OnOn thethe WINGS ofof HEAVENHEAVEN AA TrueTrue StoryStory fromfrom aa MessengerMessenger ofof LoveLove From the Best-selling Co-author of The Messengers G.W. Hardin with Joseph Crane On the Wings of Heaven by G.W. Hardin with Joseph Crane On the Wings of Heaven A True Story from a Messenger of Love by G.W. Hardin with Joseph Crane DreamSpeaker Creations, Inc. Missoula, Montana • 1999 Copyright © 1999 G.W. Hardin, Joseph Crane All rights reserved No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information and retrieval systems, without prior permission from the publisher in writing. This is a true story. Some names have been changed at the request of the individual. In Parts II and IV, exact wording from the angel was used. First printing: May 1999 Second printing: November 1999 Third printing: February 2004 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Hardin, G.W. Crane, Joseph On the Wings of Heaven: ATrue Story from a Messenger of Love Inspiration, Spirituality, Angels, Gay and Lesbian, Religious Studies, New Age pp. 268 ISBN 1-893641-00-7 1. Inspiration 2. Spirituality 3. Angels 4. Gay and lesbian LC# 99-90170 Cover design: G.W. Hardin and Gary LaCroix Book design: Gary LaCroix Set in 11 point Garamond typeface Printed in the United States of America To all the sevens, now and to come. May they continue to live in their giftedness. —Joseph Crane Contents PART I THE VISITATIONS CHAPTER 1: Teach Only Love 13 CHAPTER 2: The Naming 27 CHAPTER 3: The Teachings 33 PART II BLESSINGS, GIFTS, AND DEEDS CHAPTER 4: The First Manuscript 51 CHAPTER 5: The Book of Bricks 59 CHAPTER 6: The Scroll of Blessings 61 CHAPTER 7: The Scroll of Giving 65 CHAPTER 8: The Scroll of Deeds 69 PART III THE SEARCH FOR THE SEVEN CHAPTER 9: Michael’s Goodbye 77 CHAPTER 10: Journeys of the Masters 91 Contents CHAPTER 11: The Missing Seventh 115 CHAPTER 12: The Laughing Angel 121 PART IV REVELATION DECODED CHAPTER 13: The New Revelation 139 CHAPTER 14: The Call to the Whore of Babylon 157 CHAPTER 15: New Visions, New Understandings 175 CHAPTER 16: The End of Endtimes 191 CHAPTER 17: What God Has Made 207 CHAPTER 18: The Gathering 215 Acknowledgments It was intended from the beginning that this true story come forth by the hands of the many and not the few. Special thanks is given to Doug Oliver, Janet Hardin, Joanne Macko, Sue Diehl, Susi Henderson, and Gary LaCroix, who asked little or nothing for their generous support. As the sevens continue to quietly fan out with the messages given to us by Heaven, they all must be acknowledged for their sincere tolerance, openness, and compassion to all they come in contact with, for they carry no banner for a new religion or another movement. Their only cause is to bless the hearts of others as they live out their own giftedness. When all is said and done, their lives are an echo of Michael’s parting words: Teach only love. ix Part I THE VISITATIONS TEACH ONLY LOVE nce you reach into the unknown, you find yourself reaching for a O cup of moonlight. You may think you are sipping the milk of heaven when, in reality, your cup is filled with moonshine. One sip of the unknown, and you know your world is about to change forever. Either it will fill your soul with magic or it will steal your senses. You take your chances. Who of us would dare to do what Joseph Crane did? Some will say he should never have taken that sip. Others will lounge under shaded trees with parched throats, licking their lips for just one drop from Joe’s cup. But be careful what you ask of him, for Joe is a generous man. He just might share his cup with you. Before you decide to drink of moonlight, perhaps you ought to ask who filled this cup. Then decide whether Joe’s soul is filled with moonlight or moonshine. Has he been touched by heaven, or has he simply lost his senses? “Joe,” the voice called out. Even with the TV going, he could hear it plainly. It was a man’s voice. It sounded as if it were coming from inside the house. But there was no one else in the house. “Joe,” the voice summoned again. Joe looked down at his dog, Hawg, who was also searching for the source of the sound, his big mastiff head whipping back and forth, the wet nose searching for additional clues. Must be someone outside playing a trick on me 13 14 On the Wings of Heaven or something, Joe growled to himself. Abandoning the movie, he bounded down the stairs and whipped open the front door, hoping to surprise the culprit. Nothing but empty night air. The stars twinkled humorously at him as his ears strained to catch a hint of footsteps. Nothing. No one. Just the regular neighborhood sounds. The hair rose on the back of his neck. Why is this happening again? he asked himself. It had been years since the Voice last intruded. Then, like now, it had unexpectedly called him, never to divulge its source. It would be too easy to chalk it up to imagination, but this time Hawg—who had been named after Joe’s beloved Harley Davidson— had heard the calling as well. With stonelike deliberation, Joe eased the door shut. Stuffing his calloused hands into his jeans pockets, he marched up the stairs with Hawg at his heels. As he slumped into the couch, he ran his fingers through his shoulder-length blond hair, then through Hawg’s and let out a sigh. His eyes returned to the movie but his mind drifted elsewhere. The first time he had felt this sense of eeriness was years ago in the belly of the USS Forrestal, on July 19, 1967. The hour: 10:52 a.m. Joe was sleeping soundly after a long night’s work on the decks of the aircraft carrier. Rumors had spread that the North Vietnamese were preparing an assault into the South. If Navy jets were needed for action, all had to be ready. The night was spent loading, unloading, cleaning, and storing while they cruised the waters in the Gulf of Tonkin. Joe finally dove into his pillow at six that morning. It had been a rough night of work. Only twenty-one, Joe was a man of action who put into practice the ideals he believed. He had joined the Navy to help out his country. “General quarters! General quarters! Fire, fire, fire on the flight deck aft. This is not a drill,” blurted the ship’s speakers. The blaring sirens invaded his dream with such force, Joe could not find the dividing line between dream and reality. An explosion catapulted him from his bunk onto the steel floor. His back felt the cold metal. What the hell is going on? he asked himself. Were they being bombed? Thundering echoes filled the carrier. Voices yelled, feet pounded. This was no dream—the carrier was on fire. As Joe sat upright to get his bearings, an eerie feeling swept through him. He realized he was gazing up at flaming fuel falling through the upper decks. A hole the size of a truck had filled the compartment behind him with black smoke. His mind raced, It must be an attack.Another explosion erupted, shaking the giant ship with shivers. The explosions continued. Joe knew they were in trouble. Like a man discovered in another man’s bed, he jumped into his bell bottoms. Teach Only Love 15 Quickly, he slid his hand under the mattress, where he always hid his shoes just in case of moments like this. Seizing them in the growing darkness, he slipped them on as if they were loafers. More bombs exploded, sending fingers of smoke deeper into the heart of the ship. Joe was getting real scared now. Like a dark hand plunging into the flesh of a wounded whale, the choking grasp of blazing blackness reached closer and closer, now nine decks deep. There is no way out! he thought to himself. Panic crept up his spine as clouds of smoke crept downward, blinding him. Squatting down to the floor to find breathable air, Joe swore to himself, If this ship is going down, it’s going down without me. He looked for some kind of escape. “Out!” yelled a voice. “Come this way if you want to live. Everybody out!” Joe didn’t need a second invitation. He moved toward the voice even though he didn’t recognize it. Others crawled, ran, or duck-walked toward the promise of freedom. The line of men snaked down a passageway until stopped by a closed hatch. Joe was certain they had correctly followed the voice but nothing was here but a dead end. Water now poured down from above. In the choke of fumes and fire, Joe squatted silently with the rest of the men. He had only one thought on his mind: Wish I had a cigarette. The thought almost made him laugh out loud. How odd,he mused to himself, that I’m not afraid. The truth was he wasn’t afraid. Maybe because of the voice that had led them into the passageway. Some of the men stared blankly like lab rats trapped in a maze, dead-ended by the closed hatch. Fear was filling the air.