God Laid His Hand on Me

By Mark Heim

After you read my book, you can see I am an ordinary man. For some reason, God wanted me to live. You can read all the things that happened and didn't happen. They can't be explained away by science, medicine, physics, the law of averages, or luck. There clearly is only one way to explain it: God laid his hand on me and protected me and healed me, and finally I got the message that I should tell the world to open your eyes. He didn't die two thousand years ago, and that's it. The media never dwell on the positive things every day. Just start looking for yourself. He is still here.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9781639032549

Book preview

cover.jpg

God Laid His Hand on Me

Mark Heim

ISBN 978-1-63903-253-2 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63903-254-9 (digital)

Copyright © 2022 by Mark Heim

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Preface

My Early Life

The Haven aka My Grandparents' Farm

Where God Laid His Hand on Me the First Time

The Monster My Dad Was

Life at the Tavern

God or My Guardian Angels Were on 24-7

The Comedians

My Thing for Bullies

My Other Relatives Who Helped Fill In

They Say Football Is a Game of Inches

A Few Odd Stories

The End of the Farm and Another Miracle

Some Weird Odds and Ends

What We Each Have Inside Us That We Don't See

The Women in My Life

Getting Hit by the Car

Two More Miracles

Finally Figuring Out What His Plan Is for Me

All It Takes for Evil to Thrive Is for Good Men to Do Nothing

My Continued Mission

My Reflections After Bringing This to You

Endnote

About the Author

Preface

This book is not about the Bible. I maybe have two quotes from the Bible. This book is about how God is real and here with us every day. I offer proof that cannot be explained away by science or physics, medicine, or the law of averages. I myself read the Bible and try my best to live accordingly. After you read this and if you want to study the Bible, I suggest you start with John in the New Testament. This is where I started. It is like a roadmap to follow. If you bought or read my book, I want to thank you. I intend to use the proceeds to the best of my ability and help people in need. Spiritually and financially, I hope whatever I do pleases the Lord. Again, thank you, and I hope you enjoy what I wrote and that it helps, you know. You will see my life here and see that if God can love me and help me this much, maybe you can see where it could be you instead of me just as easily, that God is really still here with us and he cares about you just as much as me.

I can tell you now that Satan must be trying his best to stop me from this. I will have to add two more miracles to my book. He has attacked me and my children. I am imperfect. People will say I am not a true Christian because God made me both a lamb and a lion. I have not had to use the lion, but he put it there for some reason as of yet unknown to me. I am not afraid of evil and will take it on wherever it comes in contact with me. I can only assume that I am what I am because he made me this way. Those who want to judge, you are in the wrong. I only have one judge over me, and I know I am doing what he wants of me. I read when I was maybe in about seventh grade, All it takes for evil to thrive is for good men to do nothing. This struck me and stuck with me to this day. I will do what I can!

Pastor Adam Jackson from my church spoke of building bridges today at service. I hope my book will be that bridge between you and Jesus. I just felt I had to step forward, that I had to show you he is still here. He performs miracles every day and doesn't get the credit that is his, for doing them. The media doesn't like the positive. Do they ever lead with a good story about a miracle or a happy ending? If they do, when I used to waste time watching their propaganda, it was always negative news, sometimes making it more negative than it really is. Maybe people would rather hear about something nice and feel better about the world. I doubt that unless we all turn them off, they would ever get the message that we don't like what it is they are selling us every day and night.

You know, a lot of people think God being here is ancient history, that it is no longer relevant. This is pushed on us today. If you look all through history, you can see he has always been here. He has worked miracles all through time, and I can only point out what he keeps doing for me. I have had an amazing life full of miracles. The fact that I am here to write this at all, you will see, is a miracle on its own.

I am going to tell my story from the start and will include things as I think of them that have no bearing maybe on miracles but still add some amusement. An important thing to me was when I watched a movie called It's a Wonderful Life. I have tried to help people all through my life and be like George Bailey, the main character. If you ever saw this movie, it is Hollywood, but this guy is how Christ would want us to be. What I mean by pure Hollywood is that they have a script that sells in good always beats evil, and I wish this were true always and every day as it would mean Christians are pushing evil back and shrinking it. Hollywood sells dreams with smoke and mirrors, and I really wish they would put their might in with us to change how we see things. Every day, the media is selling us what they want us to see and believe. I have no explanation for the things that have happened to me, and I don't think anyone can tell you why things happen or do not happen. I feel like when I see how things happen, I think, Are we chess pieces where the devil and God are making moves to thwart each other? How can an accident be about to happen and then God takes a hand in it and changes the outcome? The next accident happens, and he doesn't change it. I can only tell what I have seen and where I have been. I say I have been forged by the fire. I am hardened, and I can take whatever life throws at me. Yet I am soft as mush inside. I feel much more for someone else's trouble than my own.

I was inspired to do this sitting in church. Pastor Ryan Groshek thanked everyone for coming to services, even those who were just checking it out. So I am writing this for you who are checking it out or maybe for some others who are wondering if the media is right, that there is no God.

I also think if any of you have doubts or have friends who doubt that the miracles stopped after Jesus's death and execution, you read this and open your eyes and mind to the world around us, and you can see what is really happening.

I also need to thank Pastor Adam Jackson as he prayed over me. I was having a really hard time sleeping at night, dragging this all back to the surface. Thank you and God, for I am at peace. I read a book a few weeks ago, and a young Italian girl in that book said we all have wounds and scars on our soul, and until we tell someone about them, we don't heal. This was said by her only a few months before she was shot by a mob as a Nazi collaborator because she worked as a maid for a woman who was. Just as the war was ending in Italy in 1944. So I am telling you about my life and will fill in the miracles as they happened to me as closely as I can as they happened in my life as it went. The Italian girl was right. I feel at peace.

I also learned something else about myself. I have not taken very good care of myself because I deep down didn't think I was worth the effort. I am changing that today. I have people who love me. As hard as it is for me to understand this, it's true. After you read this, you will know that I am the luckiest guy alive. I have three children who love me dearly. My youngest called me this summer to go down to the basement and begged me to because of the storm we were having. I did go down, but I turned around and came right back up. All the way up and down my road and a hundred feet from my yard, trees were going down, and roofs were blown off. I trusted God to protect me, and my property didn't even have a broken branch. I was amazed at the seventy- to ninety-mile-per-hour winds and was glad I was not outside to face it like the poor animals. I wonder, how did the birds survive? I have the promise of a really great life, and I have friends who love me to the point they had tears when they thought I was going to die. I will borrow a phrase from It's a Wonderful Life, No man is a failure who has friends. Think about it. Even though it is Hollywood, it is a true statement. I know I would not trade the love in my life for any amount of money there is or for any position of power or influence. The love of God and his blessings to me are more than enough for anyone. Well, they should be, but I see people every day who can't have enough money. They don't even enjoy spending it; they just really like piling it up. This is called idolatry. They could really enjoy their lives more if they would just use what they are hoarding to help people in need. It really just amazes me how some people are focused on one thing to the detriment of everything else in their lives. I just can't imagine how hollow it must be inside to focus on wealth or sex or power and not care about anything else. The same for people in power. You look at the crooked deals they will do and what they will turn a blind eye to, all to achieve power and position. The good news is that at least we only have to put up with them for a short time. In the hereafter, we will be free of such beings for us Christians. Well, those of us who follow Jesus will be. The other will be happy to be led by them still. I have much left to do, yet I wasted so much of my time here thinking I was worthless and not seeing any value in me being here. I try every day to make someone else's life better in even a small way. This is what I have on my office wall, and I ask you to read it and maybe adjust your life to this: We can all help make big changes in this world. Just do one little thing every day. Smile and say good morning to someone you do not know. Buy a kid an ice cream. Buy someone a meal. Let someone ahead of you in line. Hold the door for someone. Use your imagination. If we all start doing these little things, others will follow, and our little things can make big changes. It will feel really good, and I am sure God would be pleased with our behavior.

Chapter 1

My Early Life

I had no idea of what the world was really like outside of my immediate family. I was raised in the Midwest; and I think, at least in my mind, everyone from my era kind of had the same way of life, except if you were in a big city and would have no idea about things on the farm. I remember when it was just me and my mom watching TV. I remember one program, Have Gun Will Travel, which may be just because of the black knight they always showed on his holster and the kooky music. I remember it was always my bedtime when it came on, but I begged to watch it. We would lay on the couch together and watch it. Sometimes, I fell asleep and woke up in bed in the morning. I also remember in The Flintstones, Fred getting locked out and screaming Wilma! after he put out the cat.

When I was really young, my dad didn't seem to be around very much (he was working). I don't remember it, but my brother Mike was born fifteen months after me. All I remember is one time my mom was packing her bag and getting ready to go to the hospital and I had to stay at my grandparents' house (I think it had to be for Dennis's birth). I would have been two and a half. My mom's parents had a farm, which is where I went until Mike and Dennis were both brought home from the hospital; however, I will tell some stories about that later. I remember Dennis was born, Mom being pregnant with him and holding him for the first time when he came home from the hospital.

My dad had a service station, and we rented a house next door. I have seen pictures of me playing on the floor, but this house is not something I remember. These were the good days yet. The days in which we were all small and didn't seem to get into trouble, as far as I have any memory of.

I was three years old when I got to go to Florida with my dad and his driver, Myron Kaster, Mike, as he was called. He was a tall slim man with dark curly hair who always seemed to have a ready smile on his face. He was truly a great guy. He kept that same kind smile, even when he knew he had kidney cancer and was going to die later on in life.

Maybe it was because my mom had her hands full with three little boys—the last one, Dennis, had just been born—that I got to make this trip. On this trip, I remember Myron took really good care of me. I rode in the truck, and they took me to this alligator farm where I got a stuffed gator that was about twenty-four inches long. I had this same gator for most of my life. The gator farm had pens and small ponds each stuffed full of live gators. When we left there, we went to an orange grove where they were picking oranges. Myron had to coax me to pick one off the tree. Somewhere, there is a picture of me and Myron and me picking one. Down in Florida, the oranges look like grapefruit until they get picked, and then they dye them orange. I also got to see the oranges tumbling down the belt, where they fell through various holes depending on their size (which is how they sized them back then). They might still size them this way.

Over the years, I did get to bring the gator to school a few times to show the other kids what a real gator looked like. I think one of my kids broke his tail open, and the stuffing came out. That was when I finally decided to part ways with him. Wow, I think that would be forty-plus years.

I want to insert something right here. Myron Kaster was a really nice guy whom I liked my whole life. Myron died from kidney cancer. I would just like to say to him, Myron, wherever you are, I will never forget you and the kindness you showed me on that trip.

Here is another example of how any of us can do such a small thing and make such a huge impact on life and not even think about how we made a difference. I try to be that person who makes that lasting impression. Just look here. This is fifty-five years ago, and I remember him fondly. Do I remember other people who did nothing or were mean? I might remember the mean ones if I tried, but I like to bury the bad things, or it takes away from me being sunny and full of life every day that I can.

I was lucky enough to get to meet Mike again later in my life when he had a farm in my territory while I was an agent for ABS (American Breeders Service). We sold bull semen mostly from Holstein bulls because they were like 95 percent of the breed of cows in Wisconsin at that time. The cows were artificially inseminated. Even now, I still get sad when I think about him being gone. I go past his farm still but never stop in. I don't know if his family still owns it, but now I might just stop by and see. It is always so busy on a farm they might not have time for me, and I am sure they don't remember me. If they are there, it will be a nice gesture that they know Mike is not forgotten.

There seems there are two ways to be remembered in this world: be a really nice person or be a really mean bastard, and people will remember you for that reason and talk about you after you go. How would you like to be remembered? You know, I just witnessed my dad in action again. He is really good at putting on the dog and pony show. If you are not aware of this phrase, these are the small acts at the circus before the main act. People think he is a really great guy, but they have no idea. How many others whom we do not know can play this little show for us and we think we know them? Look a little deeper. Buying drinks and laughing and pretending to be what you are not is an easy thing to do. It is just a short few hours of their time when you compare it to how they perform day in and day out. That is the big picture as they say. Nobody even remotely has a reason to think you are not what you are showing. When the show is not being performed for others, that is the time when you really see who they are if you care to watch. Does he do anything for others to atone for his behavior? Does it really bother them at all that they seem to have nothing inside to give to anyone? Just the show so you don't suspect them. Look at how charming many serial killers were or how a rapist could charm their victims before they met the fate they intended for them. Maybe it was the priest being nice to you or another molester being nice just to get to what they want from you. I give of myself and expect nothing in return, and I am not alone. We live with such people every day, and we maybe take for granted what we see or maybe don't recognize that we are just seeing the dog and pony show.

Now my dad sent out mixed signals. He always seemed angry, or at least that is how it seemed to me as a small boy. He could never just simply be nice to us. We went to relatives to play cards and socialize while I was a kid, and I don't know about the others, but I thought if I could at least talk to them, they might be friendly. I never really got to talk to them because my dad would always cut me off. Little boys are to be seen and not heard, was his mindset. I would have to just stand, watch, and be happy when they needed another beer so I could finally be useful. There were few times when he came home and gave us horsey rides. The three of us would get excited because he was gone driving the truck for maybe a week, and when you're that young, a week seems like a month. We were all glad to see him home. I can't imagine how great I would feel to have my children come and give me a welcome home like that every time.

Then something in him changed. There must have been a point in time where he quit the rides and, instead, turned to something else. This is the point in time that I remember the most. Instead, when he came home, he would crack his belt, and we would run in terror from him. It's a sick thing to think that he seemed to get great pleasure in this.

From that first time with the belt, whenever we heard he was home, the three of us would run and go hide with the horror that it was to happen again. It really was like he wanted to be left alone when he got home, and he sure figured out how to do it. I remember leaving little Dennis struggling to run behind us while he was still in diapers and just barely walking. At that point, I was about four, and even just remembering it makes me sick. Why would anyone want to trade your children being happy to see you to them running in fear of you? I would feel ashamed if I ever did that to mine.

Most of what I have to dredge to the surface of my memory has been long buried. However, I think it is important to bring these things up to give a better understanding of maybe why God took pity on me. I have no other explanation for it.

So we lived in a new house for a couple of years. I remember my dad and my uncle Bernie and Elmer Zulke laying the red brick and my dad putting up the clothesline poles which he would have to paint later. I think I got to help with that. Really, when you are small, you like to emulate your parents. I can imagine I painted about 5 percent of it and got more paint on me than on the poles.

In this new house, we had a black dog who seemed to have two different moods: nice and mean (mainly to strangers). If there was a stranger, then she would bark and growl like someone was in danger. They say a dog is like its owner, so maybe this is why our dog was like two dogs. Back then there were a lot of door-to-door salesmen. These poor salesmen would pull into the driveway, and that dog would run for their car. They'd look at her and decide the next house would be a better place to go. They wouldn't even try to get out and knock on the door.

I remember one time having to sit in the car for such a long time because Dad went to look at a tavern and took a long time buying it. The car we were in was a yellow-and-white 1956 Chevrolet car. I would crawl up and sleep in the back window. I don't know if it was two- or four-door, but I remember my dad always bought two-door cars, even though he had all of these kids to fit in it.

Well, he made the deal on the tavern, and it came with a drunken old dog: a boxer. A lot of work we had to do with the tavern, my mom did most of it because my dad was still driving the truck. It was like our lives revolved around him. We moved to whatever he decided he wanted to do. We had to move from the new house we just built to an old brick house across the street from the tavern. This house was nothing compared to our last one. It was an old two-story house with big steel grates on the floor for the heat to come up from downstairs. You could see right down into the kitchen and could hear everything that was said in the entire house until you fell asleep. While we lived in this house, my mom's youngest sister, Mary (my godmother), came to live with us; but I will tell you more about her later on.

At the time we owned the tavern, times were changing. After World War II, the fashion was to have huge dances where almost every person, at that time, met their wife. Our tavern showed this exact fashion by having a long bar in front and another almost as big in the back of a big dance hall. But people