A Witness of Him

Last time I wrote I said I would speak of stories Joseph had told me. I’m working on that post, it’s taking longer than expected – but is forthcoming. I have never written it word for word, and that takes my time and patience.

I have every intention of posting every other day, or every two days (that’s my goal). It has been 6 days this time. Since I last wrote, life has played its games and I have been bombarded with thoughts of, “But what if? That can’t be right?” and, “Should I really?” Whether it was my own concerns surfacing or the tactics of Satan, it really doesn’t matter; it was simply noise. So today when I had a quiet moment to pray about it I asked questions regarding some of that noise and if there was something I am “supposed” to write that I am not. Almost immediately I felt peace and the quiet yet audible answer, “Just write.”

So: Abcdefghij…just kidding.

In my story regarding my witness that God is sending His angels to earth in preparation for the return of His Son, I have so many seemingly separate chapters I want to share and it can be hard to pick just one. But I believe I have picked one which goes along with my intent to first show several different ways I have interacted with heaven, before going back to the chronological narrative. The one I have picked for today was inspired by Memorial Day yesterday and the reminder of a deceased cousin.

Let’s talk about miracles. Miracles as defined by the Oxford Dictionary are:

“A surprising and welcome event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws and is therefore considered to be the work of divine agency.”

So in other words, miracles are something that defy our understanding of how things work. I have experienced them, wished for others to experience them, and wish to share one of those experiences with you as well as the thoughts and feelings I had experiencing it, hopefully bringing the Biblical into the real world through my own narrative. As well, I will share a vision I was lucky to experience.

In my home, in the beginning of these experiences, angels would generally come in the middle of the night, first by gentle impression that they wanted to speak. During these times I would be taught various things, honestly, a lot of which I believe I can share (which now seems like it was always the purpose). The night I want to tell you about however, I will only share generals as the specifics are too personal. I am sharing not due to what I was taught that night, but rather what I witnessed that night and the following morning.

This began on a Sunday. I have 5 sons, the one I keep referring to was 14 when these experiences began, and it is him I will continue referring to when I say “my son” unless I specifically clarify another of my sons (I may also refer to him at times by name, which is, “Jonah”). This Sunday was several months into these experiences. My son had stayed home from church this day because he had been sick. All afternoon he kept getting sicker and sicker, laying on the couch pale as a ghost, cracked lips, unable to eat or drink, or barely move. We had considered running him into the instacare or even emergency room, but we had all just gotten over the stomach flu and that seemed to be what it was (for which the hospital can do little). His fever wasn’t quite high enough to be dangerous, even though it was high, and he hadn’t quite gone long enough without eating or drinking to be too worried. I did however stay up with him after everyone else had gone to bed to make sure he didn’t get worse. I don’t remember how much time passed but it was late into the night when an angel again came to our home to teach both he and me. I wasn’t sure how it would be possible with him so sick, but he said he wanted to try so he got up from the couch he had been laying on in our family room and went and threw himself on the floor of our living room where we had become used to these experiences taking place (no particular reason that I know of, simply more private – though that seems completely unnecessary in retrospect). We began with a prayer and asked if it was truly Father’s will that we speak with His Messengers that the Spirit would be present and His will would be communicated. Within a few minutes we were speaking with an angel, the name of which I don’t believe would be recognized. There were some things stated and we were told my son would actually be speaking separately with Joseph Smith, and I would be speaking with another angel that shall not at this point be named. I asked about Jonah’s health and was told that he would be made whole for the experience. I looked at Jonah as I was told this and immediately saw the color return to his face and his cracked, dried, lips become moist and without cracks. I watched this, but I’m human living in 2025 and Disney has well engrained in me the belief that magic only exists in children’s stories. I immediately doubted not what I was looking at (a healthy, happy, son) but the fact that he had just moments before been sick. Could I have been tricked by the lighting? Could I have imagined his cracked lips? Was his apparent shift in comfort and energy the imaginations of a mothers mind? I didn’t have much time to think on these things before they began teaching me, but that is where my mind went first. Because of course if the illogical and impossible happens before your eyes, you are going to try to make it fit in the physical world around you – the tangible, that which you can understand. They weren’t done with miracles, however, and I was soon to see that for which there was no reasonable explanation.

That night I was shown in vision many things, the whole experience took most of the night. There wasn’t a whole lot of sleep that night as I still had 2 toddlers and an infant who woke early, however what I lost Heavenly Father would almost always replenish so I could go about my day as normal (I have a couple stories about replenishment – we’ll get to them). In the morning my healthy son came up and laid on the couch in the living room, dangling his feet over the edge of the couch and talking about the night before. As he spoke I caught sight of one of his feet, right below his ankle. He had a growth on it that had been growing for at least a year. By this point it had to be the size of a quarter dollar, literally, it was big. It had the appearance of a wart, so definitely some sort of build up of cells. Why hadn’t I gotten it removed, or even looked at? Because I’m a ditz. I am, but that’s not actually the reason. I had gone to make an appointment several times and each time it would leave my mind completely, not just as in I would be distracted (always a plausible explanation in my case) but rather the thought was simply gone. I now believe the extra serving of “distracted mom” was actually on purpose, for this experience. Or at least that’s how I’m justifying it (just kidding). Anyway, as he was speaking I again noticed this growth and I nonchalantly said, “It’s too bad when they were healing you they didn’t heal your foot.” (At this point I was still trying to fit what I had witnessed into my own reality – such as maybe he had simply been so excited, he forgot he was sick and thus looked better.) He looked down, agreed, and continued talking. It was not too long until I was again off going about my normal chores and he had gone to do the same. Soon however I heard him yell, “Mom, come here – I want to show you something.” He was sitting on a small couch in our hallway and as I walked towards him he excitedly pulled up his pant leg, as he did so he pointed toward a clean, fresh skinned, ankle/foot. At first I was confused, thinking he must be showing me the other foot – but why was he?

“What’s going on?” Was all I could think to ask.

“Well, when you mentioned my foot, I thought I’d ask if it could be healed since they had said they were healing my whole body, so I went to my room and said a prayer and…well, the Savior came and healed it.”

Silence.

And then I made him show me his other foot just to make sure he wasn’t trying to pull some joke or something. But nope, both feet – clean. The growth was gone and where it had been was obvious because there was fresh, pink, clean, skin in it’s place.

I didn’t witness this miracle, but I witnessed this miracle. Had you seen the blind man Jesus healed in the New Testament before he was healed, and then spoken with him after the healing, I feel you too could say you’d witnessed a miracle, even if you hadn’t been present for the actual healing. That’s how I felt, and feel. It was a growth. Something that looked like a Jurassic wart. Nothing (at least that I knew of) that was life threatening, just something unappealing and most likely uncomfortable. But an obvious physical defect. One that I believe was used to make a Mom who had witnessed a miracle the night before and was yet still questioning, stop the 1000 thoughts and questions running through her brain about how the first healing was possible in this physical world (“Was he faking until that point?”I actually had this thought), a miracle that could be used to calm a busy mind so mom could recognize – no really, God has come, and He is performing miracles. In my home.

He has come. And He has performed miracles.

There was one person I thought of when this happened. He is the reason I thought to write this post. Yesterday we went to the cemetery to see my brother’s grave, and this person’s grave was visible right behind it – because he is my cousin and my brother, who passed before him, was buried near my uncle’s (my cousins father) plot – where my cousin was also later buried. My cousin (Teren) suffered his whole life from spina bifida. For a short time he walked as a child, but he was mostly wheelchair bound. He accomplished great things despite his illness, graduating college and working as a counselor – but he never was able to have the life he desired; i.e. love, a mission, and all that. Despite it, however, he was a light. Always kind, always full of questions about my life, encouraging me to speak while he listened. He was 6 years my junior but we still played as children, and as we grew I always felt happy when catching up with him. He seemed to be the one family member that didn’t treat me differently for fairytales being told about me (which the extent and depravity of was largely unknown to me up to the last time I saw him). So when I saw Christ (which I did), when I first spoke to Him (which I did), and then when I witnessed a healing (no matter how simple), it was Teren I thought of and turned to each time. Teren had a love for Christ like few others, and he sought to bear his testimony daily through art and scripture. As these experiences were happening I messaged him several times, once I told him if for any reason I asked him to come to my home – to please come, because I would be seeking to introduce him to Someone he already knew, His eldest Brother – Jesus Christ.

At the point of this healing I had seen and spoken with the Savior on a few occasions, but He didn’t knock on my front door and come in and sit down in the home teaching chairs (metaphorically, I don’t have any). But I honestly expected we would get to that point (or a more sacred version of it), and I just knew that when we did – no matter when that was, day or night, I would want to call my cousin to come up so the Savior could lay His hands upon Him. I wanted so badly for my pure hearted cousin to live the life he so desired. I had no idea that Teren wouldn’t be living when (and if) that point came.

One day in the summer of 2022 I was going about my day to day, specifically I was cleaning dust bunnies and dog hair off the floor in my room, and I felt the Holy Ghost hit me with perfect clarity. It was so strong that I knelt on the floor where I was cleaning; what I felt, impressions without words – broke my heart. He told me Teren would not be healed in my home. The thought didn’t even cross my mind that maybe there wouldn’t be an opportunity to heal Teren – I immediately knew that if that opportunity came, Teren wouldn’t be there to be a part of it. I knelt on the floor like someone had punched my gut, it was a feeling of complete heartache. I didn’t know at that point he had already passed.

Later that same afternoon a friend of Teren’s family called me, and told me the news. He had fallen and hit his head and though he had come to, he had eventually passed. I sat down on my bed after she called to soak it in and pray for his family. If I felt pain, I knew they had to be broken. Immediately as I began to pray it was as if the walls in my room opened and before my physical eyes was a beautiful sunset, with a world of clouds around it. Standing in the clouds was Teren – and just behind him, his Dad. They came to share with me how much they loved his mom, both of them – they both felt gratitude for years of selfless service in both of their behalf’s (my uncle had been very ill for several years before his passing and she had tended to him as she did to Teren – but it was interesting, I could feel from him that it wasn’t just these years he was feeling gratitude for, but rather he felt she had spent her life in his service – which of course, “When we are in the service of our fellow beings…”, and all that [Mosiah 2:17]). Teren had a specific message for me (which I didn’t understand until over a year following, when I failed at it). I knew, when I saw him, that he was off to join the Lord in the preparing for His second coming. I knew this as clearly as I could see him standing before me.

I don’t feel deserving of any of my experiences, but that one especially. I am not close to my family, I was not the closest to Teren, really we were friendly when we ran into one another and that was it. I had only started messaging him when these experiences began because I felt I couldn’t not tell him – I so badly wanted him to experience what I was experiencing – or experience it in my place. But regardless of how insignificant I am and was in his life – this is one experience that I have deep gratitude for. It was beautiful, it was comforting, and through it I hoped at the time, that I could bring comfort. Death is essentially when something loses the ability to move, and in it’s inactivity may begin to decompose. We all know this, we don’t have to believe – we know. And yet death is only half of what happens when someone leaves our mortal world (a temporary set up for a necessary test), the other half is the part we struggle to believe because we cannot see it, it is the part where we actually continue living, where we step into a life we knew before this one, and keep going. It is simply the separation of the spirit (the form given our intelligence from our first Mother and Father) from its tabernacle of clay. It’s actually a return to life, a life where you will have a much broader perspective of the Savior’s plan (not complete yet, it’s still a part of the test). I have been lucky enough to see and experience that life through many different experiences the Lord has seen fit to send me (for His purposes). I am a witness, these words are what is. I’ve also gone off on a bit of a tangent, such was not my intention – I apologize.

Yesterday that was what was on my mind. Miracles. Miracles that I had witnessed, miracles that I wished for, and miracles that will never come to be. Those miracles are what brought about this post.

I have experienced more miracles, some I can and will share. I have wished for miracles that are out of my control, and plead with the Lord to do as He had done in my home, in others. But I never forget that I can make that plea because I have first experienced His miracles. He is in charge, and I absolutely know that even though I may not understand all things, why some thing’s that seem sensible just haven’t come to be – I know He does, and I trust Him. My faith was recently tested regarding these things over my own mother. She has suffered from severe health decline since before these experiences began, I have not yet spoken with her about them as I once would have. I recently received news of her imminent death, and I had a hard few days. Like any girl, I have never stopped needing my mother (even in the moments I didn’t know it). If I were to say I didn’t plead, “Why, Lord?!” In her behalf, I would be blatantly lying. I did plead. I have wept, and I have plead. And I was eventually reminded, not my will, but His. In the moment I made that my prayer – namely, “Father, Thy will be done,” peace filled me. The peace didn’t replace the pain, but it was like a gentle companion, that has lifted the weight of it.

Jesus Christ is my creator, my miracle worker, my friend, my brother, and most of all at times when the impossible is made possible – He is my God. I know Him. I love Him. I am His witness. To witness of His glory, is the purpose of every word I write. Never mistake my witness of miracles, for the miracle worker Himself. Never mistake my words of witness for words of wisdom, truly I am not wise (far from it), He is the teacher – I am the student, and one of His witnesses. If you learn anything from my words, let it be only from your communication with Him. Remember, pray before, after, and while reading my words. I have experienced what I have only for His purposes, and only He can say what those are.

This is my witness, and it is now and forever a witness of things as they were and are. It, is true.

Until next time,

Jennica (or, mom)