Hi, my name is rekless, Dan Walker of Clerlake, CA. I live in Las Vegas now. I was on this board years ago before this was "the board."
Randy, Blondie and Fargal was the big dogs at that time.
Ray Franz and I discussed the death of my son and the decision the governing body made at that time when
the vote of 2/3 to let blood transfusions become an acceptable treatment was missed by one vote because the brother did not show up for the vote.
How many died because of that? Hundred of thousands if not millions throughout the years.
Please don't get upset, but I wrote a book and it is published with smashword.com and it deals with the lies of what goes on behind the doors
with the governing body as they make life, death, financial, sex, and educational
decisions.
My background is the old school from the fifties and there are a lot of changes in the organization that you young people haven't heard about.
Did you know beastiality was not considered a disfellowshipping act in the early days.
Many subjects are covered in this book, from the organization's misquoting authors and scientist, as well as never given them credit for their work as well as the death of my son; then my wife....
I hope if anyone reads it some the questions you have will be answered.
Thank you
Dan
THE DREAM PUSHERS: A NIGHTMARE OF DEATH, LIES, AND DECEIT
Chapter 1 The Potter's Mold
I sat wishing, praying, and under my breath cursing my luck---I should be the one who was clinging to life, not my wife, not my best friend, not my lover, not the mother of my children. Over thirty-five years, she matured into a woman of tolerance and understanding; a woman any man would savor, to not only share his bed but also share his life. Now my prayers are begging God, Jehovah, Jesus, and every other deity who crossed my mind---even going as far as offering myself to the Devil in hopes the woman who was needed by so many would not die. With my head resting on her listless body that sickening feeling engulfed me and I felt my hopes, dreams, and faith slip away as I whispered, "Honey it’s okay if you want to let go," and with my next drawn breath pleading, "please, Faith please, don’t die. I need you, the kids need you, and your mother needs you." All the while, Faith’s gown grew damp from the tears of our daughter, Rachial, and mine. Her hands, once so warm and comforting, were cold. The laboring of her breath no longer gave the gift of life's blush, and it was at that moment I realized no one was going to answer my prayers, not God or the Devil.
"Damn it, Jehovah, you are going to let her die," I cried, not caring what anybody thought as I reached for the Kleenex tissue beside the bed and wiped the flow of my sinuses and tears. The words, "She is gone, Mr. Anderson," spoken by Janet Wilcox, the attending nurse, became the splitting maul which splintered the rootstock of my family, friends, faith, and God.
Faith's death ended our journey in life, and I ended the spiritual voyage I had been on since nineteen fifty-five as a young boy when Mama said, "Yes, I would love to live forever on a paradise Earth." in response to the two women standing in the threshold of our lives who professed to be Jehovah’s Witnesses.