Beyond the Darkness

by Angie Fenimore

  I was told that everything is either good or evil. There is no gray area or in-between stage. Light is light and darkness is darkness; and like oil and water, darkness and light repel each other. Sometimes the two are tightly intertwined and it is difficult to see them separately, but they never occupy the same space. That is why God could not come into the darkness of my prison but remained just outside the misty boundary. That is also why I could not leave the darkness. I was filled with darkness, and my spirit was incapable of occupying space that was filled with light.

  The same principle applies within us. There is no such thing as being a passive observer. Everything that we should have done but neglected to do has an impact. Darkness or evil is drawn to itself. Light and all that it encompasses is drawn to light.

  Now I recognized these effects in my own life. While many of the impressions that I had about myself had originated as the painful words and hurtful deeds of others directed toward me, I had also been given messages of good about myself from my parents. I also had good feelings about myself that came from my friends and from fellow members of my church who took an interest in me, and from the thoughts and deeds of light I was able to create, especially during my teenage years.

  There is one particular moment of light that I remember from that time. My stepmother's grandmother—Grandma B, we called her—lived in a nursing home. My family would visit her periodically. My sister and I dreaded those visits, hated the smells of urine and old people and hated being shoved up face to face with death. But one Christmas when we were visiting Grandma B, Toni and I decided to wander around. We were struck by how many lonely old men and women there were, slumped over in wheelchairs lining the corridors, with no one to visit them on Christmas. Having some musical talent and having nothing better to do, we decided to sing Christmas carols for the five or six patients who were in the main gathering area. Before too long, the room was filled with people, many of them singing along with happy, crackling voices. I felt peace and happiness so great that afternoon that I didn't want to leave.

  That day we chose to create light. It is a fact that when a spiritual law is broken, there is a consequence. The same is true for the good we create. There must be an increase in light in us when we cultivate deeds that are positive, when we serve others voluntarily, with no thought of gain for ourselves. Sometimes we perform acts of service to others for the world to behold. While our motives don't diminish the good deed, when we seek the honor of mankind for our sacrifices, the rewards we gain balance out our sacrifices, and there is no increase in light.

  My actions that day helped create light in me. My ability to create it taught me that I had the choice at any given time to create a new reality. I didn't have to allow my stepmother's anger or my abusers' selfishness to ravage my garden. I'm not saying that I could have completely escaped damage, but Jesus was with me through every tormenting act of injustice that was forced upon me, just as He is with each of us, living with us through the bad and the good. God certainly does not intend for His children to be abused, especially those who cannot protect themselves. But it is possible for the abused to come to forgive rather than be destroyed by others. It is difficult, but it is possible. I could have enlisted His aid in the struggle.

  I just didn't know it then. What is the difference between a person who has no power to direct his life and a person who has the power and doesn't know it? None.

  And not knowing, I let the darkness build up in me. I could see how my harsh judgment and accusations of others in my life had limited my own ability to progress beyond blind hatred. We tend to help victims of abuse and loathe the offender, dismissing the fact that he was once a victim. Yet it's impossible to know another's pain or to judge even the slightest offense unless we have also lived that person's life and know how every moment has affected that individual. With the same misguided logic, we tend to help others only when we think that they are helpless. Consequently, many of us refuse to offer a hand to those who we think are capable of providing for themselves but instead wander our streets in rags, with all of their worldly possessions in a bag or shopping cart. But each life is significant. It is neither our responsibility nor our right to pass judgment on each other.

  Our destiny is then determined by our conscience, our ability or willingness to absorb light. Unless we choose to accept a finite level of darkness, we have the ability to grow forever. We decide.

  SEVENTEEN

  As my understanding was awakened, the light that nourished me made all things clear. As I was soaking in the magnificent light, I was being immersed in pure knowledge, pure love—all that is good. And in the immersion many truths were revealed to me. I understood that everything that enters our minds influences us and can alter the balance of light and darkness within us. Around the time of my death, I had found myself attracted to morbid and dark literature as well as television and movies of a dark nature. I watched a nighttime serial religiously that centered on the murder of a teenage girl in a small town. The dialogue was a hodgepodge of nonsense and deeply symbolic teachings that were of the darkest essence. The show was quite the craze, and "followers" often quoted from its script, discussing the possibility of hidden meanings. I did, too, and so increased the measure of darkness in my spirit. At that time, almost all my clothes were black, a seemingly insignificant coincidence that was actually a clear indication of where I was headed. And probably the most significant dark influence on me was the music I listened to. Some music may have words that seem harmless—mindless, in fact—but when these words are paired with musical combinations that have a dark spiritual form, they have power to create more darkness in the minds of those of us who hear them. We can "feel" whether the tones in a particular piece are created of light or of darkness by how the music reacts with our own spirit to create a mood. The music I chose at that time lulled me into a stupor, preaching death and selfishness in symbolic phrases, and it crowded out the light.

  Even then, I knew that the music I loved and the things that had become important to me were not "of God." But at the time I was convinced that I was spiritually defective. I thought I was a failure in the eyes of God, and so I became just that, embracing the darkness. I thought that I was in control of my life, not recognizing that the damaging power I was tapping into was in reality controlling me. Darkness creates unsteadiness and uncertainty within us. As the level of light drops within us, we vacillate in what we perceive as the best course. We often want things or conditions in our lives to change in ways that are not good for us, for the lifestyles that are composed of darkness are alluring and deceptive. At the time of my suicide, I loved my family, but I wasn't willing to fight the darkness, to live a difficult life in order to be with them. I had tumbled into spiritual free-fall.

  The only way I could have saved myself then would have been to purge myself of darkness and replenish my spirit with light. I saw my problems as being so massive that there was no remedy strong enough to help me, but what I hadn't understood is that it is the direction that I was traveling that was destroying me. There are only two directions: toward light or toward darkness. It doesn't matter where we are on the road, as long as we are moving toward that light. Each step, however small, is significant. I was told that it is the little things that we do that have so much power because they spread and grow and continue to breed.

  At that time it didn't even occur to me that I could pray. People often pray as a last resort, after they have stumbled around in the darkness long enough to get desperate for help from a God they usually don't acknowledge. But I was so ridden with guilt that I didn't dare face my maker, although that's precisely what I needed to do.

  God has incredible power to organize darkness and light with His thoughts alone. When we come to Him in humble supplication, with powerful, prayerful words of light, darkness is forced out. It is replaced with healing truth, with light, which then gives us the ability to see more light. God, being without darkness, cannot give us darkness. He can only provide u
s with truth, with what is best for us. All of God's answers are contained in light, and it is through this light that God transmits pure knowledge to us. Truth is unchanging. Either we accept it and are enlightened, or we reject it and remain in darkness.

  That is why it is never the "least" we can do to pray. When we pray to God with true purpose, with faith and a desire for truth, we create the most powerful extensions of light that we are capable of. Many times we don't see the positive impact that our prayers have on the lives of those we pray for, though every prayer uttered is heard by God. We fluctuate in our ability to see and hear His responses to us, but He is always communicating to us. I often pray for the other spirits that were confined in the place of darkness. I pray that they, too, will see God, who is reaching out to each one of them.

  We are, all of us, eternal creatures with endless potential. God the Father told me that He Himself had had a mortal existence on a world like ours and had progressed along a path by choosing good over evil. These words came as a surprise to me. This pattern of advancing spiritually by choosing good has been going on forever and will continue forever. I was told that there are countless worlds revolving around countless suns, and each is inhabited by children of God, who are subject to these same laws.

  And since we are eternal creatures, there is no such thing as ultimate and total death. We die to live again, but where we live again depends on how we conduct our mortal lives. The more we are willing to love, the more light we create within ourselves. The more we err, the more darkness we propagate. All of God's blessings are conditional, for God's laws are immutable. These laws cannot be abrogated or set aside with impunity. When we violate them, there is a punishment involved, a decrease in light. When we obey them, there follows a blessing, an increase in light. These are realities.

  I was also told that as a woman I was half of a whole entity. It is the union of a man and a woman that gives us procreative power, which is the most God-like power that we are allowed to assume as mortal beings. I was told that my husband and I are of equal importance in that union but that we have different roles to perform. We are born with particular attributes, aside from differing physical endowments, that are gifts from God to help us perform these roles. I was told that as a mother who chose to stay home with Alex and Jacob, I was doing more than I knew to provide my children with security and positive feelings about themselves. Many mothers can't be with their children full time, but I could; and so to sacrifice a career for motherhood was one of the few major decisions I made in those years that were good. In exchange for accepting my responsibilities as a mother and wife, I would receive opportunities to grow and to learn lessons that are closely tied to the duties that come with my gender.

  Then I recognized that Richard wasn't out earning a living because he loves doing it. Instead, he was doing it because he loves us. As the masculine half of our union, he would also be given opportunities to learn lessons of life that are innately linked to his role as a father, a husband, and a man. God gave men certain powers not so they could be rulers or tyrants but rather to teach them about sacrifice and responsibility. Service, not rank and privilege, is God's intention for men.

  The seeds of other truths were also planted in me, though I would not be able to cultivate them then. I recognized that they would sprout throughout the course of my life and that I would be able to harvest understanding. What I learned the day I died was how to learn.

  EIGHTEEN

  Now my perception was shifting, and the darkness seemed to lift slightly. When I first entered the dark prison, my vision took in only the things and the people in the realm of darkness. But once I had taken enough light in from God and Jesus, my spiritual eyes were opened to another dimension in the darkness. Now I could see that beings of light were all around me.

  At first I could only feel their presence. Pockets of energy brushed past, almost like quick breezes. I could feel the light coming from these spirits before I was able to see their forms. Once I recognized that beings of light were whipping about, once I felt them, I found that I could see them. I had traded in the doctrine of man, "seeing is believing," for the truth of God, "believing is seeing."

  These spirit messengers of God glowed pleasantly without God's solid form and majestic power. They were dressed in white robes, and I could not tell whether they were male or female. Although I could not see what they were doing as they rushed here and there, I knew that they were assisting those of us on earth. Like oil over water, the active layer of spirits of light rested above a layer of grim, motionless dark beings.

  Drifting onto the plane, the newly deceased were dressed in white robes, but their gowns were dingy. Like silent sleepwalkers, these spellbound souls descended into the darkness, arms to their sides, their expressionless eyes locked in empty gazes. They came from the same direction that I had, dull and hopeless casualties of life that had banked on true death, continuing to fill in the back edge of the prison as the darkness expanded to accommodate them. So sad, they were so young and so dead. As I watched them filing in by the dozens, I was told that most of us who are dying now are going to a place of darkness.

  Hell, while also a specific dimension, is primarily a state of mind. When we die, we are bound by what we think. In mortality the more solid our thoughts become, as we act upon them— allowing darkness to develop in others and in ourselves—the more damning they are. I had been in Hell long before I died, and I hadn't realized it because I had escaped many of the consequences up until the point that I took my life. But when we die, our state of mind grows far more obvious because we are gathered together with those who think as we do. This ordering is completely natural and is consistent with how we choose to live while we are in this world. Our time is but a heartbeat in the eternal scheme of creation, and yet it is the crucial moment of truth, the turning point. It determines how our spirits will exist forever, into both the future and the past.

  I was becoming less and less a part of the place of darkness with each particle of light that I accepted. I hadn't felt myself lift off the surface, but now I was hovering above the field of darkness, into the realm of the scurrying spirits of light. I must have realized then that I was about to return to life, for I was afraid. I still doubted that I could endure life without doing irreparable harm to others. But I was told emphatically that my past—being hurt so badly throughout my life and also hurting Richard and the boys, in particular—didn't matter now. All I had to do from then on, I was told, was to obey the commandments. It was simple. We all are obedient. It is simply a matter of whom we obey.

  I could feel the urgency in the spirits who were scurrying about to do the work of God. I was then told that we are in the final moments before the Savior will return to the earth. I was told that the war between darkness and light upon the earth has grown so intense that if we are not continually seeking light, the darkness will consume us and we will be lost. I was not told when it would happen, but I understood that the earth is being prepared for the Second Coming of Christ. I looked down at the pathetic souls and realized that I no longer felt as they did. I wanted to live.

  Then the powerful energy source that had transported me to the dark prison returned to liberate me. For a split second a rushing sensation engulfed me. The darkness sped past, and suddenly I was back in my body, lying on the couch. As I filled my lungs with air, I was suddenly reminded of physical pain; my stomach ached and my head throbbed, and I felt heavy and weak again. But I was overcome with humble gratitude. I felt like Ebenezer Scrooge, having been granted a warning glimpse of my fate; and then once I understood, having been granted a second chance.

  NINETEEN

  The front door swung open, filling the living room with welcome light. The sheer drape caught the breeze, a

  counterpoint to Richard's heavy stride as he made his way down the hallway. His silhouette diffused the bright sunlight. The effects of the drugs I had taken were apparent as I swung my feet to the ground, pulling my body up to a sitting
position. Walking into the living room, Richard perched on the arm of the love seat, and I said to him, "You are never going to believe

  this." His stunned look of concern at my condition told me that he just might. Despite my excitement, my speech was slow and thick as I tried to tell him gently of the horrible thing I had done. He must have sensed that I was in dire straits because he just nodded at the news. His face was white as he moved from the arm of the love seat to the couch. "Are you okay? Shouldn't we take you to the hospital?" he asked.

  But God was still speaking to me through His light. I knew that it was not necessary. God had restored me to life. And I knew that it would do more harm than good. Since I was a dependent wife of an Air Force officer, the military had the power to ship me back to the States. It would be hard to convince them that I was no longer a threat to myself, and what my family needed most now was to be together. I'd have to sweat out the drugs, but I wasn't going to be permanently affected. "Look at me, Richard," I told him. "I'm fine. It would be a disaster to bring the chain of command into this."

  Once he got over his initial shock, I told him of my journey. As I recounted my experience, the first thing I noticed was that most of my restored memories had been taken from me. All I could remember were the very first memories of birth and being cradled by my mother and a few highlights from my early childhood in the new, expanded form. But for the rest of the events of my life, the details that remained with me were those that had existed in my mind before I died. Even those memories seemed a little blunted, like information I'd learned in textbooks years ago. I could remember the broad outlines, but not many of the facts.