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Only my faith in God sustained me and gave me the courage to step over the threshold and into a new world.
    Tea was a small affair, just the Denhams, two dogs, a cat, and me. At first they explained that they were new to the area and had been trying, quite successfully, it seemed, to organize a group of people, who met every Friday evening, to discuss the paranormal. I have since learned that “paranormal” covers an enormous scope, including alternative healing. Irene, as I was asked to call her, had managed to persuade people, like John the tarot card reader from the night before, to come to the group and give a talk on their given subject.
    She informed me that for next Friday's meeting they were expecting a practicing healer from Doncaster, South Yorkshire, in the north of England. It seemed quite natural that the conversation should then turn toward spiritualism, and before I knew it I was asking questions, and more questions. My curiosity was overcoming my fear, and my thirst for knowledge had begun.
    So many things were said on that fateful Saturday afternoon, and so many fears were washed away. My mind was by no means clear, but because I had finally been able to talk to people who really seemed able to understand and who explained some of my experiences, the cobwebs began to blow away.
    It was decided that every Wednesday evening Paul, Irene, and I would meet so that I could develop my psychic abilities.
    I had approached this suggestion with extreme caution and was not at all sure that I wanted to become more involved in that way. Talking about the paranormal and reading about it can be fascinating, but to put yourself directly in the firing line, to experience firsthand on a one-to-one basis communication with “ghosts” or “dead people,” is definitely something else again. The longer I spoke with Paul and Irene, the more my confidence in them grew. It was confidence in myself that was lacking. However, my appetite had been whetted, and I felt that I must give it a try.
    The following Wednesday evening at seven-thirty I arrived once more at the little white cottage in the middle of nowhere. This was to become a familiar pattern over the next few months, and the cottage was to become, for a time, almost my second home.
    Nothing much happened at this, my first attempt at developing my gift. First Paul said a prayer, asking God for His help, guidance, and protection. This call for protection was all-important to me, and I found it very comforting. Nevertheless my own silent prayer, I remember, was a fervent request to God for protection against all evil. Especially, I thought, oh yes, especially, against any little demons that might be lurking unseen in any of the dark corners of that small, quiet room where the three of us sat.
    My faith in God, and in His ability to know better than I did about what was good and what represented evil, enabled me that night to sit with confidence. Shaky confidence, I must add, as my nerves were taut and I was very much on edge.
    I prayed hard that night, and I have prayed hard ever since, for guidance and the strength to do God's will.
    There are many people who refer to mediums as the devil's instruments and accuse us of doing the devil's work. These same people also speak of the love of Christ and of the love we must have for our fellow man. The love of God is something that all so-called religious people talk freely about.
    Now, as I am not acquainted with the devil—in fact, not even on speaking terms with him (or her)—it would be wrong of me to try to describe what kind of work he might have in mind, either for me or for any other medium.
    Perhaps because of my early involvement with the church, I have grown up with God, and because there has always been a regular and sincere form of communication between us, a strong bond has been formed. Because my love for Him is strong and my earnest desire is to do His will, the only work that I have done, or will ever do, is in