Transcendent Light

By Gail Dawson

The author writes about her lifelong battle between good and evil. Ms. Dawson came into the world in 1950 in Bastrop, Louisiana. Early on in her life, while growing up in small–town Texas, Brother Standley informed Gail's parents that their daughter is special and has received God's calling. Gail began performing séances during her adolescence that tore her away from her faith. Ms. Dawson shares an experience from her twenties that provided her with deliverance and brought her back to God. She writes about relying on her faith in God while raising a family and to guide her through her walk in life. This work may appeal to readers who enjoy the spiritual and the paranormal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781644627631

Book preview

Chapter One

Childhood

On June 29, 1950, I was born to Doyle and Thelma Perry Dawson in Bastrop, Louisiana. I guess it was probably as good an era to be born into as one could hope for. At least the war was finally over. I didn’t live through it, but growing up I heard enough to know I was lucky to be born after it ended. That’s not to say my life didn’t have its own seemingly insurmountable struggles. At times I found myself so tired, feeling bent and used over and over like a tree in a wild storm, yet always there standing strong and unwilling to quit.

Before we continue, there’s something you should know about me. Like every good story, mine has a turning point. That crucial point in my life was when I was saved from darkness. But we’ll get to that eventually. What follows is the story of my life. Whether you choose to believe it or not, it’s mine and it’s true to me and to those who lived through it right beside me. We lost some people along the way, but we gained some as well. And I hope that you’ll stay here with me and listen to my story. It may very well end up a turning point in your life too. In 1950, Harry Truman was President and would continue to hold the office for three years. Pius XII, a true lobbyist for peace, was the pope. Pius XII must have truly been a very devout and holy man. Pope Benedict XVI declared him venerable in 2009, which is often a precursor to being canonized a saint.

The music that was born during the fifties portrayed a post-World War II reinvigoration of life. Much of the forties music was beautiful, but it was also very forlorn and sad to me; its big-band melodies echoed World War II and the devastating loss that people all over the world endured. In contrast, the fifties—with happy doo-wop tunes—introduced two new friends: excitement and spunk. Yes, it was indeed a very fortunate time to be born! In 1954, we moved to Paducah Kentucky, and this was the year our family was blessed with the birth of my little brother. On May 7, 1954, George Wesley Dawson was born, and he was to be my only sibling. After Wesley was born, we relocated to Texas. The economy was slowly improving, and life was full of promise in our country. One small sign of this improvement was when, in 1956, my dad had a house built in Groves, Texas.

I was six when we moved into that house on Maple Street. I can see it now, as clear as day. It was a simple wood-paneled house, painted white. There were three windows on the front of the house, each bordered by dark-brown shutters. A lone tree stood in the yard with its bare branches reaching toward the sky. A thin sidewalk stretched from the modest front porch to the ditch at the end of the lot. Then, there was the street itself. If you stood where the grassy front yard met the road, then you would see an empty field directly across from the house. If you walked down to the end of the gravel street, there was a little Baptist Church.

The pastor lived on the opposite end of the street, and our new house was right in the middle of the two. We were Southern Baptist, and though dad wasn’t a churchgoer, Mother was, but she often had to work on Sundays. Mother worked for Southwestern Bell Telephone Company as a telephone operator. It was uncommon in the South in those days for mothers to work, but my dad was a mechanic and a car salesman, so money seemed to always be a topic of discussion in our household. On those Sundays I would take on the responsibility of getting myself and my little brother to church.

We would walk hand in hand down the road to the little Baptist Church where Brother Bill Standley was the pastor. I recall going to the front pew each Sunday morning for the sermon. I would find myself in tears, crying inconsolably all through his sermons. This went on for at least a month, and I recall one Sunday while walking home from the church my little brother was crying, so I asked him, Why are you crying? and he replied, Because you are crying! Brother Standley finally pulled me to the side after his roll call to question why I was consistently crying during the sermons.

I found myself at a loss for words because I had no idea what brought these emotions out in me. I didn’t know why or what I wanted or needed. Then he asked if I wanted to be baptized. Yes, I said as the tears escaped from my eyes and streamed down my cheeks. Yes. Please.

He ended up speaking with my mother and told her he would be defying the rules and traditions of the church, but that he would baptize me. Only now, five other little nine-year-old girls, one of which was his own daughter, also decided that they wanted to be baptized that day as well.

The following Sunday morning, all five of us lined up to be baptized by an incredibly nervous Brother Standley. This event was what caused me to respect and honor Brother Standley. Shortly after my baptism, when I was in the fifth grade, my mother had a nervous breakdown and was admitted to the hospital in Alexander, Louisiana. My little brother and I were sent to live with my paternal grandmother, Ella Dawson, in North Louisiana. All of her grandchildren called her Mamie. Although it was a sad period for my immediate family, I believe it was providential because my brother and I received the attention and love we needed to compensate.

My grandmother and my Uncle Henry lived in a very rural area in North Louisiana called Horseshoe Lake. Uncle Henry was a farmer and raised many different animals. We spent numerous summers with them in the past, so it was an easy transition for me. My brother and I would spend hours fishing for brim and carry our haul back to the house. Mamie would spend the next few hours cooking, and we would all gather around the table in the evening for supper. I learned to saddle and ride a horse and feed the chickens; it was great fun! For the first time in my life, I made straight A’s in school because Uncle Henry would spend time teaching me. Sundays were very special days, and Mamie would cook big meals that we enjoyed eating after we had returned from church.

She always cooked chicken and dumplings, which was one of my favorite meals. This period of my life turned out to be one of the happiest of times. Eventually, Mother was released from the hospital and we returned to Groves, Texas. In 1962 I was twelve going on eighteen—everyone knows how that goes! Those were the days, for sure. I remember the year I turned twelve. Mother let me have my first dance party for my birthday. Our garage at 3020 Maple Street was full of twelve- and thirteen-year-old gals and guys dancing our little hearts out to those old doo-wop tunes. They are songs that still ring in my ears today.