Like many, I held preconceived negative notions about those who claimed to see the future, often wondering if their pronouncements stemmed from a genuine gift or a need for validation. Raised in a Christian faith, I believed deeply in free will and the individual responsibility for one’s soul’s journey. The thought of influencing that journey felt like stepping onto sacred ground I wasn’t meant to tread.

My intention was always to serve God, to be a conduit for the healing information He deemed necessary. I firmly believed in the power of choice, the ability to alter our course at any moment. This conviction made me wary of psychics, those who seemed to offer fixed destinies, potentially overshadowing the very freedom we were gifted.

So, despite the intuitive nudges, the glimpses of what was to come, I resisted. When asked if I was psychic or knew one, my answer was always a firm “no.” My healing practice was my focus, a direct line to the Divine for guidance and support.

Then came the day at the old age home. Volunteering alongside other healers, I was simply offering comfort and light. A young woman, an employee there, observed me with an intensity that caught my attention. After a session with one of the residents, she approached me, her eyes filled with a yearning I recognized. “I want some of that,” she said, her voice hushed.

Intrigued, I asked what she meant. “What you did for her,” she clarified. “I want some of that.” I simply asked her why she seemed so unhappy. Hesitantly, she confessed she had a question but was afraid to voice it, especially in that public setting.

As we spoke, an image flashed in my mind: her writing, a sense of joy emanating from the act. “I see you writing something,” I said gently, “and you are happy doing it.” Her eyes widened. She admitted her dream was to be a writer, a path she felt too afraid to pursue. “See?” I smiled. “That wasn’t so difficult.” A shared laugh broke the tension. Emboldened, she asked a few more questions before leaving.

Moments later, another person approached me, then another. Soon, a queue had formed. I entered a state of flow, a deep connection to something beyond myself. Words poured out, addressing their unspoken hurts, offering glimpses of understanding. Time seemed to vanish, faces blurred. When the last person had been seen, I looked around, surprised to find the other healers had already departed. I hadn’t intended to give readings that day, but that’s precisely what unfolded. And strangely, it felt right. If God intended these messages to be shared, who was I to argue?

One evening, my husband, gently asked, “What do you call yourself? What is it that you do? Because you certainly are a ‘psychic’.” My answer came without hesitation: “I am only the voice of God.”

Do I channel? Yes, but I believe I channel the Divine and the angels, God’s messengers. It’s not my place to dictate what people need to hear; the messages arise organically, often not what they want to hear, but what their souls truly need. My initial resistance had created a mental barrier, a refusal to embrace this aspect of my calling.

Then came the night I heard God’s voice, clear and direct, just before sleep claimed me. My first thought was one of apprehension – why would God call? But His message wasn’t about what I was doing, but what I was resisting. How many times, in how many ways, would He need to guide me on this path?

He spoke of prophets, of messengers throughout history, reminding me of the warnings and guidance offered in the Bible. I voiced my concerns, my ingrained beliefs. But I also promised to listen, for how could I refuse the Divine?

The next morning, the memory of the conversation faded with the dawn. Yet, by 10 am, the universe responded with undeniable clarity. One person called specifically seeking a psychic reading, and two others arrived unannounced, insisting God had sent them. They had simply driven, trusting their intuition, and found their way to our healing centre.

The memory of the night before flooded back. Instead of denial or affirmation, I simply asked, “What did you want to know?” In that moment, I realized my struggle had been about my own ego, my own preconceived notions, rather than the Divine’s purpose. I had to step aside and allow the messages to flow.

What I discovered was that it wasn’t the daunting task I had imagined. Accepting my role as a messenger allowed me to share the crucial understanding that our paths are not fixed. Just as in biblical times, messengers were sent to offer warnings and opportunities for change, I could now offer insights while empowering individuals to exercise their free will. If you don’t like the direction you’re heading, you have the power to change course. That is the essence of the gift of free will.

Embracing this aspect of my journey, I even explored tools like tarot cards. Initially distracting, I soon realized I could simply connect with the energy of the card and receive the message intended. However, I felt a deeper resonance with older forms of divination. Studying with African Shamans introduced me to the Ditaola, the bones, which offered a profound and multifaceted way to gain insight. While I still prefer direct channeling, these tools provide a tangible focal point for those seeking clarity.

Ultimately, each session culminates in a space of quiet listening, where the purest messages emerge, often carrying the most profound impact. I do channel messages from those who have passed, for I believe that those who walk with God continue to be His messengers, often deeply invested in the well-being of their loved ones. These connections can bring immense peace. And if a soul is lost or earthbound, I offer guidance towards the light.

It is my deepest prayer that those who seek readings are guided here by the Divine, just as I believe those seeking healing are. The method of arrival is less important than the intention behind the seeking. I don’t offer readings for mere entertainment; it’s about providing the information you need, the answers you seek. While some may believe they come out of curiosity, I often hear stories of prayers answered, of guidance sought before finding their way to me.

I understand the reservations I once held, the belief that such practices should be avoided. But I have come to believe that each soul must follow its own inner guidance, listen to what resonates as the Divine’s request. My journey has been one of unexpected turns, a testament to the power of surrendering to a path that was always meant to be.