Shafts of Gold

By Faye Roots

A little girl wants to know if God is real. She calls out to the sky ‘I don’t even know if you exist. Show me. Are you a big God or just a story?’ This is the story of her life of discovery. As if by Shafts of GOLD, many supernatural events and miraculous experiences impacted a life of valleys and hills, and now the old lady who KNOWS her God is indeed bigger than the child could have ever imagined,
Her experiences and life certainty now is that the Christian God…… Father, Son and Holy Spirit is TRUTH.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Jul 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9781669888741

Faye Roots

Faye Roots lives with her husband in the quiet rural area of Wolvi near Gympie in Queensland, Australia. They have three children and four grandchildren - a fifth grandchild is due to be born in 2017. From childhood Faye always had a passion to write and discovered this passion is unabated in more recent years. 'People in the stories are real to me. Their their sorrows and triumphs resonate in my own heart' she said. She emphasised. 'I write because I am a story teller and more than anything, my hope is the stories will inform by truth of history, inspire by faith, and are loved because of the people. Previous published books are Beyond the Ashes, Our God Lives - a book of devotionals, and Marranga-Limga.

Book preview

SHAFTS

of

GOLD

Faye Roots

Copyright © 2022 by Faye Roots.

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.

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: 09/07/2022

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Contents

Chapter 1 Early Years — A Seed Sprouts

Chapter 2 Sprouting Years

Chapter 3 Maturing and Learning

Chapter 4 Maturing Physically

Chapter 5 Figure on the Road

Chapter 6 Growing!

Chapter 7 Navigating the 1960s — Learning and Growing, Turmoil and Discovery

Chapter 8 Mid- to Late 1960s — A Journey of Rough Personal Seas and Heart-Challenging Events

Chapter 9 The Beginning of Spiritual Clarifications

Chapter 10 Canberra

Chapter 11

Chapter 12 1970 — Lifechanging, New Beginnings (In Retrospect, Wow!)

Chapter 13 New Life Together

Chapter 14 The 1970s

Chapter 15

Chapter 16 A Beach Encounter

Chapter 17 1980–2000

Chapter 18 China, 1999

Chapter 18A Continuing the Unfolding Events of This First Decade in the Twenty-first Century: World — Spiritual and Personal Life

Chapter 19 Life Unfolding

INTRODUCTION TO Chapter 20

Chapter 20 2011

Chapter 21 Butterfly Stories

Chapter 22 2011–2020

Chapter 23 Writing– Inspiration– God’s Gift

Chapter 24 Life’s Bowling Balls

Chapter 25 2017 — Disturbance on the Sea

Chapter 26 2019

Chapter 27 2020 Worldwide Pandemic — A Celebration

Chapter 27B 2020 — COVID and Fiftieth Wedding Anniversary

Chapter 28 2021

Chapter 29 Hard To Write

Intro to Shafts

This is the memoir of a shy girl and her search for the right path for her life. It is also the story of an extraordinary God and shafts of gold which sometimes broke through to guide the child – and then the young woman – on her life’s journey.

CHAPTER 1

Early Years — A Seed Sprouts

I, Faye Tognola, was born during the Second World War years of the twentieth century.

In June 1943, my father was fighting overseas. His family did not know where; they were told the Middle East. This was true in the beginning, but in the final few years of his military life, he served in the jungles of PapuaNew Guinea.

He came home only twice in seven years and did not meet me until the end of 1946. My mother told me years later that I terrified him – a gentle, trusting hazel-eyed blonde little girl, so different to where he had been and what he had suffered. My 3-year-old self must have been a shock. He was a loving husband and father, but there was a distance between us that lasted until the final years of his life.

My mother and my half-sister, Maureen, were my early nurturers, but the thirteen-year age difference between my sister and myself meant that she was married and left our home when I was still incredibly young. Memories of those times are now shadowy. I only know I was loved, cared for, and protected. My sister’s intervention indeed protected me from harm from older girls and their attempts to influence me when I started school. Maureen saw something when she passed the school, told my mum. Only I ever knew what harm was averted, and I was never able to say, ‘Thank you, big sister.’

One of my earliest clear memories in my life is of a stretch of sandy beach and rolling waves. A huge building with holes in the walls on the front and sides loomed over everything. My grandmother, for a few short years, owned a beach house on Bribie Island, off the coast of Queensland, Australia. Mum, Maureen, and I visited. This was the only time I remember when we ever visited her there. It was necessary to come on a boat. My mum and I both became seasick.

I was young, around 3 years old. My dad came home at the end of the same year. It was probably 1946. My nan spoke seriously to me that day. Most of what she said, I cannot remember, but she spoke of the war. She told me to remember the building on the sand with the holes for cannons that guarded the island. She also spoke that day gently to me of love and loss and held me tightly and told me to walk the ‘right’ path.

I am grateful for this grandmother, although I did not at all understand why her spirituality often seemed to worry my dad in the next few short years. She was from a strongly Celtic Scottish background and had married a strict Presbyterian miner who ruled his family – wife Nan and my mum and her three siblings – with a rod of iron. He was the head of the family, and hellfire awaited all who did not live by his rules. I think this was why when he died quite young, long before I was born, my nan escaped like a bird and flew into some very strange spiritual areas. She was known as a clever teacup reader and dabbled in fortune telling in the tea rooms and café she owned.

My mother once told me seriously, ‘You are very like your nan, but you must find your own path. Remember always that imagination is a gift, but a lie is wrong and a distortion of truth. There is no such thing as a white lie.’

This single piece of information was vital to me as I walked my own pathway of spiritual discovery. I remember looking upwards with a kind of heartfelt longing and prayer. Help me to find the right way.

I loved my schooldays but, as a painfully shy child, suffered much from being ‘misunderstood’ or overlooked. I remember my first week of school with sadness. I twice wet my pants and had to endure hearing how frustrated the teachers were that I came to school before I turned 5 – bright enough to be accepted but not toilet trained. It was not until someone, perhaps my mum, explained that I could not draw attention to myself by putting up my hand and asking to go that I was allowed to quietly exit when necessary, and the problem never occurred again.

This became the pattern for early school life. I was not selected for plays, participation in sports, or classroom discussions because of my quiet, settled manner. I desperately wanted to put myself forward but was too self-conscious.

One memorable event at school happened when my class was selected to perform in the pantomime Snow White at a local hall. Oh, how much I wanted a part! My classmates leapt around – ‘Pick me! Pick me!’ – and children tried out for various roles. I sat quietly. At the close of the selection session, someone noticed me. I was quietly invited to be an understudy for the wicked queen. I was delighted.

My class teacher was surprised. He said later, ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were interested?’

I went to every rehearsal. I learned the lines and felt all the drama and passion. I began to understand at this time of my journey that I could do anything if I hid behind the costume of a different person. Being personally invisible became my goal.

This was confirmed to teachers when the unexpected occurred. The girl who had the part of the queen tearfully announced that she could not do it. They intended to blacken her teeth and wanted her to act really evil. It was two days before the opening, and she refused to do her part. I heard a lot of discussion about whether the play should be cancelled.

I walked up to a teacher and, with confidence, said, ‘I have been rehearsing. I know the lines. I can do this.’

My first time before the eisteddfod in the hall, I surprised everyone, including myself, with how much I became involved in the character of that evil queen. On the night in the hall, my parents were frightened for me, but I discovered that if Faye were lost behind the costume and even the blackened teeth, I could become someone else.

Our school won the eisteddfod that year – certainly not because of me, but I did get a mention in the paper. ‘A fine portrayal of the wicked queen by Faye Tognola – congratulations! Your strong Australian accent will be improved by speech training and elocution.’

My very Aussie father was furious. ‘What’s the matter with an Aussie accent?’ he shouted.

I was not at all upset by the comment. The queen came ‘alive’; that was nothing to do with Faye, the person.

My most valuable lesson occurred when I was 8. I went to church with my parents; it was the first time since my sister’s wedding. I remember it was for a funeral. Some distant cousin had died.

I sat in that gloomy, dark brown church, feeling bored as adults spoke on and on. What they were saying meant nothing to me. I tried to be patient and still – but then I saw something.

I saw something that triggered a hunger in me to seek after what was true and Holy. The dark dusty corner of that church was infused suddenly with a bright light, and I saw figures with human likeness and wings with hands clasped as if in prayer.

It was so breathtakingly beautiful, I called out, ‘Look! Look up there! They must be angels. They’re saying prayers.’ I pointed empathically.

My voice echoed in that large building. Faces automatically turned towards the dark corner.

My mother muttered, ‘Oh, shush, darling.’

A woman across the aisle said, ‘What a dear little child – and what a vivid imagination she must have.’

I learnt a life lesson that day. I would never again tell grownups what I, as a child, could see. The time at that church service changed my way of thinking. I sat looking up into that corner, focussed on something that was real and beautiful. I longed to know more.

On the way home, my dear mother hugged me and said, ‘I know you saw something, darling. Your face was radiant.’ She added, ‘It was such a boring service. Maybe old Fred needed lots of praying people to travel with him.’

*     *     *

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CHAPTER 2

Sprouting Years

I had no idea that my personal life and my spiritual life were in such an intrinsic tangle. I will try to unravel them, to share as normal life events unfolded. Perhaps the God shafts will become clearer as the written is recorded.

My childhood years were prominently happy ones. When my sister married, I was her flower girl. In a pretty blue dress with flowers in my hair, I was a flower girl. This was the year I started school as a prep child. This was once the introduction to primary school life and began with the basics. It was expected when we started ‘big school’ in our 6th year of life that we would be able to write, know our alphabet, and be mature in areas of polite behaviour and dealing with other students. Also, by the end of this prep year, I had got over my terror of putting up my hand. In the ways of childhood, I felt I was progressing OK.

My only hiccup this year that I can recall came when I was dressed like an angel for a Christmas concert. I had only four words to say, and then I was to walk off the stage slowly and daintily. The words were ‘I see a light’.

Happily, I skipped onto the stage platform and piously folded my hands. I raised my eyes and saw a sea of faces looking at me from the darkness. I froze. I then burst into sobbing tears and had to be scooped off the stage with a very un-angelic lack of beauty and dignity.

‘She will certainly not be a public speaker,’ a voice said from the darkness.

A few folk softly chuckled.

My future years would prove differently. I learnt a lesson. If you, as a person, can be hidden, you can do lots. However, hiding was safer. That is why my success in Snow White a few years later was significant; I was hidden by the wicked queen. The year of my 6th birthday stands out strongly in my memories for many reasons.

I Started Big School

I felt grown up. This growing up was confirmed later in the year when my baby brother was born. I was now a big sister. I loved my little brother passionately and protectively. I even prayed to Someone I had been taught was ‘out there’. I asked Him to give my brother a long life. Please let him live till he is 30. (That seemed a great age and was as far as I could count.)

A note of reflection: the year my brother turned 30 was, for me, a year of gentle concern. I knew more about God by then but still worried that maybe I had spiritually put a cloud over his life. Superstition and faith and God’s gifts need much unravelling, and this was – and is – the story to find my truth in it all. I did enjoy his 31st birthday with relief and joy.

After John’s birth in November, it seems Christmastime came suddenly. This year, a baby born in a stable made more sense. I knew what a baby meant