My Life with Mr. Good: How to Live a Life Guided by Heaven and Fulfill Yourself While Living It

By Taisja Laudy

"My Life with Mr Good" offers:

• 47 inspiring stories on Guidance
• Stories showing you, what to do to have a life filled with Successes and Joy
• Authentic life examples illustrate how our daily life could look like if we are ready to accept the Guidance, and look for inspiration in the Life Manual we all have access to.

“This book can serve as a lighthouse leading you the way to your dreams.
It is a testimony of living in holiness – a way of living accessible to all of us”.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Aug 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9781982249588

Taisja Laudy

Taisja Laudy is the creator of GeniusFormula, and a Founder of few international companies, which all exist to "Bring People to Fulfillment". She is an expert on human Talents and Gifts, which Taisja believes we ought to uncover and develop in order to thrive. In her everyday life she stays in close contact with Mr. Good, who provides her with inspiration, which she is later sharing with others via her videos, books, courses and public speeches.

Book preview

Getting to Know Mr. Good

I was thinking about the first time I felt guided and experienced contact with Mr. Good. At what stage of my life did I start speaking about the reason behind my creation? Does it really exist?

When I started recollecting, I realised it happened very early on, when I was only 5 years old. At that time, I lived in Omsk, Siberia, with my parents. (As my father worked for the military, we had to move locations based on where my dad was serving.) However, I enjoyed spending summer holidays at my grandparents’ place, as most children did back then. My grandparents’ house was in Koresten, about thirty-five hundred kilometres from my parents’ home in Omsk.

It was a typically hot summer, so naturally I often went to the summer house with my grandmother and grandfather. You could go around naked there, swim, and eat as many strawberries as you wanted. While they were working, growing vegetables and performing their duties as allotment gardeners, I, like most children my age, happily played. I collected potatoes and put them in my bucket, raked the soil looking for treasures only I could appreciate, and sunbathed.

We would come back to the family home around three or four in the afternoon.

I remember that tranquillity and blissfulness were forever present in that home. The windows delicately let soft sunrays in, enhancing the serene atmosphere. It was coupled with the tenderness of my grandmother, who used to put me to bed and cover me with a sheet, as she wanted me to rest after a day filled with playing. This day was no different. However, when my grandmother was preparing me for sleep, she noticed that I was scratching myself very intently.

The itchy sensation affected my entire body. One by one, huge blisters appeared on my skin without any apparent reason. They popped out before our eyes, covering greater and greater areas of my skin.

My grandmother didn’t know what to do. She began patting me, calming me down. She called my uncle, who at that time worked as an ambulance driver in Kiev, hoping he could help us. My grandparents’ house was 150 kilometres away. My uncle stopped everything he was doing, got onto the ambulance, and drove in our direction. I have no idea how he managed to do it, but he reached Korosten in less than an hour; a moment later, we were on our way to hospital. My blisters started to burst, leaving grey-blue spots on my skin, like bruises. I remember the moment I was admitted to A&E. The nurse lifted my blouse to see what was happening. My entire stomach appeared black — that was my view as the child I was at that time. The nurse came back immediately with a huge syringe. I was injected. I don’t remember anything after the injection.

I was sent to the intensive care unit. After a few days, the doctor on duty called my parents and asked them to come as fast as possible. Your child is dying, he informed them. The medical staff were sure they would not be able to save me. They had no idea what was happening to me. They did not know how to help me. This unknown thing made all my inner organs black, resulting in dark spots on my skin.

I regained consciousness when I was at the ICU. Numerous drips and other medical devices were connected to many areas of my body — my hands, legs, and head. I was given all available antibiotics, as the doctors hoped one of them would relieve my impossible-to-diagnose affliction. Nurses drew blood every few hours. My fingertips were poked so many times that needles had to be inserted in other parts of my fingers —the nurses had to look for undisturbed stripes of skin. I am not sure, but I think an old lady and her grandson used to come to my room-during Soviet times, anything was possible. They would look at me, and the woman would warn the boy:

— Remember to behave yourself! If you are naughty, you will end up like this girl.

It may seem strange, but I found the whole experience pretty amusing. I don’t recall experiencing any panic. I felt as if I were standing by, a passive observer of what was happening. More and more doctors gathered around my bed. Case conferences were conducted. They were trying to find out what was wrong with me. I served as a medical guinea pig of sorts. A bad reaction to food was one of many hypotheses. I couldn’t eat anything apart from baked apples. After eight days, I had lost so much weight that the nurse was able to carry me, a 5-year-old girl, wrapped in a thick Russian quilt. She showed me to my grandmother, who was waiting on the other side of a window.

My grandmother continued to wait outside my hospital room while I was fighting for my life. She constantly asked the doctors about my condition. At night, there was always a nurse sitting by my bed. One day, she left the room crying. My grandmother got scared and tried to understand what had happened, as she expected the worst. The nurse said she couldn’t stay in the room with me.

— But why? Is she doing anything wrong? Is she being naughty? Grandmother asked.

Obviously, that was impossible, considering my medical condition.

— She is constantly praying, talking to God. She keeps on begging and repeating that she wants to live, again and again, the nurse replied. She was in shock.

Parents praying over their children’s beds, or even children repeating the words of prayers at the request of parents, were nothing out of the ordinary in hospitals. Nevertheless, I was completely alone in an empty hospital room. This prayer originated from me. I had a feeling it had been dictated by Mr. Good Himself. That was how I got to know Him personally for the first time.

There was nobody there, but He was with me, as He is with you now. No matter what you are experiencing at this very moment, the real question is whether you hear His prayer for you.

Look! I stand at the door and knock. If you hear my voice and open

the door, I will come in, and we will share a meal together as friends.

(Rev. 3:20 NLT)

Will you open?

Soon my health started to improve; things couldn’t have happened any other way. Human doctors had no idea what the reason for my illness was, nor what made me recover. However, I knew the answer! Even the hospital discharge documentation stated that the doctors didn’t know what had happened or what had helped. They only knew what was happening to my body as a result of the illness. They also understood that if I had reached the hospital fifteen or twenty minutes later, they would not have been able to save me. My organs would have undergone changes that couldn’t have been undone. So I can boldly say that my uncle, carried on angels’ wings, saved my life.

I have a feeling he is carried on these wings quite often. Usually it takes two hours one way to cover such a distance on Soviet roads. We reached the hospital in forty minutes. That was indeed a heavenly speed.

It was years later when I learned that the radiation after the explosion in Chernobyl could have been the reason for my undiagnosed illness. Nobody knew about it at that time. We were not warned about the potential danger. People in Poland, Germany, the Netherlands, and even Australia were administered iodine. We were two hundred kilometres away from the explosion, and we ate irradiated strawberries. One could say it was a tragedy and a curse, but I believe that was when I received my greatest gift.

The Third Eye

Not long after these events, my grandmother took me to some kind of medicine woman. I am not sure if this woman was an herbalist or a witch; either way, she practised unconventional healing methods, starting with spitting upon and massaging the patient with hen eggs that were later used to reveal treatment information, the patient’s health condition, or even the future. I found it quite amusing, impossible to understand, and extremely peculiar. I don’t remember the entire diagnosis. However, there is one thing I recall very well. She told me I had a ‘third eye’. Naturally, I had no idea what she meant by that, but for me the mere fact of having an additional eye seemed especially intriguing. I wondered for a long time what this unusual organ was and why I — the owner —was not able to spot it. I kept on looking at the mirror, hoping it would finally become visible. Deep inside, I had a feeling I would understand it at some point.

Although the radiation sickness ended as fast as it started, it was a very intense experience for my family.

I survived; everything ended well. Whatever wanted to take my life away was stopped. As a result, I grew up with a deep belief that my life had to serve a purpose. I was convinced I was to achieve something really significant. Deep inside, I knew that I lived to perform some kind of mission.

At that time, as a 5-year-old girl, I felt very special. I had been given a second chance. I had a third eye. At that point, I thought I was the only one! I didn’t understand yet that the third eye concerned virtually all people. I was not aware that each person has their own objective to meet.

People, no matter what we create — whether it is a kettle, television, or jug — provide these items with an objective and a meaning. We don’t create anything without a reason. Is it possible that God creates any of us without having a plan first?

As time passed, I discovered that every human being has a mission. There is not a single person on this planet who lives without a particular reason or purpose. Without calling. Without talents.

It is not necessary to experience something traumatic to discover this fact. Sometimes people ask me when I met God, when I started to believe. I reply that it has always been like that. Actually you are not aware when you meet Him for the first time. I simply know Him. He is with me constantly, and He is constantly with you as well. It doesn’t matter if you are aware of that or not. In the same way, the sun rises and sets, regardless whether you believe somebody operates it. God is present in your life during the day and night. One of the reasons why you can’t find what you are seeking is your failure to notice His presence.

I have not had any similar health problems since that stay in hospital. Quite the contrary — I have always enjoyed good health, and I still feel that way. However, such illnesses do not go unnoticed, and they must serve a purpose.

When I was in third grade, I learnt my eyesight was not good. No person in my family suffered from defective vision, and nobody had ever suspected I could have such problems. I, on the other hand, assumed that the way I perceived the world was normal. I did not see any details and couldn’t notice subtle differences in people’s faces. I did not recognise the numbers on arriving buses. I was completely convinced this situation applied to all people. If other people managed somehow, I had no other option! If it hadn’t been for my form mistress in primary school, I wouldn’t have learnt about the deteriorating condition of my eyesight for a long time.

The class had a test. It involved copying text from the blackboard. I was a very good student, but in this case, I got a C. My teacher couldn’t believe it. She wanted to understand what had caused such a poor result. She had a hunch and compared my notebook with the notebook of a girl I shared the desk with. The mistakes were identical. My teacher deduced that I had not copied the text from the blackboard but from the notebook of the other student. She knew I was not scribing, and that was why she suggested that my parents have my eyesight tested. The eye specialist discovered that my defect had already reached minus three and a half.

I remember the day that I saw the world from a different perspective for the first time. My glasses arrived wrapped in beige paper, the kind used today to pack packages at the post office. I was sitting in the living room with my parents. Some TV programme was on. I put my glasses on.

I wish for every human being to experience in his or her life what I experienced that day, in any form! I physically experienced the inability to see, being actually blind. Up till that moment, I had been sure I was able to see. In reality, I knew nothing. I saw spots instead of eyes, mouths, or even faces.

Then, suddenly, I noticed a palette of colours I had not known before. The entire world became colourful. So much was happening around me — I was fascinated by my surroundings.

Today it makes me think. We all think we perceive the world in the same way as others do. I, a sand-blind person, assumed everyone saw exactly what I did. It is not true. If we place three people one next to another and ask them to describe what they see, each person will tell a different story. It results from the fact that seeing involves more than just our physical organs. We also have a spiritual eye, an intellectual eye, an eye supported by our experiences — the third eye. All these elements together have an influence on the final image which reaches our consciousness. This image, in turn, creates our reality.

Since that day, each time I put on glasses or contact lenses, I am grateful to the people who created them. Thanks to these people who followed their calling, and thanks to the dreams they must have had in their hearts, I can see how beautiful the world is.

Today when I do what I do, I observe how blind many people around me are. I am referring to spiritual blindness here. Many people do not see a different type of beauty, the one you can only see with your heart. I see it with my third eye, this spiritual organ that observes non-material beauty around us. I know I was provided with this gift to place ‘glasses’ on certain people so that they could notice the beauty as well. I am sure they will experience what I did physically in my childhood. When you actually start seeing, you will never want to take these glasses off. You will realise how impaired you were before.

Let’s take me as an example. I am grateful for the way in which I see. In many cases, it turns out that an impairment can be a blessing. Perhaps as a child I could not have understood the perspective that each person sees the world differently, if it hadn’t been for my experience. I had these afterthoughts long before I became an adult. The episode with glasses made me aware, although I was only a child.

Even my experience with radiation sickness was fruitful, and I believe today that its effects allow me to protect my health in more efficient ways. We all have choices and are able to interpret our experiences either as curses or blessings. Choose wisely. I only treat myself using natural methods, sparing my body and protecting it from numerous chemical substances.

When I was 12 years old, I went to a summer camp, where I caught a cold. What was the best remedy to make a child feel better at that time? Of course, antibiotics! I obediently took the medicine prescribed by the camp doctor. The next day, I woke up with my face swollen like a balloon. I couldn’t open my eyes. My knees were blue, just as they had been when the ambulance took me to hospital. As it turned out, I had an extremely severe allergic reaction to penicillin. It was probably a result of the penicillin overdose I experienced when they were saving my life from the radiation sickness. I obtained such a dose that it will last me lifetime.

Summing up, thanks to my experiences, I grew up believing that:

1. I have a mission to complete

2. I have to do something important

3. Mr. Good is by my side

However, the best part was yet to come. Soon I was to learn how it feels when He takes your hand and says,

— Come on!

I deliberately asked for His guidance and prayed for wisdom.

The Bible — A Closed Book or

Life Manual for Us All

The first and only Bible I have ever read from beginning to end was a Bible for children. I got it from my beloved grandmother when I was 7. When somebody asks me how to read the Word of God, I always suggest starting with the edition for children. Reading it from A to Z provides you with a complete scope of the story and allows you to see the entire picture.

A few years later, my parents discovered Mr. Good as well and began a very vivid relationship with Him. His existence was obvious to me, so I simply joined them. We explored the Word of God together, listening to sermons and reading. We lived our everyday lives with God and had many God-related experiences.

At that time, I attended a school with an extended English programme. I had to focus on developing my language skills, but I wanted to deepen my knowledge about Him as well. I decided to mix business with pleasure and had a splendid idea — to read the Bible in English! A pastor gave me a copy as a gift. He probably didn’t need it, but for me it was a real treasure. I remember reading the parables of Solomon. I love this book! Each chapter or even verse provides so much knowledge that you could write an entire book about them. These few parables contain complete life wisdom.

One of the fragments tells a story in which God speaks to Solomon.

— What would you like me to give you?

The young king asks God for the gift of wisdom to manage his people well. God enjoyed this answer and said,

— I will give you more wisdom and understanding than anyone has ever had before or will ever have again. I will also give you what you have not asked for: all your life, you will have wealth and honour, more than that of any other king (1 Kgs 3:12–13).

I read it when I was twelve and thought, Ha! I have found the answer.

Today, I laugh out loud at myself. Yes, following the footsteps of Solomon, I asked my Mr. Good for wisdom. I asked Him every day, in all of my prayers, always. I wanted Him to be pleased with me. I wanted Him to like my prayers. Because He liked the prayer of Solomon, I decided to copy Solomon’s behaviour.

What was the result? Did I get the wisdom or not? Well, the Bible says, ‘Ask and you will be given.’

I got so good at it, I was the one