Jesus: I Speak to You Again
Chapter 12
“My Conversations” with the Father
This experience was new and strange to me. I didn’t fully understand how those bright, enlightening thoughts came to me. Where did they come from? In time, I began to believe they must be from the Father. When I asked Him a question, and after a while a thought came that helped me understand what I hadn’t before, I attributed that clarity to the Father. I started to tell myself that the Father was responding to me in this way.
Gradually, I began calling these moments “My conversations with the Father.” I couldn’t speak of them to anyone, not even my family, for fear they would think I had lost my senses. But privately, I felt a wonderful sense of peace after these “conversations.” It became my secret—something shared only between “My beloved Father” and me.
As I delved deeper into these moments, which even I couldn’t fully explain, I started to feel that this kind of connection with the Father was something that all people needed. These conversations began to affect me more and more from within, but in a positive way. I noticed a change in myself—I was becoming less quick to anger, more patient. In the past, I had often spoken boldly, hurting others simply because I was determined to express my views. But as time went on, I began to realize that what I understood and felt wasn’t shared in the same way by my friends or by others. They didn’t want to listen to the truths I had found because they were frightened by them.
I started to understand that I couldn’t always speak so openly. I needed to be more thoughtful about how I shared what I knew, so as to avoid arousing fear and opposition. Slowly, I was learning how to deal with people, even with my parents, who, while not as fierce in their resistance as others, still didn’t fully accept my views.
What always saved me was my sincerity. Most people could see that I wasn’t seeking any personal gain. I was simply sharing what I believed, and they could forgive me for the things I said that unsettled them. My questions frightened them, not because they were rude or offensive, but because they didn’t have answers. For instance, when I asked my father why there was lightning and thunder, he admitted he didn’t know. He explained that the Jews weren’t taught such things.
At the time, I was only eight years old, and I had thought my father knew everything. It was shocking to realize he didn’t. His authority faltered in my eyes. Once again, I turned inward, bringing the matter into my private reflections, and soon, as I mentioned before, those reflections evolved into what I called “my conversations with the Father on high.”
These conversations became my refuge, a place where I could seek understanding beyond the limitations of those around me. It was here, in these quiet moments, that I felt the Father’s presence, guiding me and reassuring me.