THE LORD VS CORRUPTION

By Rand Tubbs

This is a true story of how a young man in his prime becomes sick with an undiagnosed illness now known as chronic fatigue syndrome or CFS, which is characterized by extreme fatigue and can't be explained by any underlying medical condition. There is still no cure to this torturous disease. Most people die within ten years of contracting it. All doctors and eventually all friends and family agree that he is manic-depressive and just write him off. Troy, his best friend from high school, leads him to the Lord and prophesies his miracle healing. During his three and a half years of sickness, he has three near-death experiences. In one, it is revealed to him that some lady from a one-night stand had his son. About fifteen years later, he starts having visions of how to find his skinny-legged son, visions involving police corruption.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781646545933

Book preview

cover.jpg

THE LORD VS CORRUPTION

Rand Tubbs

Copyright © 2021 Rand Tubbs

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books, Inc.

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2021

ISBN 978-1-64654-592-6 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64654-593-3 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Prologue

The following is one man’s true story. It started over two decades ago. Names have been changed to protect the innocent. Rand was sick for over three and a half years with an undiagnosable illness, chronic fatigue syndrome. During the last year of his illness, he had three near-death experiences. In one of these, he was shown a son that some lady had from a one-night stand. Rand wrote a small testimonial book about these experiences and promised the Lord that if he found his son, he would write a full book to glorify the Lord. Some fourteen years later, Rand started having visions from the Holy Spirit showing him how to find his son.

As Rand followed Gods direction, his journey took him through the corrupt justice system. But no matter how hard the trials became, he knew someday they would lead him to his son and to justice.

Chapter 1

My Testimonial Story Written in 1995: My Healing Miracle at Ferguson Hospital

I have had so many supernatural events happen in my life that I promised the Lord that I would write a book about them if I could find my other son. You’ll see what I mean after reading the rest of my story.

In June of 1988, I left my job in Los Angeles and was headed back to Michigan. My car broke down in Bakersfield. I found out it was a hole in a piston, a very expensive repair. I decided to buy a truck and a tow bar. I was stranded in Bakersfield for three days. Finally, in the evening of the third day, I got my tow bar and was hooking it up to my car in the parking lot of the Greenfield motel. It was about 104°F. I was irritable and very anxious to get on the road. Suddenly, out of a tavern that was part of the motel structure came this very large man. He was 6 ft., 3 in. tall, and at least 250 lb. He was drunk and started bothering me. He wanted me to beat up Mexicans with him for no apparent reason.

I told him, I have nothing against Mexicans. I’m not going to beat someone up for no reason. Now leave me alone.

He then grabbed some of my tools and threw them. I went over and picked up the tools he threw—one was a hammer—and set them on the tailgate of my truck. He then stated that I was a fag and that he was going to beat me up. He pushed my head back with his hand opened. His fingers were huge. I quickly made a move and punched him in the face about six times. It had almost no effect on him! I then tripped him down, barely, and jumped on top of his back, punching him repeatedly on top of his head. My knuckles started to hurt, then it happened! He started getting up, with me on top of him. Out of fear for my life, I quickly grabbed my hammer off the tailgate of my truck and was about to strike him full force on the head with it. At the very last moment of my swing, something made me let go. I did not carry through. I let go of the hammer, and it bounced off his head. He went down and was out for only about ten seconds.

He got back up, kind of crying, looked at me, and said, I didn’t call you a fag.

Then he walked away around the other side of a fence, and I have never seen him since.

I quickly finished hooking up my tow bar and got out of there. After a while of feeling the adrenaline and happiness from winning that fight, suddenly this terrible guilt fell all over me. I felt very sad and upset for myself, realizing that I had just come within one-tenth of a second of killing that man. You see, I know that God made me realize what I was doing just in time. My whole enraged motion of swinging that hammer was supernaturally slowed down to give me enough time to not kill the bully.

I cried out to God for forgiveness for miles and miles as I headed back to Michigan. As I was coming up out of Salt Lake City, Utah, on Highway 80 just about the Wyoming border, I noticed a big dark storm cloud on the horizon. I was driving right into it. I have never seen a storm cloud like that. The whole sky was clear and blue with three cloud groups moving quickly out of the west. The middle cloud was thundering, and lightning was shooting down from only this largest and darkest cloud group. As I came closer to this approaching cloud, I saw Christ appear in it, and He was looking firmly at me. Then this vision of Him dissolved, and this isolated large storm cloud ran right into my path. It began to drop marble-sized hail all over the road and my car. I had to stop. I almost ran into a motor home (Deut. 33:26, 2 Sam. 22:12–15, Psalm 18:11-13).

I’ve always felt very bad for hurting this bully of a man in Bakersfield, but it was truthfully an act of self-defense.

My Direct Healing in Jesus’s Name

After returning from Los Angeles and the Bakersfield ordeal in 1988, I landed a new job as a QC chemist in October of 1988 with a small paint company in Kalkaska, Michigan. After working there for only two months, I became sick with flu-like symptoms. I was sick for over a month from around December 20, 1988, to around January 23, 1989. I saw a doctor, got a prescription, and continued to work ten or twelve hours a day since my work was mental instead of physical. I seemed to feel all right for a couple of months, but not 100 percent. In the beginning of April 1989, I came down with what I thought was the flu again. This time, I was very sick and did not get better until the middle of June. During the summer of 1989, I noticed that my breaths were short and my strength would run down quickly and I would become fatigued.

When October 1989 came, I once again became sick with the same flu-like symptoms: fever, sweats, diarrhea, short breaths, fatigue, etc. I saw a doctor. He initially thought I had AIDS, treated me rudely, and sent me home after taking a blood sample. When the tests came back negative, he just wrote me a prescription for an antibiotic. I did not get better. I was still working between fifty to sixty hours each week and actually had an outstanding year of work despite my illness, developing a new formula for the company, which is still profiting them millions and solving a quality-control problem on their main product until today. This all happened from December of 1989 to May of 1990.

I was constantly sick from October of 1989 and was slowly getting worse. I told my boss about my health and how I was not getting better, wondering if the paint solvents I was swimming in could have been causing it. He could plainly see day after day that I was sick. In August of 1990, I started seeing a doctor again. They did all sorts of lab tests but could not find anything wrong. I was slowly getting weaker, always feeling fatigue and experiencing diarrhea. I still worked almost every day because there was no person who could replace me. Besides, my work was mental and not physical. Around September 10, 1990, I missed two days of work because of my illness. I saw another doctor, who sent me to the hospital where they took a stool sample.

When I returned to work, I found out that my boss had hired another QC chemist whom I was told to train. One month later, I had my yearly review and was offered a 5 percent wage increase. I felt let down and cheated since I had outperformed two research chemists who were paid nearly twice as much as I was. I spoke up and asked my boss for a higher raise. He agreed with me and asked the company president to increase my wage. I was given an 11 percent raise. One month later, on November 9, 1990, I was let go after having trained my replacement. My boss did not want to fire me, but he had no choice. As I was leaving, I told him that maybe this was a miracle. I’d been sick ever since I’d begun working there. I was very upset about being treated like a dog by a company that I gave two years of my life to and for whom I performed outstandingly well. The credit card printing formula I developed for them is still their number one profit-making product to this day. However, at the same time, I felt a great sense of relief and hope from thinking that my health would come back to me after getting out of those heavy paint fumes for a month or two.

Unfortunately, the opposite was about to happen.

I continued to have flu-like symptoms: fevers, nausea, headaches, chronic fatigue, and consistent diarrhea every day. After about two months of continuously deteriorating health, I saw my doctor again. I told him about all my unusual symptoms: inability to tolerate any alcohol, not being able to exercise or work without getting sicker a day or two later, feverish sweats, and consistent diarrhea. My doctor retested my blood and urine but didn’t find out anything. So instead of admitting that he did not know what was wrong with me, he tried telling me that I was manic-depressive and that I should see a psychiatrist.

I was very insulted and told him, Yes, I am very depressed. Wouldn’t you be depressed after being sick for two and a half years?

But the sickness had caused my depression. I was sick long before I lost my job. I walked out, once again with no answer or help of any kind. This same thing happened to me again around August of 1991. A doctor once again tried to tell me that I was manic-depressive. Not only was my health continuing to diminish but all of my family and friends were so tired of me being depressed and sick that they had turned against me. They were trying to tell me that the doctors were right and that I needed to see a shrink. Well, all of my friends but one. Troy, my best friend and a true, solid Christian, knew my integrity and guided me to the Lord. I sought God wholeheartedly, did not see another doctor, and just studied God’s Word day after day, hour after hour, from about September of 1991 on.

During the last eight or nine months of my sickness, I had five incredible dreams or events that took place while I was attempting to go to sleep or when I was just waking up. During these five dreams, I was always aware of both dimensions: the dream and reality. I would come out of the dream fully awake and remember the exact details of what happened. I never had dreams this real before, and I have never had any like these five since. I will go into detail about these dreams later.

As time went on, my condition kept getting worse. Little by little, my health deteriorated. I kept studying the Bible and praying. Day after day, I felt fatigued and always had diarrhea. I would even pray while sitting on the toilet, asking God if this was ever going to end. I prayed over and over, not really knowing if anybody was listening. Still, nothing happened. I just kept getting sicker. I would get frustrated with praying and started doubting God. I wondered if anybody cared. People I thought were my friends turned against me. They called me an AIDS victim and pushed me around. I was spat upon, beat on, and had money taken from me by people who could not have done this to me if I had not been sick. I was so humiliated, depressed, and ill that I started wondering if I’d be better off dead.

Then when I thought things couldn’t get worse, it happened. My girlfriend-wife (we’d been together long enough that we were essentially married despite never making if official) of six years and three kids started staying out all night, not coming home until six or seven in the morning. This happened four or five times between November of 1991 and January of 1992. I knew she was having an affair with a man down the road. I was devastated. Nobody on earth cared for me. Nobody showed me mercy or sympathy. All I heard was Maybe if you would stop talking about being sick, you wouldn’t be sick.

Meanwhile, I continued praying and reading God’s Word, but my illness was overtaking me. I felt like I had a giant parasite or gangrene in my bowels. I would have days where I couldn’t catch my breath, a feeling of almost drowning for the whole day.

Around January 10, 1992, my best and only true friend, Troy, called me and told me that the Lord had told him that He was going to heal me. I was amazed and excited, yet still that old doubt crept in. I continued to seek God through prayer. Two weeks went by, and still my condition did not improve. I was in bed or on the couch most of the time. My girlfriend-wife was sneaking out, getting drunk, and leaving me home to babysit or die. Troy called again and told me to pray without doubt and Jesus would heal me. I told him if the Lord was going to heal me, I sure wish He’d hurry up. I just didn’t know whether to believe Troy or not.

A few days later, my girlfriend-wife was down the road drinking again. The kids were in school, and I was done! I had nothing to live for. I was just suffering, and I did not want any more of that. I dressed up warm and went for a snowmobile ride up to the top of Tower Hill. I could hardly drive the snowmobile because I was so fatigued and weak. On top of Tower Hill, I got down on my knees beside my snowmobile and cried out to God. I prayed in Jesus’s name to die or be healed. I did not hold back anything. There was no doubt this time because I truly had no desire to live anymore. I went back home and just read the Bible, preparing myself to meet my Maker. I didn’t argue with or worry about what my girlfriend was doing. I just prayed and studied God’s Word.

My condition continued to worsen. I was nauseated, pale white, had fever flashes, blackouts, short breaths, and constant diarrhea. Worst of all, nobody seemed to care about or even really believe me. No mercy or sympathy from any family member. I just wanted to die, and there were a few nights when I really wondered if I was going to be alive come morning. My sister called me and suggested that I go to Ferguson Hospital in Grand Rapids. She informed me that this hospital was nationally recognized for treating people with colon problems. I called for an appointment to have a colonoscopy, hoping this medical staff might detect what was wrong. I thought maybe I had some strange parasite from Los Angeles or cancer or something that they may notice. I figured there had to be something he could see in my intestines since I had diarrhea every day of my life for over three years. I remember my appointment was at 2:30 p.m. on the thirteenth of February 1992. I don’t really know why, but I just couldn’t wait for that day to come.

Maybe I’m dragging this part out a little bit, but I was so sick that I really didn’t know if I was going to make it to the next day. I went down to my sister on the twelfth and stayed there overnight. She called up from her basement and asked me to bring Kristy, my two-year-old niece, down to her. I carried Kristy downstairs to my sister. I was breathing hard, sweating, and had to sit down and catch my breath.

Terri, my sister, looked at me, eyes opened wide, and said, My God, you really are sick!

It’s about time you noticed, I replied.

I went to Ferguson Hospital the next day around 2:00 p.m. I went up to the information desk and asked, Where do I go to see Dr. Tolbert?

The clerk pointed out her window and said to go to the office on the second floor of the building across the street or go up the stairs to the second floor and walk across the skywalk.

I walked away from the information desk, thinking to myself, I guess I’ll walk across the road.

Suddenly, this lady got up from a couch in the waiting lounge and rapidly approached me. She said that she had to go to the other building also. Then she quickly stated, I have to go wherever you go. Did the clerk say something about a skywalk?

I looked at her in a state of shock and said, I’ve never used the skywalk either, but obviously you just go up the stairwell to the next floor and turn to the left.

I’ll just follow you, she said.

So I started up the stairwell. I knew something strange was going on. I could sense it. When I entered the hallway on the second floor, there was about twelve feet before the door that sealed the skywalk. This stranger whom I’d never seen before quickly walked around me and put her back up against the skywalk door.

She spoke. I have to tell you something. I’m not here to see a doctor at all. I’m here to tell you that the Lord is going to heal you and that these doctors can’t help you because they do not understand what’s wrong with you. The Lord does, and Jesus is going to heal you (Isa. 41:10–11).

Right then I looked up and thought, My God, there really is a Father who cares.

At that moment I felt heat, love, joy, and energy go through my body from my head to my knees. I was on