Sunday, April 11, 2010


It was Fourth of July, Independence Day, 1995. I was giving out flyers to the huge crowd, announcing an upcoming medical marijuana debate. I passed nearby an older gentleman who had been quietly watching me and offered him the information. He said, "This is for marijuana? I cannot take it. I'm a minister, a man of God."

  I replied, "I, too, Love God and put my trust in Him. I try to stay very close to His Spirit." He suggested I go home and pray about what I was doing. I looked deep into his kind eyes so he could see the truth when I said, "I have."

  "I see," he whispered, and took the flyer.

  Years earlier, at the age of 30, I had made my quiet decision to use marijuana medically. I had given the doctors their chance: All their medicine was making it harder for me to control my life. I had researched marijuana, tried it, and it worked for me. I didn't feel the need to stand up for my medical choice.

  But, when the medical marijuana issue touched my 24 year old daughter in the most intimate of ways, I fell to my knees, and prayed a mother's agonized prayer for her child. "God, should I tell her about marijuana? I think it will help her, I know it is safe, but what if it helps her? It will make her a criminal in the eyes of the law. What should I do?"

  She is losing the use of her internal organs, delivered into her world of depressing pain by a physician's clumsy hands. When her doctors told her that the only real relief available now was an expensive surgery that her insurance company would not pay for, she wiped away her tears and worked desperately hard to accept what she could not change. I prayed for her strength.

  When the doctors told her all they could do was order her a wheelchair, and prescribe her pain killers that burned her stomach when she took an effective dose, or made the constipation worse, or made her arms and legs twitch, or her mind nervous, she began to pray for strength. I secretly wondered if marijuana would give her less stressful relief, but I still I said nothing.

  However, when a doctor refused to give her the pain medicine because he was afraid of the government, I knew I had to do something. Her pain was my pain. It felt desperately wrong in my heart not to tell her about marijuana.

  So, how I prayed, on my knees and in tears. And He answered me. I told her everything, helped her try it, and rejoiced when it worked. When I finally looked up from my daughter's situation, I saw millions like her in pain from these policies. Bad laws really do hurt lots of good people. I prayed about that too, and He has been by my side ever since, guiding me every step of the way.

  I do nothing without the Energy of all that is Good, I pray long and hard before taking any action, and I feel in my heart what He wants me to do. He blesses me greatly, and I know without doubt that I'm doing what He needs.

  This prohibition on medicine, on God's creations, and on compassion has to be put to rest. God created this plant, God created us, and despite what many people think, 'God don't make no junk.'

  I continue to Pray, for those in pain, for those causing pain, especially for those who have power over us. And I continue to look forward to a spiritual healing of our nation.

  Looking Forward,
  Grandma Kay


  1. And it kept my head out of the toilet during chemotherapy too!

  2. Every green herb, bearing seed if you don't remove the males in time, for the service of man. Ask any Rasta, it is the healing of the nations.


Please comment. That's how I learn.