Why I Believe in God
By: Yael Wolfe
Tags: Self, Spirituality, Soul, Relationships, God

When I was 19, standing in my kitchen one morning, I felt the presence of another person. I turned to see if my boyfriend had entered the room, but there was no one there.

This presence was so strong that I literally called out to him to see where he was. Maybe he was trying to sneak up on me? But no, he was still in bed.

All throughout the day, I felt this presence everywhere I went. No matter where I was — on my walk, in my car, in the shower — I felt the company of this other person even when I was most assuredly alone.

A few days later, it finally dawned on me that I was pregnant. The soul I felt, that strong feeling that I was in another person’s presence at all times, was my baby.

The next few months were what I can only describe as an intense spiritual experience. The baby spoke to me from early on, telling me I would never get to meet her — she was only there to help me leave my boyfriend. She said he was going to hurt me in a way I could not heal from if I did not leave and that since I had not demonstrated a willingness to save myself from him, she knew that I would leave him in order to save my child from his violence.

I knew, somehow, that this had been orchestrated by “God,” whoever that was. Not an old man in the sky, but some benevolent force of creation that had literally put a guardian angel into my body to get me to do what I hadn’t had the strength to do before then.

The next few months were what I can only describe as an intense spiritual experience. The baby spoke to me from early on, telling me I would never get to meet her — she was only there to help me leave my boyfriend.

One day that spring, shortly after the miscarriage that I had known was coming, I found myself in a deep depression. I knew I had to leave my boyfriend — that had been the directive. But I was overwhelmed with sadness that the whole messy relationship had led me to such a dark place.

I collapsed on the bed one afternoon, just before sunset. My boyfriend was downstairs in the living room, watching a movie. I laid there on the bed, fully clothed, watching the light dim at the window, crying softly.

“What do I do?” I asked this newly forming understanding of God that I was sensing. “Please help me.”

I closed my eyes, feeling no presence respond, which was a torture I cannot describe when I had just spent the last few months feeling enveloped in the bubble of love and companionship I had felt with my baby. All of that was gone that night on the bed. I could feel my aloneness more intensely than I ever had. The contrast was agonizing.

I couldn’t feel even the faintest memory of connection to my child. And I couldn’t feel any connection to God, either.

I imagined my uncle then, who had died suddenly a few months before, shocking the entire family with the unexpected loss. I started crying again — my grief was still so deep — and I felt him hugging me in my imagination.

Suddenly, the image of him dissipated into a million stars and I felt as if I had shot upward into outer space — but no. Further. Higher than that.

I was being held in that infinite place, I realized. I looked down and saw a giant hand cradling me. I sensed that it was the hand of Jesus, which seems strange, I suppose, considering the fact that I did not think of myself as a Christian at that point, nor after it. But I’ve always felt a strong connection to Jesus’ spiritual teachings, so it did not surprise me in that moment to feel his presence.

“You are not alone,” he said. Except that I knew it wasn’t him speaking, but God speaking through him. “I’ve got you.”

I was there, in that space for a very long time. “Time” isn’t the right word, in fact, because there was no time. I could feel myself — my body — far, far away somewhere. I knew it was on that bed in my house, but I was not in it anymore. I knew my soul was someplace else, someplace my body could not reach.

So I laid there, deeply comforted, until, a long time later, I felt myself slowly slipping back downward, funneling back into my body like liquid being poured into a bottle.

“You are not alone,” he said. Except that I knew it wasn’t him speaking, but God speaking through him. “I’ve got you.”

I opened my eyes and found myself in pitch darkness. Nearly two hours had passed.

I felt afraid, suddenly — was it a dream? Would I get up, go downstairs to join my boyfriend, and be crushed by the weight of my depression and grief yet again? Or had this been real? Was I really not alone?

I rose, carefully walked down the stairs, and with each step, I could still feel the buoyancy of my soul. I still felt the presence of God within me. I still felt strong and supported. Held.

I sat down with my boyfriend and we watched a movie together. My spirit felt strong all that night and the next morning.

When he came out to the deck after breakfast to smoke his cigarette while I was sitting next to him, drinking a glass of water and then threw his cigarette into my cup just as I lifted it to my mouth, I stared at that cigarette floating there, saw his utter contempt for me so clearly, still felt God’s energy thrumming in my body, and I stood up and said in utter calmness, “I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.”