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Below: Google Images This winner gave IT ALL |
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To think that GOD loves me |
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Autobiography Dieter R. Fischer Book 8 |
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Below: Google Images This winner gave IT ALL |
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To think that GOD loves me |
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Autobiography Dieter R. Fischer Book 8 |
THE WINNER GAVE IT ALL GIVEN YOUR ALL - NOW WHAT ? HOME ISBN 0 9577 426 8 1 Book 8 / Ch 5 Written / Published 28/11 - 30/11/09
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| 5. Use two hands!
Amazing timing - again! The day before commencing this chapter, the date was November 27th 09, I was writing my diary. In the background on TV our ABC broadcast the nightly program 'Lateline'. My mind was divided between writing down the day's events and listening to the interview on the screen. A slightly bald-headed gentlemen was being interviewed. I didn't know who he was at first, or followed the subject he was talking about. Suddenly, after his name flashed onto the screen, I recognized it in an instant. Earlier in the day I had been thinking about just that name. My plan was to write about my very first, and only previous, encounter with the gentleman. Seeing him on TV, on the eve of commencing this chapter, confirmed to me, this was meant to be so. Later in the chapter you will read about him. For the moment, all I say, he links to Barack Obama. A further twist of precise timing also involved the US President. After uploading the previous chapter, at 11.25 PM on 16 Nov. 09, I retired to bed. (The new chapter includes the photo of a Brisbane business name, where I saw code TAO). Before falling asleep I switched on the radio to listen to the latest news. One major news item was about Mr. TAO, the President of China, holding a dinner party at that very same hour. President Obama was also present at that party. Long way to go for a dinner party. But then - the two leaders have something in common - both surnames include the letters AO - replace each with AN to create - Batman! In a moment we come to the gentleman mentioned above - Obama's Australian Superman. A few further comments, if I may, regarding the previous chapter. The hot spring weather, around the time of the previous writing, got even hotter. The temperature three days later reached 43 degrees! Maybe I should not have shown the two T-shirts? Each features the number 43?
Another number's incident I failed to mention in Chapter 4. I had written that I surfed across a real estate agent in Queensland and seen numbers similar to our phone number. On the fire-lighter I had found on 15.11, pictured with the bike shirt, are the same numbers - 7033 together with our house No. 24. How it all links I do not know, but the numbers stack up. - - - - - - - (Back to Brisbane, using two legs) Despite carrying my camping gear on my bicycle I decided to stay in the newly opened YHA hostel in Brisbane. It was an excellent choice. The place was very well organized, everything had been thought off, even drying racks for tea towels. All was spotlessly clean. While cooking noodles for dinner, or eating my oats at breakfast time, I always heard German being spoken; occasionally even my Southern German dialect. One of the pleasures, after the evening meal, was to sit on the elevated outdoor eating area and enjoy the views across Brisbane and it's beautiful river, while reading my book or exchanging stories with fellow travellers from faraway places. The next morning, just down the road on the corner Upper Roma / Countess Streets I noticed a potential dangerous hazard - a round hole. Obviously a steel cover had been removed; but nothing erected to secure the hole. My sense of civil duty urged me to report it to the authorities, which I did. But there was another trigger, one which registered as soon as I had seen the hole:
I was on my way to the city anyway, so I called into the City Hall to report the danger. A young man on duty immediately directed me to a telephone and asked me to ring .... and make my report, which I did. All went so fast, so smooth, I felt it had all been rehearsed! On leaving I noticed that young man's name tag - CAL (More name tag stories later).
- - - - - - -
Brisbane - Queen Street Artwork
Statue of sitting nude, Brisbane, Queen Street.
My next stop was Brisbane's Queen Street, just north of the Shopping Mall. Unlike the year before, I felt I should not try to make direct contact with Mr. Liddy's brother. Instead I simply stood near where I had been before, near the bronze statue shown above, and quietly prayed for that man and his brother. People were walking in all directions; to and from the post office, or catching a taxi at the rank, right there. I noted their registration numbers, as I always do. None made it into the diary. One old man, however, got a mention. He stood out among the crowd, because he walked by me twice. I saw him pulling along a small, black suitcase.
Neither do I know what the man I suddenly was confronted with, in Queen Street, Brisbane, thought of me. I saw him appearing from the laneway, behind the bronze statue. I had never met the gentleman, only seen photos, but immediately recognized his face. He was about my age, dressed in a business shirt, accompanied by a smart looking, young lady in high heels, wearing a business suit. She was obviously his secretary. The two stopped near where I was, exchanged a few words, then parted. It all happened so fast, so close. I excused myself from my conversation partner and made eye contact with the grey haired man, who had started to walk toward the Queen Street Mall.
He turned and gave me a puzzling look. I immediately tried to put him at ease:
Since I was totally unprepared for this, I spoke too fast, probably showing my nervousness. The gentlemen made no direct comment. I felt slightly embarrassed, so I told him that I was on a bicycle ride to Cairns. The change in subject released the tension of the moment. We both felt more relaxed then.
I knew there was nothing more I could do. Having made my statement by just being there, praying, was enough. I left the results to God. The whole episode had taken 90 seconds, even less, perhaps. Mr. Liddy continued down Queen Street, disappearing among the crowd. I mounted my bicycle to continue my tour of Brisbane (see also previous chapter). - - - - - - - Brisbane September 09
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The temperature in the low 20's, the wind blew in my direction, all made for perfect conditions to be cycling out of Brisbane. It was easy to find the way. I simply followed the sign along Route 15. Eventually this turned into the Bruce Highway, which I would be following for many kilometres over the next few weeks. In my experience the fringes of large cities were the most dangerous places for cyclists. Not knowing the district, I stayed on the main road, sharing it with cars, buses and trucks. It makes for interesting cycling at times. One particular truck gave me a loud blast, just before Route 15 turned into a motorway. I was flying along, slightly downhill, at a great speed. I don't have a bike computer, but as a guess, I did around 45 km/h. This irate truck driver obviously wanted me out of his lane. What he wouldn't have known - my thin bike tyres were not suitable to ride further left, on the rough edge. This one thought his horn was the solution! Another factor motorists must realize. While they barely hear the horn they blow, a cyclist right beside them may get a bit fright by the deafening blast. After the four-laned highway turned into the motorway cyclists were prohibited. I would have felt safer cycling in the emergency lane on the motorway, but had to use the narrow country road, further inland. Near Caboolture, a few hours out of Brisbane, I noted a Jim Beam aluminium can beside the road. I certainly wasn't picking up rubbish on this trip. However, something else triggered my brain at the same moment. To my left was what looked like a chapel. The car park was rather full for a Friday -morning. It looked like a funeral was in progress. I continued pedalling for a few moments, when an inner urge arose to turn back. Why on earth would I want to interrupt my long distance cycle to check out a funeral? But I did. As soon as I had turned I saw a huge billboard. Three words hit me and made me smile: Thanks, John Deere!
Outside the front door of the funeral chapel stood a colourful man, dressed like a Scotsman, with a bag pipe around his neck. The funeral was in progress. I didn't go in, but asked the lonely bag pipe musician if I was on the right track to the Sunshine Coast. He assured me I was. Thanks dear! I went back to working my two legs, which turned two pedal, which rotated the chain. There was less problems finding direction than avoiding the wrath of heavy trucks. It was particularly narrow, vehicles moving fast, on the section near the Australia Zoo. One truck came very close - but since you are reading here about it, I obviously avoided another meeting with the Scotsman bag pipe player. In the Youth Hostel in Maroochydore, at 24 Schirrmann Drive ...
... I met another long distance cyclist. This young Englishman told me about his adventures, cycling around Europe and the USA. He was also heading for Cairns, from where he planned to fly out and cycle through Vietnam. Rubbing shoulders with fellow travellers such as this adventurer, put my trip into a different perspective. Compared to him I was going for a walk in the park. - - - - - - -
Bottom: Mooloolaba on the popular Sunshine Coast. - - - - - - - Since cyclists were not allowed on the motorway I had to travel across the Maroochy River at Bli Bli. Approaching this small place with the funny name, I saw the silhouette of what looked like a castle. It was a medieval Norman-style castle, unique in the Southern Hemisphere. Mr. Google tells me the place dates back to ancient days, around 1972 AD. What surprise, the tower is 24 metres in height - that's medieval Australia. Just as well, dolls and medieval armoury, the special attraction of the Sunshine Castle, were not really my forte. I only stayed for a few minutes, took a photo and continued on my GIANT. I was trying to reach Noosa by midday, otherwise I may have inspected the castle a little closer or stopped at Sunrise Beach. There were many interesting place names on my route. But I could not possibly stop at every one, simply because it had a Da Ninci name. I was tempting to do so at the town, which is also a number - the town of 1770. (It doesn't mean they have 1770 inhabitants, but in 1770 James Cook visited there). The 120 kilometres detour would have meant an extra day, which this early in the ride I could not afford. I had to remind myself, I was not a tourist. My main mission was to reach Cairns on two wheels at a certain time. Since the winds were favourable and the coastline mostly flat, I made it easily to Noosa, just after midday. As I arrived at the thriving holiday centre, a thought dropped into my head: Why not give my friend Geoff in Adelaide a call? He and I had done many rides together, short ones and long ones. He would be interested in how I was making progress. I found a shady place, parked my bike and dialled his number on my mobile phone. He did not answer, so I left a voice mail message. Next, I bought myself some lunch at the local supermarket. Waiting at the check-out I glanced at the big fat headline on the front page of the newspaper. Two words stood out - Obama's Superman... Very interesting, I thought! Taking a closer look I found out who the headline all about? The US President's new superman was a Jeffrey Bleich. He had just been appointed US ambassador to Australia. He was the person I wrote about in the introduction of this chapter. Moments after leaving the supermarket my friend Geoffrey, similar name, different spelling, rang me back. Our brief conversation was overshadowed by an unfortunate mishap he just had had, He had spilled boiling water over his hand. I don't think he would have understood, or shared my mild excitement, that in between our two phone contacts I learned about another Jeff. At the time in September the name Bleich in Da Ninci sounded like BL I see it. Seeing his name on TV, on the evening before writing, I took it to the next level. I translated his name into German: Bleich means pale. In recent years, a few name that feature the letters PL had me wondering - two Ploticians come to mind - Pelosi and Palin.
Another famous US PL name is, the gentleman has his roots in Adelaide, Anthony La Paglia.
During this writing (sleeping on the chapter overnight) during my early morning prayer, more thoughts came about superman Jeff. The gentleman's surname, the German word bleich, in English consists of 4 letters. The two groups PL and AE played a big part in earlier books - PL here in Adelaide, AE in Southern California. It also came to me - had I not seen a picture hanging on the wall at the US Consulate in Melbourne, and seen code 24? Their address 553 (why do I see all this?) fits around 24 rather well. (Book 7, Chapter 25). Next time I apply for a US visa at that place I won't write - exploring opportunities. I highlight my talent in cracking codes (and jokes?).
The above is only one example among the pages in my diaries, filled with stories, codes and weird snippets. To me they all make sense. As readers know they often involve numbers, letters, Roman numerals or a combination of all three. Looking at the date NOV 20 I found it easy to decode it as NO 25. This small fact, in the afternoon of November 20, started another trail of events, which were to lead me to the Barossa Valley that evening. I was on volunteer duty at the Adelaide Classic car rally, assisting in parking vehicles, in Adelaide's Gouger Street. During the afternoon a bright red, super sportscar took my attention, as it slowly roared past. (It was the kind of vehicle that roars even at 25 km/h). I took note of the registration plate: LAMB 25. All that week I had been contemplating attending an event in Tanunda, an hour's drive away in the Barossa Valley. Should I go or should I stay...? My football team Adelaide United was playing at Hindmarsh Stadium that night. (They need all the support they can get at the moment). I obeyed my inner prompting and drove to Tanunda, about an hour's drive away from Adelaide. The concert cost $ 25, the program listed as soloist - Mr. Lamb. Loved it! But then - had I gone to Hindmarsh, my team might have won 5:2? The big Barossa Valley event was the annual fund-raiding ... oops, fun raising... concert for the Tanunda Liedertafel. It was a magical evening with well over 1000 people sitting on tables, just as the Germans would do, enjoying their favourite foods and drink. The atmosphere could best be described as 'gemuetlich'. (There is no English word for gemuetlich. It means both cosy and comfortable). I met an old friend and his wife. We used to sing together at the Adelaide Liedertafel 1858. The couple had retired and was now living in the Barossa V. I sat with them. Their names were Uli and Uschi. I found out they were both from Kiel, but met each other in Australia. The gentlemen who was MC was also a solo artist. He sung two of my favourites, both which featured in my books: 'You never walk alone' and 'The Impossible Dream'. I was pleasantly surprised with both the choirs standard and choice of songs, as well as the quality of the supporting artists. Toward the end of the concert, as the choir went on stage again, a thought popped into my head: I wonder, will they will sing Morte Christi? (When I survey the wondrous cross). Moments later - I couldn't believe it, holding back tears, just as I am now writing about it - the Tanunda Liedertafel sang this song in their final bracket. (History was repeating itself, Book 1, Chapter 45). There was one minor disappointment that night. I had been looking forward to the final communal song printed on the song sheet - SEEMANN. It never happened. Was it because the typist had made a mistake on the song sheet? He or she had left off the last line of the lyrics
Sailor, stop dreaming - don't think of home. Sailor, wind and waves are calling you away. Your home is the See, Your friends are the stars Above Rio or Shanghai, above Bali and Hawaii, Your love is your boat, your passion is far away ... (Missing lyrics) ..and only to these you are faithful - all your life long! (See pic. below). - - - - - - -
Another interesting twist took place on Nov 20 .It was about LOVE. A friend of ours celebrated her birthday that same Friday, Nov 20th. I sent her a brief email message, ending with the question: "It's not your 55th birthday?" I don't know why I reminded this long time friend of her age; the numbers 5 perhaps? An email came back promptly. I had been correct. It was her 55th birthday. Then it clicked - her name is VAL, in Roman numerals = 5 and 50. All LoVe VAL, I mean that. She has a heart of GOLD (or should I say diamonds, since gold ends in ...old?) That same afternoon, still Nov. 20th, during my duty at the Adelaide Classic car rally, more magic happened, which needs writing about. My time to report for duty was 2.45 PM. On arrival we were told the road closure had been postponed until 4 PM. There was time for a walk around the city, something I had not done for a long time. I walked up Mill Street, a short street off Gouger Street, opposite the Magistrate's Court. Only a hundred metres or so, walking up Mill Street, I spotted some trash on the roadway. The colours looked familiar, as if they were that of a candy wrapper. I went and picked it up. It was indeed a Fantales wrapper:
The location of the fantale wrapper I had found in Mill Street kept occupying my mind. Days later when again it popped into my head I suddenly saw that M I L L are all Roman numerals - 1000 I 50 50. I vaguely saw my famous ISSO. Exploring the thought a little further the word MILLION crystallized. What would this word look like in Roman Numerals? During the week, before writing this chapter, it came: Let's convert MILLION into LOVE WON IN MILLION using Roman numerals plus a little imagination:
But there was more: Moments after I had first discovered the 'Love won in a Million' twist, I turned on the radio to listen to the news. The first item included a million:
Have I too much time on my hands? Do I think too much? Blame the cycling, and wait for the 'two-hands magic' at the end of this chapter! (Answer to who is the star on the fantales wrapper: David Bowie). - - - - - - -
(Back using two legs on the bike - Noosa, Queensland) It was a lovely Saturday afternoon at Noosa Heads; the Cafes and sidewalks, as well as the beach was packed with holiday makers. After the Gold Coast and the Cairns region, Noosa is probably the most popular holiday destination in Queensland. I was tempted to suspend my cycling for a day and stay overnight. But I wasn't a tourist. My mission was to complete the letter J, in large font, very large indeed, if you know what I mean! I pedalled away from Noosa, after receiving direction at the Noosa Tourist Information office. A nice lady, named Heidi, put me on the right path. The plan was to cycle to Gympie that day; about 60 kilometres away, via Cooroy and Pomona. I never got as far as Gympie that night. In the small town of Cooroy a large billboard advertised the Noosa Country Show 2009, Fri 11 & Sat 12 September - Pomona Showgrounds. The date was right. It was September 12, and my journey was to be via Pomona. The seed of a thought was sown. I decided to at least take a look. If there was a caravan park at Pomona, I would consider staying and perhaps see some of the remaining show? It worked out perfectly. I arrived late in the afternoon. There was a small caravan park attached to the showgrounds. I pitched my tent for the first time on this trip. The main arena events were just winding up; but - what a bonus - as grand finale that night a rodeo was to be held. I had never been to a rodeo.
Noosa Country Show 2009
God was indeed present that evening in Pomona. I experienced HIM in a very personal, graceful way. Since I had only little cash on me, I decided to walk the short distance into the town, looking for a teller machine. There wasn't a suitable one, so I had a lovely meal at the hotel, paying with my plastic card. It was rather dark as I turned the corner from ...
As I do occasionally while riding, walking or in the car, I sing to myself. That evening, walking from the caravan park to the town to have my meal, I was singing the song:
Just then a truck turned from Exhibition Street, driving toward the corner Mill Street, where I was walking. Something inside, it's inexplicable, alerted me, the truck would be something special. It wasn't the registration plate. I read the large letters on the side of the truck - the word GRACE (A large trucking company). Friends, that's magical - not by the magician CJ The Impossible, but by the Father of CJ. Nothing is impossible for HIM. He's got the whole world in HIS hands.
This brings us to the promised two hands story, which consists of a series of inexplicable, amazingly timed incidences. It started with this joke in my email inbox:
It was the phrase 'use two hands', which took me by surprise. Minutes before opening this email joke I had revamped my Index page on this website, adding the image - the two hands of Jesus! But there's more. The very next day, it was November 18th 09, I had finished my first stint as volunteer for the Adelaide Classic Car Rally. I walked up to the Adelaide Markets to do some shopping.
The two hands magic came as I walked back toward my parked
vehicle. I purposely walked via Rundle Mall, because I wanted to throw a
few coins to the busker, who played the pan flute so well.
(Earlier, before my shopping, I did not have any change). This is why I
walked past the war memorial on North Terrace, where I found this name
tag: Melissa
Much later a thought came: At that exact same spot, the war memorial on North Terrace, a process had started on Anzac Day 09, which led me to a name tag just down the road (Book 7, Chapter 22). Until now I had only given the Christian name in that chapter. Since the incident has resurfaced, and I just recalled another name tag AMAN, I will reveal the surname of the one in Chapter 22, in Book 7 - Newton - a new man on cross! Melissa - AM L ISSA. - How does that fit in! Readers may recall that the Arabic name for *Jesus is ISSA or ISA.
But I have another town on my mind to end this chapter. It could hardly be further away from, and more different to, Mount Isa. It's Nuernberg, in south-eastern Germany. In another twist of strange timing, during this chapter, I watched their football team 1.FC Nuernberg play Bundesliga Champions Wolfsburg, beating them by one goal, scored in the 90th minute. But it isn't exactly football or Nuernberg, which takes centre stage to end this chapter. It's the masterpiece by a painter, who is regarded as the most famous son to come out of Nuernberg. Praying hands Image: Moytura.com Use two hands, and often! Good advise in a troubled world.
The artist is Albrecht Durer, born 1471, died 1528. Albrecht - A L ..echt! DURER - Minus R leaves us 4 letters - DU ER. These are two short German words, translated YOU HE. If we were to write the name by adding the e for the umlaut, then DUERER = YOU HE (and) HE (again). Friends, prayer is not about our hands, or the way we hold them, when talking to God. Prayer is expressing our deepest, innermost desire, what we really want to say to God. HE invites us to talk to HIM, to tell HIM those desires, to discuss with HIM everything that's on our mind, even the smallest matters. HE loves it when we're brutally honest and come to HIM with zero hypocrisy. Jesus offers for free - living water, unpolluted, available to all who sincerely ask for it. The invitation is to the Amish, to Muslims or anyone who is thirsty enough to cry out to God to be filled with this living water. Sharing a drink with God really satisfies. Hear HIM call out to you: "Use two hands!"
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