At 19 years of age Kambria had survived terrible adversity which left her full of anger and extremely depressed. She was sure that life was no longer worth living. She boarded a bus, intent on getting as far away from her home as possible, and then committing suicide. The bus ride lasted all night, ending on a Saturday morning at a university campus in the northeast corner of the US:
The campus seemed to be its own small oasis. I could see miles of open, snow packed land all around it. I began heading across the campus towards the uninhabited place. There, I could walk until I could walk no more. A brutal death, yet, not nearly so brutal as life had been.
Partway across the campus, I was noticing how perfect the sky was. The perfect shade of blue, no clouds, an occasional bird. Suddenly, from almost directly overhead, there was an awful crash of thunder and lightening. Immediately, rain poured and I was drenched! I ran into the nearest building, literally dripping wet. My tennis shoes sloshed on the polished marble floor and I left a trail of water drops and mud behind me.
Someone was coming down the hallway toward me. I could hear the rhythmic tap of her high heels. Not wanting to be caught, I ducked into the nearest doorway, only to discover the room was packed with people listening intently to their seminar instructor. We were all a bit startled by my presence there.
The instructor motioned for me to come in and have a seat. He pulled a chair out, front and center, and invited me to “dry off for a bit.” I was mortified, but couldn’t figure how to get out of the situation, so I sat down, embarrassed by my existence.
I looked around the room, trying to gather clues and get up to speed as to what was happening. Then I saw the title of the seminar written on the board, “How to Pray and Stay Awake.” Good grief! The expression on my face must have spoken loud and clear. The instructor stopped speaking to the class and addressed me personally. “Do you pray?”
In angry mockery, I asked, “To who? God? That’s stupidness! Your God is a senseless myth!” I could see that he, and the others, were taken aback by my hostility. I hadn’t meant to spew my anger, but “God” was a senseless joke, especially in light of my impending suicide. The instructor was silent for a very long, uncomfortable minute. When he spoke, it was with a gentleness and a depth that I hadn’t expected.
“Would you close your eyes for a minute and do an exercise with me?” How could I say no, I thought. I closed my eyes. “I want you to think about something you did yesterday, and briefly tell the class about it.” I did. “Now, I want you to think back to a year ago, and briefly share something that happened then.” Again, I did as he asked. “Now, I want you to think about something that happened in your early teens…and now something from your childhood… now I want you to find your earliest memory. Briefly share it with us.” I did as I was asked.
Then he said, “Now, I want to take you back to a time before your birth. Tell me, what do you see?” As he spoke, a vision, like a remembrance, opened up to me. I was in awe by not only the clarity of the memory, but the memory itself. Where did it come from? I had no belief in this! I shared with the class what I was seeing.
I was standing on a balcony, taking in one last sentimental view of what had been my home ever since I could remember. My long white robe gently rippled in the breeze and the gold railing on my balcony shone brilliantly in the light. The fairway below my place, the river beyond, and the sky above me was as beautiful and as vibrantly alive as they had ever been. The city, in the distance, was a pearlescent hue, pulsating with energy and light.
I was not enjoying the scenery though. I was pacing back and forth across my balcony. I was deeply concerned, anxious to the point of distress. Tomorrow I was going to earth. The woman I had chosen to be my mother was preparing to give birth to me, and I didn’t want to go. I knew what lay ahead. The “human experiences” I had chosen to have were going to be difficult, and now that my turn had arrived I wasn’t as confident about my ability to rise above them.
I knew I had a choice, whether to go or not. I knew I didn’t have to, it wasn’t required. And yet, wasn’t it I who had been teaching at the University in the city, encouraging other spirits who were preparing for their human experience to go with boldness and to trust that all would be well? How could I be there for them, encouraging them in the greatest experience of all time, and yet not go myself? Where was the integrity? I must go, or they would lose confidence and possibly not go themselves. I knew my actions could either cheat them out of or encourage them in their human experience. I was carrying a heavy burden. My own fears, anxieties, and hesitations had grown to the point that I needed encouragement and reinforcement, lest I back out. I needed to speak with Father.
Instantly I was with Father, walking on the fairway. We were deep in conversation. I poured out my heart to Him. I told Him of my fears and my concerns. My distress was evident. “What ifs” plagued me. I had chosen too many trials–any one of them would be overwhelming. The odds were against me. I would never make it back home. “Father, I can’t go. I’m scared.”
He listened compassionately. I knew He felt my concern. I knew He cared deeply. We came to a beautiful sitting area. Father sat on a marble bench that seemed to be floating. I sat on the ground at His feet, my heart breaking. I longed for the safety of my heavenly home and yet, the possibilities of what lay beyond the “human experience” was what I dreamed of for as long as I could remember. I looked into His eyes, knowing that His words would be all the encouragement I needed. All that I was, my entire being, my eternity seemed to hang in the balance of His words. He tenderly looked upon me. There was no question as to His love for me. It radiated, not just from His eyes, but from His entire being. I knew He loved me, as if I were His only child. I reached up, putting my hand on His knees, my heart aching, seeking His guidance. “Father–” I cried. He placed His hands on top of mine, lovingly looking me in the eye and said, “Peace, my child. Peace.”
Instantly a bell rang, echoing through the building. The clanging snapped me out of the experience and back into real time. I opened my eyes, in awe of what I had just witnessed. As I looked into the moist eyes of the instructor, I began weeping and laughing for joy. “God is real! God is real and He loves me. He loves ME!” I could not suppress the joy of knowing.
The classmates were stunned. No one wanted to move. We didn’t want to lose the moment. There were no dry eyes in the room that day. The Holy Spirit had borne a powerful witness to each of us that Father God is real, that His love is beyond measure, and that there was a plan laid out that we chose and agreed to from before our birth, for each one of us individually. This “human experience” is merely that… a human experience that we, as extraordinary, eternal beings of light, must have to progress on to greater heights.