The Impossible Dream

By Jennifer Wilde

Have you ever wondered what is behind the glitter and bright lights of the celebrity scene? 

As an actress, model, producer, and all-around party girl, Jennifer was living her dream in the Hollywood fast lane. Growing up as the pampered daughter of one of America's wealthy real estate tycoons, Jennifer modeled in the bright lights of

• Language: English
• Publisher: One God - One Day - One Africa
• Release date: Oct 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781735264516

Jennifer Wilde

Jennifer Wilde - once Hollywood celebrity, now preaching to thousands of people the Gospel of Jesus Christ. After a time of missionary in India, she became a prison missionary in Mexico. With arge Gospel campaigns in Africa she saw thousands of people saved, delivered and healed. This book is Evangelist Jennifer Wilds autobiography that will not only take you from Hollywood's colorful life to Africa, but also give you insights into the life of a women with many challenges and how she handles and overcomes those struggles. It will help you in your own life.

Book preview

At a time when there seems to be less and less hope in this world and a greater need for the true people of God to stand up and be radical, along comes Jennifer Wilde. Her story is one that I can obviously relate to, but what has stunned me most about Jennifer is the zeal of her humility and the power she has tapped into that she knows she can credit only to God. She has arrived at a place of happiness, joy, and freedom that, for who she is and where she is from, is almost impossible. Thank God that by His Spirit all things are possible and that brave soldiers like Jennifer will continue to touch others for His glory. I’m proud to call her my sister in Christ!

—Stephen Baldwin

Actor, Author, and Radio Host

To a powerful, anointed daughter of Zion: you have come to the kingdom for such a time as this! You are a woman of God, a Deborah. Your story will convict the hearts of young women to draw them to the heart of God. You have the gift of an evangelist, and you will go to the nations.

—Dennis Tinerino

Former Mr. America, Natural Mr. America, and Four-time Mr. Universe Author of Supersize Your Faith: Tapping into God’s Miracle Power

As the President of Harvest India, I have watched Jennifer’s vision and love for the Dalit people of India, the untouchables, grow and grow. She has been a blessing to our ministry in many ways. We were happy to work with her for the crusade she came to India to do in 2008. We are looking forward to the millions that the Lord will reach through our future crusades and outreaches with her! As her vision for another orphanage is also ours, we give praise to the Lord for all He is going to do through our working together as the body of Christ in the coming years until His return!

—Suresh Kumar

President of Harvest India (www.HarvestIndia.org)

Although I have known Jennifer Wilde for years, it is not until now that I have come to truly understand this amazing story of her transformation. Jennifer’s journey from the bright lights of Hollywood to the far reaches of the world’s poor will astound you, intrigue you, and—no matter who you are—call you to a higher place. Only God could have changed a life like Jennifer’s. Maybe He could change your life, too!

—William T Bill Faris, MPC

Counselor, Pastor, and Author of How Healed Do You Want to Be?

I am one those people who knew Jennifer Wilde back then as an aspiring actress and fixture on the Hollywood party scene. It is amazing to see how much her life has changed—thanks to her relationship with God. The dizzying highs and lows of Hollywood can be brutal, and there are not many stories that turn out as well as Jennifer’s. I urge you to learn more about her remarkable journey from the Hollywood high life to the mission field. You’ll be glad you did.

—Gray Frederickson

Oscar winning Film Producer/Co-producer whose credits include Apocalypse Now and The Godfather, Parts II, III

I have known Jennifer for at least twenty-five years. She was a client when I purchased the Corona Del Mar Veterinary Hospital in 1983. Jennifer was also known (at my vet hospital) as Jennifer Ogle, Jennifer Broughton, and Jennifer Wilde—the receptionist staff working for me knew her as White Lightning.

Back in the ’80s, usually after her mother had gone to Hollywood to pick her up and bring her (screaming and kicking) home, and she was still a little high on something, she would hit my front door with her two dogs—a waiting room to her was something you blasted through. Into the back treatment area she would fly, yelling at the top of her voice various symptoms her dog had that needed immediate attention. Many times the veterinarians working for me just didn’t want to get involved with her, and although I was the boss, I would take care of this crazy strung-out-on-drugs girl. Care for her pets was easy; she was the difficult one. Basically you would almost have to call her a little crazy.

She would be around town a while, get her health back, then back up to the Hollywood scene she would go. Once again peace and tranquility would return to my veterinary hospital.

Over and over her poor mother, in desperation, would telephone me hoping I had some advice for her so that she could somehow help her daughter; unfortunately, I didn’t.

Eventually, her mom, on recommendations from others, I assume, would try tough love and swear she wouldn’t pay for one more veterinarian bill. Because of her love for Jennifer, she would repeatedly give in, and the whole scenario would be repeated.

Well, I am not here to glorify the devil, so I will not go into all the crazy office calls we had.

I can’t say for sure, but I think Jennifer tried about everything to lead a sober lifestyle. Somewhere along the way, someone witnessed to her about Jesus Christ and His love for her. Like everything she ever did, she accepted God’s grace and Jesus Christ one hundred percent. Almost immediately her life changed so dramatically that she has impressed non-Christians in my practice where they stop me to say, I can’t believe the difference in this woman—her religion has sure made a wonderful change.

I explain to them that Jesus can do the same thing in their lives. Based on Jennifer’s now quiet witness, I can tell that these employees whom I have never been able to reach before are thinking about it.

For all who knew her in the drug crazy days, the change in her is a powerful witness for what Jesus Christ can do in a person’s life.

—William R. Manclark, DVM

Evangelist Jennifer Wilde is a true woman of God with a pure heart that is right at the center of the will of God. Her whole passion is to see people reached with the Gospel and saved. I have known Jennifer for some years now, and she has only one desire—getting everyone to know Jesus. In her book, she candidly and totally unashamedly allows the reader to look into her past, but also to see that God never gives up, and that Jesus never looks down on people, but looks up to them and wants to use each one. From Hollywood to the cross of calvary to the ends of the world, Jesus is using Jennifer in a wonderful way. You will be encouraged and blessed reading while reading this book, but you will also learn from a life filled with passion and compassion for the souls of people everywhere.

—Rev. Siegfried Tomazsewski

Evangelist/Calling Ministry, CEO/1GDA, Exec. Member GEA

Do you ever find yourself dissatisfied with your life and longing for something more but you don’t know what it is or how to find it? You are not alone!

Jennifer was young, beautiful, rich, popular and her friends were movie stars: Wow! She had everything that is supposed to make us happy and fulfilled. But, she wasn’t happy or fulfilled. In fact, she was broken, miserable and desperately empty.

In this book Jennifer candidly shares her fascinating journey to discover where real peace, real joy and purpose can be found. It wasn’t what she expected but it was wonderful.

—Dr. Dana Morey

President & Evangelist, A Light for the Nations Owner,

The Morey Corporation

The Impossible Dream

By Jennifer Wilde

The Impossible Dream: Chasing Fame & Finding God

by Jennifer Wilde

First published by Creation House, A Strang Company

600 Rinehart Road, Lake Mary, Florida 32746

www.strangbookgroup.com

Original title: From Life in the Hollywood Fast Lane to the Untouchables of India

Revised version ©2020 by 1GDA

This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

Unless otherwise noted, all Scripture quotations are from the Holy Bible, New International Version of the Bible. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, International Bible Society. Used by permission.

Scripture quotations marked NKJV are from the New King James Version of the Bible. Copyright © 1979, 1980, 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc., publishers. Used by permission.

Design Director: Siegfried Tomazsewski

Cover Design: 99Design

Editor: Angie Zachary

All rights reserved.

International Standard Book Number: 978-1-7352645-1-6

First Ebook Edition

2 3 4 5 6 – 10 9 8 7

Printed in the United States of America

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It’s difficult to express my immense gratitude to everyone who has helped make this book and my life possible. Their encouragement, whether prayerfully, as a friend, or even financially has been an incredible incentive to finish this work.

I’d like to first offer my undying love and thanks to my two daughters, Ariel and Michaela. Without you, this book would not be. Ariel, I am so proud of the young woman you have become and your choices to be obedient to our loving Father. Your life is a testimony to other young people that they can live in this world without succumbing to the temptations that are so prevalent among the youth of today. I love you so much!

Michaela, I thank the Lord always for you. I know He has a plan and a great purpose for you and Ariel, and you both will become the women God wants you to be. You have a special quality of leadership and kindness that I know God will use. I know also that He will use you both in a mighty way to bring Himself glory. I will praise Him forever for blessing me with you two—the loves of my life!

A most special and loving thank you to my greatest cheerleader and inspiration, my mother, Suzanne Goelet. Mom, I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for you (in more ways than one!). You stuck with me through all the pain and darkness, never letting me go, and so perfectly modeled a mother’s unconditional love. Your relentless drive, ambition, love for Stacy and me, and encouragement that I can do anything I set my mind to do has been a special strength in my life.

To my sister Stacy—I love you deeply and always will. You have always been there for me, and you will never know how much having you as a sister means to me. And to Peter Jan, Jan Morgan, and Anastasia—you are the best relatives anyone could ever have. I love you very much and pray for you every day!

To my two very best friends in the world, Becky and Jeff —thank you for always being there for me through everything, good and bad, and forever encouraging me to continue on. I love you both dearly and always will.

To my intercessor, prayer partner, and help in the ministry, Kelly— you have been a huge blessing in my life and in the lives of so many others, and you are a mighty woman of God. I thank Him continually for you!

To my pastor, friend, and counselor Bill Faris—what an inspiration you have been to my family and me. We thank you and bless you from the bottom of our hearts.

To all the men of God—Suresh, Pastor Jorge, Pastor Bill, Chuck Regher, Mike, Pastor Rich, Daniel, and the many others who have believed that God could work through such an imperfect person as me—thank you so much for providing the encouragement, prayers, and help I needed to obey God’s leading and will for my life. May the Lord continue the mighty work He is doing in each of you!

To all my wonderful friends God has put in my life who are always there for me—Luis, Rene, Karen, Liana, Jonie, Janine, Liv, Velvet and Nestor, Marco, Lorena, Bill and Darby, Janeen, Donna and everyone at the ranch, Maren, and anyone I might forget now but you know who you are—thank you for being my friend!

To all my Missionary Newsletter friends, brothers, sisters, and prayer partners throughout the ministry—words can’t thank you enough for your prayers that were what kept us and continue to keep us serving the Lord! You have all been such a blessing in my life and in the lives of the peoples of Mexico and India.

To Glenn Beck and Sean Hannity—thank you for opening my eyes and giving me a deep appreciation and understanding of the times and this great country in which we live! May the Lord continue using you both.

To my Calvary Chapel, Vineyard, Baptist, Assembly of God and Fellowship of Believers brothers and sisters, my family of Christ—you all know who you are, and I do thank each one of you for your prayers, help, and love throughout my new life. I couldn’t have made it without you. I thank God we will all be together praising Jesus for eternity!

To all my friends and sisters in Christ at Strang who encouraged me and prayed this book through—Brenda, Amanda, Atalie, and Virginia—thank you so much for believing in this book and me and helping it to fruition. You have all been a great blessing to me!

And, most of all, to my God, my Father, my Holy Spirit, my husband, my Counselor, my Great Physician, and my Best Friend Forever, my Everything…to my Jesus…I love You and give my life to You for all eternity in thanksgiving for giving Yours for me. Thank You for everything You have done in my life and will do in the future!

May God bless every one of you abundantly and pour out His love continually on you.

In Jesus’ love,

Jennifer

INTRODUCTION

When do you start writing a book about your life? I finally gave in and decided it was time when I had heard for about the hundredth time You should write a book! I wrote and finished that book thirteen years ago, not knowing that the next thirteen years would put my whole past life to shame (literally). That other life, the one in the Hollywood fast lane, was the one that most people wanted to hear about. Today I’m a completely different person than I was back then. It is so abhorrent for me to have to remember and write and confess my past to you and the whole world now. God changed me so completely that I look at my old self the same way Paul in the Bible looked at himself—as the chief sinner.

I grew up in the seventies’ drug and free love culture in which there were no moral absolutes, and it was all about me. My ambition was to be the greatest actress the world had ever known, so I threw myself completely into the world of glitz and glamour, the world of Hollywood. Back then drugs were chic, were for the cool kids, were sought after and found everywhere, and I was no exception. I was totally immersed into the dark and depraved, but my lifestyle was what the world looked up to and idolized. My soul was lost, but I had no idea that the emptiness, hurt, depression, and fear could never be erased through money, fame, or power. So, I continually chased after all the world had to offer.

But the hole in my heart I’d been looking to fill with all the world has to offer didn’t go away, no matter how much I achieved in society’s eyes, until one day that changed my life. One day, unexpectedly— accidentally, even—I met Jesus Christ. Things have never been the same for me since then.

I’m writing my story for one reason: so that you can see the perils of what so many are seeking today, fame and fortune. I want to reach others who are now like I was back then so that I can try to persuade them that there is hope, there is real peace, and there is true joy. But, it is only in Jesus Christ.

I learned this for the first time when I read John 3:16: For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. After I believed this, I read 2 Corinthians 5:17, which says, Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come! That spoke volumes to me, the worst of the worst sinners. I am still not perfect, but in my life with the Lord I have learned the truth of Romans 8:28, that in spite of our mistakes and the storms of life, "all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are…called according to His purpose" (NKJV). And that is what I hope and pray for this book and for you personally, that it and you can be used for God’s glory!

Before we start down this journey of one life God changed for His glory, please take a look at my website, www.Wilde4Jesus.org. It will give you a good idea of where we’re headed. God bless you!

CHAPTER ONE

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

—Jeremiah 29:11

Bad things happen in all our lives, but God can use them for His glory if we allow Him to!

I was born in Santa Ana, California, in 1955—and I never thought I’d make it to thirty! My mother was Jewish by birth and proud of it!—but was a non-practicing atheist. My father was a Christian. He didn’t read the Bible, go to church except maybe on Christmas and Easter, or pray in any real sense of the word. He did pray the Lord’s Prayer with my sister and me every night before bed, but that was the extent of it. He was twenty-six years older than my mother and very handsome. He was also a raging alcoholic and child abuser, and I don’t say that lightly. He used to beat up my older half-brother, his son by a previous marriage, on a regular basis. He never touched my sister or me, as he probably knew my mom would literally have killed him if he had.

Unfortunately, he wouldn’t allow her to take that same stand with her stepson. When she would try to stop him from beating Corky, he would yell, He’s my son, and I’ll do as I please with him! Don’t you interfere, or you’ll get the same! My mother was afraid of him, that he would hurt her or one of us girls, so she kept quiet. This was a mistake, a big mistake. If you or someone you know is experiencing verbal or physical abuse, I recommend that you get away, and fast. Child abuse has a huge impact in later life. My brother ended up in San Quentin for life for brutally ax-murdering two innocent people. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

My dad was one of the most respected and highly admired men in politics at that time. He was an attorney and the first county counsel of Orange County, and he was even asked to be a Supreme Court judge, which he turned down. On the outside, ours seemed like a typical upper-middle-class family in a typical, upscale fifties neighborhood. We had a darling little four-bedroom house with twelve orange trees lining the driveway and a great front and back yard. Our street was quiet and also tree-lined with a beautiful parkway in the middle. The Cleavers from Leave It to Beaver would have been jealous. But abuse isn’t just a low-income problem.

My mother came from a very wealthy and respected Jewish family in New York. In fact, for a while, my grandmother was the hostess for many large United Nations gatherings at their sprawling Mamaroneck estate. My grandfather’s father had come from Russia to the new country. He was a cantor, the singer in a Jewish synagogue. He was extremely religious. But somewhere along the way, for some reason, my grandfather turned his back on God. Who knows why, but whatever the reason, my mother was raised in a godless home. And that’s where all the problems began. With no God, no synagogue, no Torah, no bat mitzvah, and not even a celebration of the high holidays (like Hanukkah), my mom started life and was raised with a great disadvantage. There’s no question in my mind that every child needs to know Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior, but without knowing any different, my mother raised me in the same way that her parents raised her.

So there I was, born into a normal, dysfunctional home. Corky, my half-brother, was living with us then, and he was five years old when I was born. My little sister, Stacy, came along a year and a half after me. Things seemed to be going along smoothly, at least from my very young reference point. After all, didn’t every dad come home from work drunk, start fighting with his wife, and then end up taking out his rage on his innocent little son?

Not long after Stacy was born, when I was two, I experienced real shame for the first time. My mom told me the story over and over, and it is one of my first memories. One day I was in the living room on my rocking horse, one of my favorite toys, furiously rocking away. My mom glanced over and saw me rocking out of control on that thing. All of a sudden, I toppled over and started having convulsions. My mother was beside herself with concern. After a few seconds it stopped, but not before it scared her to death. She rushed me to the doctor and told him what happened, but he basically just brushed her off and said it was nothing to worry about. The seizures kept happening periodically over the next six years or so, and every time my mom would talk to a doctor about it, he would say it was nothing and not to worry. My mom, super-sleuth that she is, went to the library and did some checking and reading up on these episodes (as she liked to refer to them). She came to the conclusion that I had epilepsy. When she confronted the doctors with her findings, they basically pooh-poohed it and told her it was nothing. In spite of their response, because of these episodes, I was painfully shy as a child.

One nice summer day when I was about eight or nine years old, my mom, sister, and I went to the Back Bay in Newport Beach to wade around and look for shells. As I sloshed through the waist-high dark, murky water, all of a sudden I ran into some hard, cold, rusty, old piece of metal that sliced my leg open right above the knee. I screamed and, with blood gushing, came running out of the water. My mom told me to sit back down with my knee in the water, and when I did, the wound was immediately covered with ugly black bloodsuckers. Horrified, my mother pulled them off and rushed me to the doctor’s office. As if all that wasn’t bad enough, once in the office and as soon as the doctor pulled out the needle for the local anesthetic before he sewed me up, I passed out and fell to the floor convulsing. Finally, after all these years, my mom’s deepest fears were confirmed. I had epilepsy. The doctor had seen it with his own eyes.

That was the beginning of the horrible childhood secret my mom and I shared. You see, back in the fifties, epilepsy was very taboo. It was definitely not talked about in polite circles of society. And how mortifying for my mother that her daughter had it! I was not to tell anyone; I had to keep it to myself. If an episode happened somewhere, I could just say afterwards that I had fainted. Wasn’t that what the ladies in old England did to seem feminine in the seventeen and eighteen hundreds? Whatever. I was beyond embarrassed. I felt weird and very different from other people. I felt ashamed. It was awful.

As I grew older, I used to run to my brother’s room and cower in his skinny little arms when the fighting started between my mom and dad. He would reassure me that everything was okay and that if Dad came in, it wouldn’t be me Dad would hit; my brother reminded me that he would be the one to get it. He’d say, Don’t worry about me, Jennifer. I’m a big boy. I can take it. It doesn’t bother me. Yeah, sure; this was coming from a nine-year-old. I really loved my big brother. I thought the world of him. I hated my father for hitting him, but in my immature mind, in a way I believed that Corky was at fault for whatever my dad would yell about in his drunken stupor.

Needless to say, Corky started acting out, big time. His childhood pranks escalated until finally Corky was sent to military school, which didn’t help at all. He just continued his escapades when he came back, which finally led to regular jail time in the local juvenile hall. Again, this didn’t deter Corky.

I still looked up to my big brother. He was always kind, gentle, and loving to my sister and me. However, the more Corky got into trouble, the more he disappeared from our lives. He wasn’t like a real brother in the sense that you have a brother twenty-four hours a day who is a normal child and a part of the family. He was always different in that he was always getting in trouble and ending up in juvenile hall or the detention center. Finally, he disappeared from our lives altogether for the most part. By the time I was six, the fighting between my mother and father had become so bad that they decided to get a divorce. Basically, my mother raised my sister and me alone for several years, and she was a good mom. It was just the three of us girls most of the time until my stepdad came along when I was ten. My mother had a job working as a receptionist and nurse in a doctor’s office, so I don’t remember her being at home much when I was growing up. She vehemently claims she was always home and was hands-on with raising us, but both my sister and I see it differently. I guess this is normal.

After my parents were divorced, my dad was still in the picture, although very seldom and infrequently. But by the time I was about ten or so, he had really gone downhill. He was older than my real grandfather, and because he was an alcoholic, his health deteriorated rapidly over the years. He started having strokes until he was incapacitated and in a wheelchair. My mother would say, Time to go visit your father, and we would feel sick, literally. It was so hard to see him in his tiny pigsty apartment smelling like alcohol and Camel cigarettes. The minute we would walk in, he would start sobbing. We would slowly walk up to him and have to hug him, trying not to retch, as the stench was so overwhelming. Our eyes would be tearing up as the smoke would sting them, and we would grudgingly lean down over his wheelchair and stiffly embrace him for a split second, hating it enormously. Then we would try to find a relatively clean spot on the sofa to sit, which was almost impossible since his whole place was utterly filthy. I counted down the minutes until we could leave and tried to force a smile while he reminisced about us when we were little. I was disgusted the whole time, every time. He’d sit and cry during the entire visit, and we had no idea what to say or do.

Having to go to the bathroom was so horrible that I would wait for hours, trying not to pee my pants, until I couldn’t take it another second. Then I would slowly get up from the couch and shuffle into his bathroom, which was like nothing I had ever seen in my life. It was so horrific. It was covered with dried urine and feces, which were smeared across the walls and covered the toilet. It stank so badly I would vomit in my mouth and have to swallow it back down. Touching the faucet of the filth-covered sink would have actually been worse than just not washing my hands. I would stand over the toilet so as not to come near touching it or sitting on it. When I was finished, I would walk back out into the living room, and my dad would still be crying. My sister would give me a sidelong glance and roll her eyes, both of us wishing we could be anywhere in the world but there.

All in all, it was a nightmare from beginning to end. Alcohol was the beginning and the end of this pain.

When I was about ten years old, my mother started dating a man who lived in Newport Beach on Balboa Island. He owned a boat fuel dock and had a boat, a Chris-Craft, that slept about eight people or so; and we soon started going to Catalina Island, about twenty miles away, for weekends. Those weekends were so much fun! Stacy and I each always got to take a friend with us, and my dog, Brodie, would always go too. Most of the time Janeen went with me. We’d all go out hiking on the island, which had all kinds of wild animals—buffalo, goats, sheep, and burros, with a few bobcats. Brodie would always end up chasing a whole herd of goats through the canyons there while we stood up on a mountain cliff and watched. Those days on Catalina were a great childhood memory.

It was about that age when I began keeping another deep, dark secret. I started wetting the bed at night. It was horrible! Looking back, I see that it must have had something to do with my mother dating again, although of course no one had any idea at the time why it was happening. I was probably jealous, being that she was the only parent I had then and I didn’t want to share her love with her new boyfriend. My bed-wetting was one of the most nightmarishly horrible secrets of my young life. I was truly mortified. I would wake up in the middle of the night and the bed would be soaking wet, and me along with it. I would get up and sneak into my mother’s room and wake her up and make her swear not to tell my little sister. This happened every night for months. I’d be crying, and my mom would faithfully get up out of bed, go in my room, and change the bed—and comfort me while she was doing it. I really have to hand it to her; she was absolutely wonderful about the whole thing. She never got mad, and she never told anyone, although of course my sister found out eventually.

Finally, a doctor recommended a horrible, loud buzzer that was attached to a pad that I slept on. The second one drop of moisture touched the pad, the buzzer would go off. It sounded like a bullhorn, waking the whole house, and I’d run to the bathroom. But you know what? It worked! It made me stop wetting the bed, which was the biggest relief of my whole childhood. Before my mother found that little buzzing gem, though, I had a problem whenever I spent the night at my best friend’s house. I would wet the bed every time and would have to wait until she got up and out of bed and left the room before I would get up. I’d have to lie there in bed soaking wet and pretend to be asleep if I woke up before her. I couldn’t let her know! I would have died! If she woke me up, I’d have to quickly think of some kind of excuse as to why I couldn’t go downstairs right away with her. She’d go, and I’d quietly and sneakily tear the sheets off the bed as fast as I could and then remake it after I’d stuffed the dirty sheets into the hamper in the bathroom. I discovered years later that everyone in the house knew my deep, dark secret because the urine-soaked sheets would stink up the hamper. But my friend’s mom was absolutely great. She never said a word to me about it. She’d just wash the sheets. Now that’s love!

The day-to-day activities of my life in California were interrupted each year in the summer when I would fly to the opposite coast to visit my grandma, Henrietta Goelet. She lived on Park Avenue and Fifty-seventh Street in New York City, but she also had a huge house in Mamaroneck, where my mother had grown up. It was right next to the beach and the Mamaroneck Beach Club. Every summer, Brodie and I would board a plane for New York to go visit her. She refused to take both Stacy and me at the same time because she couldn’t stand our fighting. So I’d go for a month or so, and then Stacy would go.

Her house in Mamaroneck was huge and fabulous. It was three stories, with a huge basement and even a big room full of junk above the garage. What a great place for a kid! Always so much to explore and do!

I remember those long, hot summer days at the Mamaroneck Beach Club. I often snuck under the huge weeping willows that lined the back of the beach and went to a hammock on the grounds of this enormous estate. I would lie in that hammock with the immense green lawn stretching up to the gargantuan house and imagine that one day I’d have a place like that. I’d dreamily consider my future and wonder what Prince Charming would look like when I found and married him.

Life as a child was quite good at Grandma’s house. It was always safe and secure. She often made me homemade rhubarb pie from rhubarb she grew in her own garden. It was wonderful, absolutely mouth-wateringly good—sweet, but with a bite to it. Grandma was very sweet, too, although I’ll never forget that one time I asked to borrow a penny for the gum machine. For the next few years, every time I was with her, I heard, Do you have that penny you owe me, Jennifer? She got worse about things like that as she got older too. She used to come visit us in Newport when I was about eighteen or so, and she drove my mother and sister totally batty. They couldn’t stand to be around her. She had become very demanding and bossy and set in her ways. I just laughed at her, though. She cracked me up! I just didn’t take her too seriously, I guess, and they did. I’m pretty good at ignoring things that are upsetting. I guess I had a lot of experience doing that as a child; otherwise, I would have gone crazy. This ability has come in handy in my life.

During those summers, Grandma, Brodie, and I would go back and forth from Mamaroneck to New York City. From a child’s view, New York City was huge! All the lights at night, the constant honking horns, the gigantic buildings everywhere. Grandma lived right around the corner from Bloomingdales, but she only shopped at Orbach’s and Klein’s, which were New York’s version of K-Mart—the discount places. To put it nicely, Grandma was thrifty—a tendency I see in my mother and, now, in myself. When my grandmother sold the Mamaroneck house after my grandpa’s death, she then bought a little house in Remsenberg out on Long Island. That house had a wooded area across the street, a little bay with boats in it at one end of the street, and a pony farm at the other. What heaven for a child! My sister and I have distinctly different memories of that house. Stacy never once went down to the right to the pony farm, and I never once went down to the left to the bay! I barely knew it was there, and she didn’t know there were horses around at all! Even now she remembers her summers being spent at the bay, and I remember my summers at the pony farm—even though we both stayed with my grandmother in the same house. It’s funny how siblings can be so different.

CHAPTER TWO

Let no one be found among you who sacrifices his son or daughter in the fire, who practices divination or sorcery, interprets omens, engages in witchcraft, or casts spells, or who is a medium or spiritist or who consults the dead. Anyone who does these things is detestable to the Lord…

—Deuteronomy 18:10–12

In today’s world, when things like astrology and psychics and the like are so prevalent, we need to understand what God says about them—beware! Have nothing to do with them. The demonic realm is real and very, very dangerous.

When I was nine and in