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How I Found the Urantia Book—MARILYN HAUCK GREEN (1969)

AS AN ADULT I became interested in the study of music. I vowed that when my children were in school and sufficiently independent, I would go back to college and take music courses. In 1968 we moved to Virginia Beach, an occasion which caused me to look again to my goals. Since there was a small college nearby and the time seemed right, I enrolled in freshman courses in the music department.

During Christmas vacation my husband Russ had talked me into going with him to visit the A.R.E. [Association for Research and Enlightement] Foundation at Virginia Beach, the old Edgar Cayce sanitarium which looks out upon the Atlantic Ocean. I had avoided this place, not because I’d ruled out the possibility that Edgar Cayce was genuine but because I’d figured that there must be a hundred frauds for every one truth among all the psychic and healing claims. However, Russ persisted, saying that we owed it to ourselves to see something unique right in our home area.

While at the Foundation, I learned of its large library of books dealing with psychic phenomena, fortune telling, prediction, astrology, religious philosophy, and so on. I also visited the bookstore and bought a couple of books for Christmas presents. Russ wrote a check for them and we left. That, it seemed, was that.

By the end of the school year I knew that an occupation in music was not for me. I had been holding off acknowledging that fact, but on the day I returned from my last final, I had to examine what I had been pushing aside. I was quite discouraged that this long-held dream was not valid, and in the course of my mental circles I exclaimed, “Well, God, what am I supposed to do?”

The phone rang. The woman on the other end informed me that she was calling from the A.R.E. bookshop and that the check my husband had written back in December (some five months before) had been dated 1965 instead of 1969. I was embarrassed and promised that I would get right in the car and come out to write her a good check. In five months she had not been able to find me at home because I was attending classes.

On the way to the Foundation I thought over what I’d asked God. I decided that since I had asked, I ought to see whether I had received an answer. The only thing I could think of doing in connection with the A.R.E. was to join the library as an associate and start reading.

Whenever I went back to the library, I deliberately kept an open mind as I searched the shelves. I chose books because they had pretty covers, or were on a subject that intrigued me or covered topics that I knew nothing about. I began to wonder why all the “inspired” authors could not write in simple, understandable English. Apparently their inspiration didn’t extend that far. I read great predictions and Buddhist philosophy. A lot of it was obvious pretentious fakery, and some of it was fascinating. By fall, I was a veteran of the card catalogue.

About this time I read a book by a psychic who lived during World War I and the post-war period. In the appendix was an account of a major vision. The main character in the vision was “Urania,” a goddess described as a daughter of heaven and earth, of the sun and the moon. The author’s description so interested me that I wished to look up more on the subject of Urania. I returned to the A.R.E. library. The card catalogue contained only one book under the letter “U”— “Urantia Book, The.”

The library carried only one copy of the Urantia Book, and a non-circulating copy at that. I climbed up the step stool to reach it (it was on the top shelf) and almost fell off when the weight of Big Blue made itself known. That afternoon I sat at one of the oak tables, on one of the hard oak chairs, and started in on the Foreword. I’m not afraid to read long books, but it struck me that it would take me several lifetimes to read through a book of that size and density if I could only spend a few hours a week on it. I put it back and continued my chance encounter with literature.

About two weeks later I approached the checkout desk with my weekly selection. There on the cart of volumes to go on the shelves, was a wide, blue book. The librarian informed me that they had gotten a second copy so that one could go on the circulation shelves. I had seen it twice and decided I ought to check it out. And this time I got beyond the Foreword.

Because the book was on loan from a library, I paced myself at a paper a day to get through it. The librarian allowed me to renew it as long as no one was on the waiting list for it. By November I had ordered my own copy from Chicago, and finished the fourth section reading from my own book. As I read it I knew it was what it said it was. It was as though I had been deliberately primed on the other reading so I would have some similar material for comparison.

We lived in Virginia Beach for another seven and a half years, and I never found another reader except my family members to whom I had introduced the book. In 1976 I finally got to Chicago, visited 533, and met other readers for the first time. I have been reading and discussing the book ever since, and I am happy to report I have many readers to talk to and share with now.

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