I Am Always with You
Divine Love Helps a Grieving Woman Out of a Dark Abyss
By LP
Several years ago, my husband decided he needed a change and left me and our two sons. Only the loving support of my brother helped us to go on. That and the joy my two teenage sons brought to my life. They were wonderful kids—good students, caring and compassionate, and never any trouble at all. My only complaint—a joking one—was to wonder how anyone could possibly consume so much cereal and milk!
Then my beloved brother was killed in an auto accident. I was devastated. His kindness had been such a great help to all of us, and now he was gone.
After a while, I began to adjust to our new life. My job as a pediatric nurse in a large urban hospital was fulfilling, and I worked extra hours, while the boys studied hard.
In the fall, my sons decided to attend a boarding school three hours away. It was a wonderful educational opportunity for them. I missed them, but it freed me to work even longer hours and save for their college tuition. When they came home at Christmas, I was proud to be able to give them each a large check to buy new clothes.
They were so excited.
The boys contacted three cousins, and one day they all piled into a car for a day of shopping. As they pulled away from the curb, my sons yelled out the window, "Love you!"
"Love you," I called back. It was the last time I saw them alive. A pickup truck plowed into their car as they were stopped at an intersection. The cousins survived, but my two boys were killed.
Surviving three major losses undid me. I plunged into a dark abyss that day. There seemed no way out of my sorrow. And then began a recurring dream:
In the dream it is my dear brother who has had the car accident. I see him standing across a large body of water in front of a big white hotel. My sons are with him, and they are grinning from ear to ear.
"Why are you smiling?" I ask.
"Because we are happy."
"Can I come over there?"
"No, you must go back through the tunnel. We'll see you again."
This recurring dream was a great comfort to me. I was glad to see my brother was with the boys.
Six months after the accident, an old friend who lived in Germany invited me for a visit. I welcomed the chance to get away for a while, but the moment my friend asked, "How are you doing?" I dissolved into her arms in tears. She comforted me as best she could and then asked me a question: "Have you ever heard of Eckankar?"
She showed me some ECK books, then invited me to sing HU with her. She said it was a love song to God.
As we sang HU together, I found myself standing before a young man in front of the Temple of ECK in Minnesota. He had my son's face and wore a suit in his favorite shade of blue. He gently led me to a room inside the Temple and sat me in a chair where I rested a long time, bathed in a shaft of golden healing light.
Soon after I returned home from Germany, my mother died. For many months I had intended to travel to South Africa to visit her, but for one reason or another I kept postponing the trip. Finally, on the phone, she had pleaded with me, "If you don't come soon, I may never see you again."
She was right. I didn't make the trip, and she died suddenly a few weeks later.
After the funeral, my sister flew in to visit me and was very concerned. "How are you coping?" she asked.
My sorrow was great. But practicing the Spiritual Exercises of ECK had brought me great comfort.
"I see things differently than I did before," I said. "It's true I am alone, but now I have the Mahanta."
Not long after I became a member of Eckankar, I was riding in the backseat of a car with some friends. All I could see was blue sky and a stream of blue lights flowing toward us from oncoming cars. This was a route I drove to work every day, but now there was something different—a huge sign was also lit up in blue light.
The sign contained only five words:
And you doubted Me? —God.
The next morning, as I drove to work along that same road, I watched for the sign. It wasn't there. It was as if it had appeared only to me, to remind me of the Mahanta's ancient promise, "I am always with you."
Excerpted from the 2006 Eckankar Journal, copyright © 2005 ECKANKAR. All rights reserved.
