Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Lent, Lucifer, and Evolution

For many, lent is solely the past participle of lend, but for those with dirty foreheads today, it marks the Christian season of preparation before Easter. Today is the first day of Lent, or Ash Wednesday, and it is marked by services of penitence.  Lent lasts forty days before Easter (excluding Sundays), and is a time when many Christians prepare for Easter by observing a period of fasting, repentance, moderation and spiritual discipline. The purpose is to set aside time for reflection on Jesus Christ––his suffering and his sacrifice, his life, death, burial and resurrection. After all, he fasted and prayed forty days in the wilderness, it should be easy for us to give up something and empathize with Him, right?

Last year I gave up chocolate and was successful. This year I decided to give up refined sugar. I knew it meant I would also face the devil, but I was determined. I lasted until lunch.

Then my perspective shifted. My friend Doug wrote me that he was going to give up ingratitude, because he was pretty sure that gratitude was the key to peace. I have a hunch he’s on to something.

My husband tells our children that to lead a happy life, they must be content with what they already have. Chris has always practiced what he preached, but I'm not always so good about it. I always have more I want to accomplish, and I think about those experiences as "haves" rather than money and what it brings.

I do believe one of the major keys to happiness is gratitude, because in Lent we give up something we enjoy, and we realize how grateful we are for all that we do have. I also believe what my mother taught me about always doing for others. If we get out of our own head and do for others––whether we volunteer to help the less fortunate, or do small acts of kindness––we become less self absorbed and more grateful for what we have.

So, I am going to challenge myself and you may join me if you wish (no matter what your religion), to pay it forward during the next forty days, and hopefully habits will form. Whether we mail a card to a loved one, deliver a box of Girl Scout cookies to a shut-in, shovel a neighbor's drive, or just post a message to a Facebook friend we have not seen in a while, that small act can cause ripples in some places and a chain reaction in others. How cool would that be! Then, journal about what we appreciate, and thank God. I believe that is the meaning of evolution.

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Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Remember Your Legacy too!

When the spirit of Jannette told her story to me as I relayed in Investigative Medium - the Awakening,  I became her mouthpiece to bring her back from the antebellum South––to preserve her history. I wish we all knew more about those who made us what we are today. Last week, my ninety-five-year-old cousin passed, and I was asked to speak at her funeral. A million thoughts  crossed my mind, but not one of them contained information about our complete ancestry, or any stories she would have liked told.  I wish I had asked more. Done more.

While reflecting on my prospective eulogy, I received a phone call (okay really a Facebook message then a phone call) from my old friend, David Ivy, from my hometown of Atlanta. David has been a well known sportscaster and an award-winning producer for over twenty-five years, and I’ve always enjoyed his insight. We discussed my upcoming release, Real Daughters, and I explained how important it is that the history of the daughters of Confederate soldiers be recorded. Because David often regaled stories like his great grandmother’s account of  burning of Atlanta,  I knew he felt my lust for history too.

David suggested I video my interviews so my audience can sense in more ways than reading.  He’s right, but for many reasons I hesitate, because I lack professional equipment, editing capabilities, and production experience. But David had the perfect solution.

He told me about his production company’s recent venture, Your Legacy Videos (  His team makes professional  documentary videos to preserve life stories, memories, events, visions and achievements for generations to come.  They develop masterful high definition factual stories, and will visit your home or office for taping.  If only I had done this with my parents!

His work excited me so much that I wanted to share it with you. I know you will enjoy visiting his web site and seeing some of the family history he has recorded at   In addition, Your Legacy Video makes a unique and meaningful gift for your loved ones, whether you record your story for your children, or whether you give your parents or grandparents the gift of their own documentary.

Imagine a world where you come to know more about your great, great grandparents than the black and white egg shaped picture of two frowning old people. What if you saw them laugh, heard their stories in their own voice, and saw yourself in their eyes? How would you feel?



Visit  for more information and to see some of the videos already completed! Or, you can call 1.800.632.7267.

Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Memories of a Southern Christmas

The other day while doing research, I found this letter to Robert E. Lee by three little Southern girls, and his response. I was so touched by their exchange, that I wanted to share the story with you. I thought it would be appropriate to include this Christmas, as this year marks the 150th anniversary of the Battle of Gettysburg. It was first printed in 1867 as part of Mrs. Louise Clack's Christmas Gift To Her Little Southern Friends, and all proceeds were given to Orphans of the South.
Enjoy, Laine

Dear General Lee:

We think you are the goodest man that ever lived, and our auntie says you will go right straight to heaven when you die; so we want to ask you a question, for we want to know the truth about it, and we know that you always speak the truth.

Please tell us whether Santa Claus loves the little rebel children, for we think he don't; because he did not come to see us for four Christmas Eves. Auntie thinks you would not let him cross the lines, and we don't know how to find out unless we write and ask you. We all love you dearly, and we want to send you something; but we have not any thing nice enough; we lost all our toys in the war. Birdie wants to send you one of our white kittens--the one with black ears; but Auntie thinks maybe you don't like kittens. We say little prayers for you every night, dear General Lee, and ask God to make you ever so happy. Please let us know about Santa Claus as soon as you can; we want to know for something very, very, very particular; but we can't tell even you why until Christmas time, so please to excuse us.

Your little friends,
Lutie, Birdie, and Minnie

My dear little friends:

I was very glad to receive your kind letter, and to know by it that I have the good wishes and prayers of three innocent little girls, named Lutie, Birdie, and Minnie.

I am very glad that you wrote about Santa Claus for I am able to tell you all about him. I can assure you he is one of the best friends that the little Southern girls have. You will understand this when I explain to you the reason of his not coming to see you for four years.

The first Christmas Eve of the war I was walking up and down in the camp ground, when I thought I heard a singular noise above my head; and on looking to find out from whence it came, I saw the queerest, funniest-looking little old fellow riding along in a sleigh through the air. On closer inspection, he proved to be Santa Claus.

“Halt! Halt!” I said; but at this the funny fellow laughed, and did not seem inclined to obey, so again I cried,“Halt!”. And he drove down to my side with a sleigh full of toys. I was very sorry for him when I saw the disappointed expression of his face when I told him he could go no further South; and when he exclaimed, “Oh, what will my little Southern children do!” I felt more sorry, for I love little children to be happy, and especially at Christmas. But of one thing I was certain--I knew my little friends would prefer me to do my duty, rather than have all the toys in the world; so I said: “Santa Claus, take every one of the toys you have back as far as Baltimore, sell them, and with the money you get buy medicines, bandages, ointments, and delicacies for our sick and wounded men; do it and do it quickly--it will be all right with the children.”
Then Santa Claus sprang into his sleigh, and putting his hand to his hat in true military style, said: “I obey orders, General,” and away he went. Long before morning he came sweeping down into camp again, with not only every thing I had ordered, but with many other things that our poor soldiers needed. And every Christmas he took the toy money and did the same thing; and the soldiers and I blessed him, for he clothed and fed many a poor soul who otherwise would have been cold and hungry. Now, do you not consider him a good friend. I hold him in high respect, and trust you will always do the same.
I should be pleased to hear from you again, my dear little girls, and I want you ever to consider me, 

Your true friend,
General Robert E. Lee

Sunday, July 7, 2013

She Hears Dead People

I am honored that Dr. Katherine Ramsland has chosen to write about my book in her column in Psychology Today, shown below:

A blog that probes the mind's dark secrets

She Hears Dead People

A woman who becomes “suddenly psychic” turns “curse” into a gift.
Jessica Lunsford was a third-grader in Homosassa, Florida, with big plans to become a fashion designer. Then one night in February 2005, she went missing from the doublewide mobile home where she lived with her father and grandparents. Although there was no sign of a struggle, a stuffed purple dolphin was missing from Jessica’s room and the front door was unlocked.
Unfortunately, there were several potential suspects among the area’s known sexual predators. Among them was John Couey, 46, who resided 100 yards from the Lunsfords. Police questioned him and even went into the room where he was holding Jessica captive, but they didn’t see or hear anything related to her.
Authorities finally arrested Couey on March 17, whereupon he confessed to kidnapping Jessica while high on drugs. He’d kept her in a closet for several days before tricking her into getting inside some large garbage bags and then burying her. Jessica's remains were found on March 19. An autopsy indicated that she’d been sexually assaulted and had died from suffocation.

Laine Crosby’s experience as an “investigative medium” began with this case. She suddenly sensed one day, as if she were inside the grave, that a little girl was buried alive and needed help. But the searchers weren’t looking in the right place. Laine was screaming, but no one could hear. “I’m so close,” she writes, “it’s almost as if I’m an overlay, a varnish on a picture.”

Laine wanted to inform the police, fax them a map, anything to help, but her husband persuaded her that they would ignore her or think she was a kook or had guilty knowledge. When Jessica’s remains were found, and Couey admitted he’d buried her alive, Crosby resolved that she’d never hesitate again, no matter what anyone thought. She’s convinced she might have saved the girl.
I met Laine through Mark and Carol Nesbitt, whom I’ve known through my paranormal investigations. Mark was featured in my book, Ghost: Investigating the Other Side, and I’ve often stayed in the “Ghost House” where his Ghosts of Gettysburg office is located. Together, we wrote Blood and Ghosts: Paranormal Forensic Investigators. Laine became part of some of those stories, because we crossed paths at certain sites and she gave us some readings on several incidents.

For example, at the Winery at La Grange in Haymarket, Virginia, large dark stains on the hardwood floor of a third-floor room suggested the presence of blood. In one area, it took the shape of a body that had bled out, and in another area there seemed to have been a bloody struggle. (I’m not psychic and I could see this.) The new owners knew of no violent incidents there, but they did have a few ghost stories.

I watched as Laine had a conversation with a man who’d died (I heard only her side). Apparently, he was still in the room. The victim described a struggle with his brother-in-law, who’d shot him twice. He lay dying for a long time, he said, and his body went undiscovered in that room for five days. He gave a name and year, but we never found records.

Laine also performed remote viewing for us when she couldn’t come along on a trip, and during this time, she’d told us she was writing a book about her experiences. Now it’s done. Investigative Medium – the Awakening has been published. I was eager to read it.

In 2004, Laine moved from Atlanta, GA, to a haunted house on a former plantation in Maryland. Besides going through culture shock, she soon learned that the property was loaded with spirits, largely from a slave cemetery. When they overheard her tell her kids about spiritual realities, they came calling. Lots of them.

The chaos finally settles down as Laine finds people who can help her to learn more about her spiritual talent, as well as about the history of her new abode.

This book is the first in a series as it describes Laine’s developing ability to absorb the complex details of a decedent’s life story. One spirit in particular, Janette, offers up a long tale about love, family, and slavery. She appears to have had a similar tussle with racism and sexism from her 19th-century circumstances to Laine’s struggle with prejudices against her spiritual abilities. So, the two stories are parallel.

The second book, which is excerpted at the end, looks to be more along the lines of Ghost Whisperer, but The Awakening lays the groundwork. It introduces readers to Laine’s family, her sudden psychic abilities, and her involvement in the process of her mother’s dying, as well as in the stories of people who once lived (or fought a battle) on the plantation grounds. Watching how her gifts affect her family is its own intriguing narrative.

Laine’s talents are well suited to helping historians, historical writers, taphophiles, cold case detectives, and missing-persons organizations. I expect that her books will bring her plenty of new inquiries.

Thursday, July 4, 2013

Happy July 4th! - I'm sharing Mark Nesbitt's blog today

On the 150th anniversary of the battle, I'm reminded how much love there is for this great country––those in the South who believed the country should continue having a small federal government and State's Rights, and the North, who believed we should continue to be one country, as our ancestors had believed before us. Later this month, I'll release my new ebook, Conversations with the Ghosts of Gettysburg, where I have interviewed the spirits and learned why they fought in the war.

The link to Mark's blog is below, and you won't want to miss it!

And by the way, Mark's Ghosts of Gettysburg is on sale today for $.99 in the Amazon store- and ranks 8th in Supernatural!  (Mine ranks 70th, thanks to my dear friends and blog readers––thank you!)

And remember, thoughts are things, and our loved ones will come to us and hear us when we communicate with them. So, maybe tonight when you're watching fireworks, you might want to invite your loved ones to watch them with you.


Tuesday, July 2, 2013

In honor of the heroic men who died in Gettysburg...

In recognition of the 150th anniversary of the Battle of Gettysburg, I would like to share observations of author/ historian Mark Nesbitt, who brings you the personal stories of the boys and men who were marching into history in the summer of 1863...
Visit Mark's blog at for more Gettysburg stories...

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Investigative Medium - the Awakening by Laine Crosby has been released!

Investigative Medium - the Awakening is now an ebook available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Apple's iBooks, and in any file format for any device at Autographed copies can be made at, available by July 7. The first two chapters are below. But first- about the book:

This is the story of a completely ordinary wife and  mother, who woke up one morning suddenly psychic. Who knew Laine Crosby, former marketing executive at The Weather Channel, had the gift of being an Investigative Medium?  Not even Laine, that is, until she moved from Atlanta to the property of an eighteenth century Maryland plantation and woke up talking to a former slave buried in her backyard! 

Investigative Medium - the Awakening, examines the gift that was thrust upon Laine who was at first surprised, and then upset, and over time and through experience, embracing of this new way of life. Laine’s husband, Chris, twins Annie and Caleb, and even her Jack Russell terrier “Steve” have peripheral ghostly involvement, so it is a family affair, although at first an unsettling one.

Along Laine’s journey, she meets an unlikely friend, the spirit of Jannette, once nanny to the children on the plantation where she lives. Laine becomes Jannette's voice, bringing her back from the antebellum South to tell the incredible story of her life as a slave, and a tender romance is revealed.  Interwoven with Laine’s personal story, are the first hand accounts of former slaves Jannette and Bill, and others.

Laine finds similarities in her own life and Jannette's, and with Jannette's friendship, Laine begins her journey down a path of self discovery.  Once Laine accepts her gift, it is her mother who, from beyond the grave, helps Laine find a way to surrender, and at long last give up on the life she dreamed of having, in order to have the life she was meant to live. 

Investigative Medium - the Awakening is first in the Investigative Medium series, a preface to future books about Laine's adventures with law enforcement, historians and archaeologists. It is a fast read and an uplifting and hopeful book for anyone who has lost a loved one. But, put on your seat belts; It's a thriller along the way!


I took one step before the world as I knew it swirled clockwise and away, and I was left standing off-balance while looking through the eyes of someone I didn’t know. I tried to escape the sound of my television as I rose from bed, my usual place of comfort and solace, but on this day, I couldn’t move fast enough.  

I don’t want to be sad today. Not today, I thought. The shaky male voice coming from the television was faint now, and it said, "I ask you to please help me find my daughter and bring her home." I couldn’t digest those words at that moment because I was somewhere far away, in a very dark place.  

Oh God, I am scared. Fear swallowed me and held me completely immobile. What is happening? Where am I?

Lying in darkness, my head is tilted up slightly and I could see my toes if only there was light. The familiar feeling of an asthma attack is coming on and I gasp for air, but instantly I realize I am suffocating and no air is to be found.

 Somehow I see, or feel, or know things, and I’m not exactly sure how because it is all happening so fast. My left arm is the small, soft beautiful arm of a little girl. I am startled with this knowledge, but at the same time I struggle because I can’t get air and I can’t breathe. I feel the grit of sand. Is it in my lungs? I am saturated with fear, but like a game of Sardines, more pushes into me when there is no room left.  

Help me God, show me where I am! I can’t breathe!

Faster than the speed of light, I am no longer looking through the same eyes, but I am in the same space next to a little girl. I am so close, it’s almost as if I’m an overlay, a varnish on a picture. Not part of it anymore, but every bit as close to the experience. There is a sudden peacefulness I feel from the girl, although my fear is escalating.

I am pulled backward, up through the shallow dirt and into the bright sunny sky. I can see the green grass and the tree line, and a small one story home comes into view. As I travel higher, I see people milling around with sticks and long-sleeve light-colored shirts. Some have baseball caps and are calling out. They are searching all around the area, but not where I am. They are so close, so very close but too far. Suddenly, a still photo of a man flashes in front of me. I see his full body from the side, as he is walking. He is shorter than I am, with leathery skin, and evil is the purest part of his nature. Another image flashes on the movie screen in my head, and the man is facing me, very close, with vague eyes, the grin of a wolf, and the overwhelming smell of alcohol around him.

I was returned as fast as I left, and I quickly sat back down on the bed. I was stunned with an overload of information in a period of time that doesn’t correlate with this dimension, and I was searching to line it up and figure it out. Then it came, as if someone stuck a flash drive in me and booted me up.

In that very instant I also realized my husband Chris was beside me trying to understand what was happening, and all I could say was, “She’s buried alive! They don’t know! She is still alive and nobody knows! She’s right there! Right there!” I trembled as I stood, stomping my foot, trying to regain contact with reality. “They are starting their search back too far. I can hear them and they are so close but back too far. She is alive and they don’t know it. Oh my God. OH MY GOD! WHAT DO I DO! SHE IS ALIVE!”

 My hysterical screaming became unrecognizable through my tears as Chris held me in his arms. It was February 26, 2005, and I had just become an Investigative Medium.


Jessica Marie Lunsford was a beautiful nine-year-old girl, who like most girls her age, enjoyed swimming, singing, riding bikes, and her dog Corky. She especially loved her Grandma Ruth and those shopping trips together to Walmart in Homasassa, Florida. Jessica was going to be a fashion designer when she grew up, and she practiced by making doll clothes and modeling white capri pants and a sassy little raincoat in her church’s fashion show. Jessica was all girl, a true princess, a precious soul. On February 23, 2005, Jessica was raped and murdered by 47-year-old John Couey.

I had never experienced anything similar, and I knew what I had seen was profound. I picked up the phone several times and asked my husband, “Who do I call? The FBI? The local authorities in Homasassa?”

 Chris just shook his head back and forth. “Honey,” he said, “they’ll never believe you, even if you could get through to them on the phone.”

 “Maybe I could fax them a map!”

“You don’t understand. At best they will ignore you, and at worst, they’ll investigate you and think you had something to do with it.”

I was haunted by my experience, but I managed to put it out of my mind. Self-doubt helps us sometimes that way. On March 19, while standing by my bed again, I heard on the television that Jessica Marie Lunsford’s remains had been found buried only 150 yards from her back door. Forensics indicated that Jessica had been buried alive.

My life has never since been the same.

I have two precious little souls, my children, Annie and Caleb. Annie loves swimming and dress-up and singing Disney princess songs while riding her bike alongside her dog Steve. I still have my treasured children, and I thank God for that every day. But, I also have to live with my decision not to call the police. As a result, another family does not get ten hugs a day, a serenade of Hanna Montana songs, and smiles and giggles for the rest of their lives. Dear Lord, please forgive me. 

Now I work on missing persons’ cases with police and families, mostly taking my orders from the other side. I also work with authors, historians, and archaeologists to determine what happened long ago in specific locations.

Through the clairvoyant, clairaudient, and clairsentient abilities I have been given, I am an instrument to help the other side connect to this world. These are not abilities I asked for or even knew I had, but having become aware of them, I have chosen to use them in the best way I can. It is important to understand I am only a mouthpiece—a channel, a medium—not really much different from a telephone or radio. As I experience information, I do the best I can to make sense of it, define it, and pass it on.

I like to think that when I was buried with Jessica, my presence eased her pain. The calm I felt was not from her death, for I would have made that distinction and found a way to live with myself. I believe she felt me somehow, and it brought her peace—the momentary calmness I sensed before I was pulled away. Perhaps by being there, I took away some of her fear and experienced it myself. At least I hope being a physical empath has these advantages.

I am not an angel or a saint, a demon or a witch. I’m just a mom who goes to church, volunteers at her children’s elementary school, and regularly burns pizza. I am completely ordinary. I am an Investigative Medium and this is my story.

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