you should go, you should leave, I never really loved you Jack. I was looking for a measure of security in this marriage which I never found. Without love there can be no safety. Go down your own road, let me live my life. I will take care of Joshua. I will also finally take care of myself. I only hope they don’t take away custody seeing as we will now be separated. I would go to the ends of the earth for that little boy. I will fight tooth and nail for Joshua. Your presence hinders his healing. This is not a life for any of us. Go Jack, you will be happier with another woman who can love you, I have nothing to offer you. Nothing!

Mathilda had succeeded in quieting her aggressor. Jack suddenly came to a full stop. His nerves were wearing thin, he was terrorized, flabbergasted and in a vulnerable position.

Mathilda found herself on the sofa completely drained yet cradled in peace and relief. As these contented feelings began to surface she said to herself: This is what rebirth must feel like.

Jack, barely able to breathe, attempted to pull himself together and began to murmur:

Come on Mathilda, you can’t be serious, are you about to…

No Jack, I am not about to lose my mind. Don’t ever bring the subject up again. I’ve made my decision and it’s irrevocable. I’m sorry. Tomorrow we will take the necessary steps to resolve this. I hope to have things sorted before the end of the month.

She got up, took out her coat, laced her boots and with a lift of her hood in a grand and somber gesture opened the door and bravely walked out. Her first steps towards her new life had just been taken. Finally in her 26th year, with courage and dignity, Mathilda said yes to herself.

She headed for the park where she first saw Joshua back on that fateful Sunday, September 15th 1974. She sat on the same bench and through her memory relived that horrible and happy encounter.

In a flash, her spirit transformed the snowflakes into the multicolored array of autumn leaves. She could see herself dressed in blue jeans and kept warm by the grey vest draped over her black turtleneck. At that moment, she called to mind the vivid images of the magical hour that first united her and the little boy.

It was the morning of her birthday, a sunny and breezy day, there was just enough wind in the air for the leaves to lift off the ground twisting and twirling in dance like motions about the park.

Apart from being her birthday it was an ordinary Sunday. She was seeking refuge from the obnoxious mood her husband found himself in after another bender!

No doubt he had forgotten her birthday. Sadly this was something she was used to. When she was a little girl, even for special occasions never did she notice her dad pay any mind to her mother. This repeated scenario she found herself in her own marriage, left her feeling indifferent. To self soothe her inner feelings of emptiness she brought along one of her cherished books, The Prophet by Khalil Gibran.

She had just turned the page. She was at the chapter where a villager, a woman who held a baby against her bosom asked the prophet: speak to us of children. Just then Mathilda looked up and spotted from a distance a little boy moving exceedingly slowly towards her. Clearly these were not the normal movements of an ordinary young child. The steps were far too outstretched and sluggish. As the lad was approaching she began to notice other alarming physical traits such as his locked and frozen shoulders accompanied by an empty and trance like gaze. The closer he came, the more pronounced his distress. His skin was ghostly pale and she could hear the almost inaudible sharp murmurs emanating from his soul through his lips which were swollen and slightly trembling. His big black eyes were swimming in a pool of tears and wet droplets hung from his long eyelashes. His hands which dangled by his sides were wide opened and drenched in bright red blood.

Mathilda dropping her book ran towards the child. Instinctively, she said to herself… gently, approach him gently, he is in a state of shock. She leaned in towards the youngster, tilted her head and with a great gesture of benevolence extended her hand. The little boy was too distraught and feeble to notice and just walked passed her. Mathilda followed and placed herself in front of him, kneeling to his level. She opened her arms wholeheartedly blocking his way. The child then collapsed onto her chest, with his head resting on her shoulder he fainted.

With the child now in her arms, she began screaming for help: somebody please call an ambulance quickly! This child is injured!

A man came forward with a woollen poncho and laid it on the ground in order to rest the child. The bloody hands were the first to be examined. No source for the blood was found, no gash, no deep cut not even a scratch or wound. Mathilda checked for fever, his body temperature felt more cold than warm. His pulse seemed weak and his pupils looked agitated.

Mathilda and the gentleman stranger were trying to resuscitate the child just as the ambulance arrived. The rescue team came running towards the scene fully equipped and ready to take the victim to the hospital. Mathilda climbed into the back of the ambulance with the boy and sat close to him, stroking his dark brown hair. She thought: never will I leave or abandon this child.

In the emergency room, Mathilda was asked to register the child.

Your name, Madam?

Mathilda Nelson. She quickly added: I am not the mother of this child, in fact I do not know him, and I found him in this state, in the park. I do not know what happened to him. We were not able to find any signs of injury.

Thank you, Madam. Come with us, the doctor will surely have some questions for you.

Mathilda was surprised to be following their lead as though the child was someone close, like a brother or a son.

The attending physician, a gentleman in his late forties looked calm and compassionate. The little tyke had recovered some of his life force while in the ambulance. Yet, when he arrived he violently threw up and his whole body began to tremble. He was cold and shaken with fear. It was important to keep the child awake, he needed to speak and say his name, be able to tell to the best of his ability what transpired.

The doctor quickly diagnosed the boy’s condition as a severe trauma. The child had no physical injuries, but was indeed under acute emotional distress; but what? It was impossible to get one word out of him. His eyes were scanning the room searching for some point of reference, a familiar face or a soothing voice, anything to sort out the chaos inside him. His universe seemed terribly unfamiliar.

From a distance, Mathilda observed the nurses and the doctor. She was listening to every word being said, her anxious heart wanted so much to interrupt them and say: I know he needs me, leave me alone with him.

Like the child, she too was unable to articulate her thoughts. Coincidently however, just at that moment the doctor turned towards her and with a soft voice said:

Come closer, you were his first encounter, he needs you.

I… I don’t know if he will recognize me.

Come forward, approach carefully, we have nothing to lose.

Mathilda tiptoed gingerly towards the boy’s bedside much the same way one would approach the infant cradle of a light sleeper. Mathilda was apprehensive to jog the child’s memory. She didn’t want to awaken the wound his amnesia was concealing. However, she knew it was necessary.

The doctor kindly stepped aside in the same way he was accustomed to after delivering a baby and handing the newborn to its mother.

Mathilda’s heart would tense up with every step, and with each gesture she took as she proceeded nearer this broken angel who appeared almost lifeless. He shut his eyes in order to blackout all the strange faces he did not know nor recognized. Mathilda leaned in very closely to whisper into his ear. She did this with closeness and affection. She would have liked to have had that kind of intimacy with her mother as she lay upon her deathbed. She wished she had been there the day she died to move in closer and whisper farewell. This time, with the boy she was not afraid. She leaned over whispering words of welcome and encouragement. Without anyone else hearing, Mathilda’s breath gave off the effect of a stroking massage on the child’s cheek. She uttered the three words that would reach directly into the recesses of the child’s heart. I am here…

He slowly opened his eyes and, without turning his head gazed deeply into Mathilda’s eyes. He immersed himself and centered on Mathilda for quite some time, before the flood gates opened. Tears flowed steadily down his face in large volumes, and dripped onto his neck. The tears looked like pearls. Mathilda reached out her hand, receiving the sorrow with the hopes of stopping the hemorrhaging heartache.

She spoke softly, sleep now, my angel… I will stay with you.

He fell into a deep sleep, exhausted from everything he had just lived through, all of which was still a mystery to everyone at the hospital.

The doctor ordered that the child be kept under surveillance, and went out into the waiting room to speak with the police who were on standby. The authorities had been on the lookout for the child. The tragic event surrounding him was grisly. Mathilda could no longer bear to listen to the tale the younger of the two officers was revealing. She had to dash to the washroom.

The police officer explained that it was a neighbor who had alerted them about a dispute lasting all evening and into the early hours of the morning at the child’s residence:

Once we arrived at the scene, things were eerily quiet. There was no noise, no screams except for a muffled groan coming from the child. We found the mother lying on her back, on the kitchen floor with shards of broken glass from bottles all around her. Her throat was slit. The little boy was sitting next to her trying so very hard with his trembling little hands to stop the bleeding. According to the neighbors, it was a drug dispute. We have a good description of the suspect given that he’s known in the area. It was during our discussion with the neighbors that we lost sight of the child and he made his escape.

And his father?

The child’s name is Joshua Brown. He was given his mother’s name. His father is unknown. Apart from his mother he has no family.

We’ve got to place him in the hands of social services who will provide him with foster care. After his convalescence, of course. added the other officer.

Social services will stop by as early as tomorrow morning to open up a case file for him.

Dr. Vincent thanked the officers and scurried off to find Mathilda, after the nurses had made her lie down. As he was examining her, he filled her in about Joshua’s situation and the fate which awaited him. Mathilda couldn’t find the strength to speak. The doctor prescribed her a sedative in order to help her relax. She thought to