Hearing the Voice of the Holy Spirit

I sat in front of the cabin on the rocky shore and clutched my head in my hands. Once again, the terror that had haunted me from as far back as I could remember burned through my chest like a blast furnace. 

I had been struggling with a buried memory of being molested by a trusted member of my grandparents’ church as a young child. It had been so traumatic that I had disassociated from my body and buried the memory deep within. 

Now, in my late 20s, the memory was resurfacing with a ferocity that was almost unbearable. My chest squeezed, and I gasped for air as I slid yet again down into the abyss, and the phantoms from the past took hold of me.

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Eventually, the flashback faded, leaving me trembling. As tears flowed, I thought about the mess I’d made of my life. My marriage lay in ruins; my husband was an alcoholic and battling his own demons; the love we once shared had twisted into something that only hurt us both. We had a two-year-old daughter who meant everything to me, yet deep down, I feared letting her love me. In my heart, I knew she needed me, but I was terrified of “ruining” her.

The trembling stopped, but tears flowed unchecked as I stared listlessly at the water. It looked flat. The trees, the blue sky, the birds — everything felt as dead as my soul. While I had always believed in God, I felt like the one cosmic mistake — everyone else was fine, except me. I begged God to let me die and listed all the reasons it would be better if I ceased to exist.

It was then that I sensed Jesus’ presence with me on that rock.

Long before I knew about the Baha’i Faith and Baha’u’llah, I knew Jesus. Raised in a Christian home, I had always loved Christ and felt his protective presence. But amidst the chaos of a failing, abusive marriage, my prayers seemed like they went no further than the walls of my room. I felt abandoned. Now, finally, I sensed Jesus with me, holding my soul in his hands, comforting the suffering child within me.

Sitting on the shore, an urge to visit a small island across the water overwhelmed me. I had attempted to canoe there once before but had to be rescued by my father-in-law in a motorboat. Now, without knowing why, it felt like I was being guided to go there.

As I got into the canoe, self-doubt seized me. Had I truly sensed Jesus? Did he really want me to canoe all that way? Uncertainty wrestled with hope. Edging back into despair, I thought, “Death by drowning is as good a way to die as any other,” but as I paddled, a strong current guided me effortlessly to the island. I was surprised because the crossing had been impossible before. Maybe, just maybe, Jesus was with me after all. I pulled the canoe onto the shore, climbed the rocks, and looked around. 

I was alone. 

Fear jolted through me like an electrical current. My breathing became shallow, and my thoughts raced. I felt ridiculous, a waste of space. Who was I to believe Jesus would bother with me and lead me here? Shame burned into me as another flashback hit. With horror, my mind imagined crazy-eyed mountain men leaping through the trees, rushing to attack me.

I was deep in the “abyss” when I heard Jesus speak: “I have brought you here. Don’t be afraid. You are safe.” The phantoms fluttered … and then vanished. Taking a deep breath, I looked around again. What had seemed so sinister moments before was now a peaceful summer’s day, the only sounds were the chirping of birds and droning hum of cicadas. I stood in a small rock basin, where a stream flowed down the rock face and into the lake behind me. Poplars lined the top rim, their leaves waving like tiny hands.  

Suddenly, it was as if a veil drew back. Like a mirage shimmering in the sun, I saw large men standing between the trees, guarding the entrance to the basin. For a split-second, fear gripped me, thinking it was another flashback. But they did not look at me; instead, they stared fiercely ahead, their muscled arms crossed over their chests in a protective stance. Then, just as quickly, the veil dropped, and they disappeared from my sight.

I realized what I had seen: a circle of protecting angels.

Jesus really had brought me here. This was truly happening. I looked around in awe. All this, for me?

Humbled, self-conscious, and yet feeling safe for the first time in years, I slowly explored the basin like a baby taking its first steps. I breathed deeply, savoring the musky scent of moss and earth. The colors, the leaves, the water — everything danced with light. I sat by the stream flowing down the rocky embankment, its sound joyous and full of life. As I listened, something extraordinary happened: the splashing water transformed into high, tinkling laughter, like the laughter of children. Dumbstruck, I stared at the stream as the musical laughter filled the air.

Then I heard Jesus laugh. Though I couldn’t see him, his laughter rolled across the basin. His laughter was pure happiness, joy in this simple stream, and in sharing this beauty with someone he loved: me.

I sat, savoring his laughter, and closed my eyes, letting it wash over me. Tears streamed down my cheeks, but this time they were tears of joy. I raised my head and laughed too.

Lost in awe, I didn’t notice how much time had passed until Jesus softly spoke. “It is time for us to leave.” Startled, I saw that the sun had begun to set. Pulling the canoe back into the water, I paddled across the channel. Despite the current now flowing against me, I glided easily. As I stepped onto the dock and tied up the canoe, night fell. Another minute on the water would have left me in complete darkness, but he had guided me safely home. 

Jesus continued to guide me through the tough years that followed. I eventually left my destructive marriage and life for my daughter, and I slowly got better. Then, one day, I heard his voice again. Someone had given me a book of the writings of Baha’u’llah, the prophet and founder of the Baha’i Faith. As I read those mighty words, suddenly, the voice of Jesus rang through them — the same voice that I had heard that day on the island. It was as Christ said so long ago, “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me.” 

Again, Jesus had guided me to safe shores, this time to his new name. 

I became a Baha’i then, and 35 years later, I still marvel at the miracles that have guided me to this point. I could never have imagined my life would be so filled with love, with abundance, and with hope. I discovered that I have a gift for helping others heal, and I am surprised, over and over, by the abundance of blessings that are only revealed through trauma and deep suffering, like the jack pines whose cones only open in the fire. 

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My life is a testament to the truth in Baha’u’llah’s words: “I swear by My life! Nothing save that which profiteth them can befall my loved ones …” 

On those days when PTSD still short-circuits my thoughts, I turn to the Baha’i writings and revel in God’s grace. I trust in this promise from Baha’u’llah – that as we journey closer to our Creator, the sorrows of the past will fall away: 

O My servants! Sorrow not if, in these days and on this earthly plane, things contrary to your wishes have been ordained and manifested by God, for days of blissful joy, of heavenly delight, are assuredly in store for you. Worlds, holy and spiritually glorious, will be unveiled to your eyes. You are destined by Him, in this world and hereafter, to partake of their benefits, to share in their joys, and to obtain a portion of their sustaining grace. To each and every one of them you will, no doubt, attain.

We are destined for joy.