The confirmation

When doubts about the source of the message resurfaced, I went looking for reassurance.

Different paths

What also struck me when reading the Gospel was the emphasis on repentance and the forgiveness of sins. With Jesus as the perfect role model, I soon realised I was far from faultless. Whereas I had initially struggled to see how I might have offended Jesus, it now became clear to me that there were things I needed to stop doing, and things I needed to start doing. I understood that, much like a poorly maintained car engine, I was overdue for an overhaul.

Could I carry out the repairs myself? The energy healers I had met certainly thought so. They were adamant that by accessing a so-called universal life force, anyone could achieve physical, emotional and spiritual healing. The ultimate goal, they said, was to become aware of — and connect with — one’s “higher self”: the part of you that supposedly holds the wisdom of many lives. That higher self, in their view, is essentially God — the eternal, omnipotent being who is, in fact, your true identity. In short: everything is one, everything is divine, and you yourself are God, with the power to shape your own reality.

Within this framework, it was possible to find answers to many of my questions. For example, the idea that Naomi’s spirit had, before this life, accepted a path of suffering seemed plausible. Sienna’s situation could be explained in the same way: perhaps she had lived an easier life before and had now taken on a more difficult one. Paulina and I, in turn, may have chosen to become parents to children who would suffer.

The conclusion was clear: we were in control. We suffered, yes — but only because we had chosen to, believing it would lead to greater spiritual growth.

In that sense, New Age thinking is very positive. So positive, in fact, that there is no real place for concepts such as evil or sin. Our higher selves are divine and therefore good. Our actions may appear wrong, but are ultimately part of a greater good. One life you might suffer, another you might cause suffering — all in the name of growth and experience.

I could not accept this.

I came to realise that the Gospel and New Age thinking are fundamentally opposed. Because New Age philosophies downplay or reinterpret evil, they also do not recognise sin in the way Christianity does. As a result, repentance and forgiveness lose their central place — and with that, the significance of Jesus, who gave his life for the expiation of our sins.

After reading the Gospel, New Age philosophies no longer felt right to me, and I wondered why I had placed my hope in them in the first place. Strangely, what now seemed obvious had not been obvious to me before.

In hindsight, the doubts I had felt, the increased anxiety, and that persistent sense of discomfort might have been signs that something wasn’t quite right. But at the time, I wanted to believe it was the right way forward. I wanted to believe we were in control and that we could heal Naomi ourselves. Now, both the practices and the ideas behind them no longer felt convincing to me.

I immediately stopped BodyTalk and the other energy-healing activities, and then began to consider how best to ask my mother to stop her efforts as well. I appreciated her desire to help Naomi recover, but at the same time, I could no longer place my trust in what she believed.

From what she had shared with me, it was clear that her thinking closely aligned with New Age philosophy, even though she herself did not use that label. In her view, my belief in Jesus wasn’t incompatible with her own. Whether you followed a religion or not was irrelevant to her. All religions, she believed, served the same purpose: to help you become “God-conscious”. From there, you could work on becoming a better person and, over many lives, eventually reach enlightenment — whether you called it nirvana, heaven or something else.

In other words, even though my mother and I were on different paths, she believed they would ultimately lead to the same destination.

Could my mother prove she was right? No. Could I prove that what I believed was true? Neither could I. She was deeply convinced, based on her experiences, that what she believed was the truth. I couldn’t share that conviction. So I asked her to stop Reiki and the other distance-healing practices. She felt misunderstood, but respected my decision.

The Lord's Prayer

After stopping all energy healing and turning to Jesus, I began to relax. Only then did I realise how restless I had been. And how abruptly I had changed course.

Before long, doubts surfaced again. Was it really Jesus who had sent me that “It’s all right” message?

I reflected on how I had reached that conclusion. Just because the publisher of Naomi’s book shared a name with a saint? I shook my head. The plan I had come up with in the shower was ridiculous. I needed real confirmation.

Another busy day followed, leaving me no time to reflect. That night, when everyone was asleep, I went to the study and once again picked up Naomi’s book — or rather, booklet, as it had only a few pages. Staring at the sun on the cover, I wondered why she had chosen it. The Wind and the Sun, read the title. Then, for the first time, I actually read the story.

It was about a contest between the wind and the sun to see who was stronger. The challenge was to make a passing traveller remove his coat. No matter how hard the wind blew, the traveller only wrapped his coat tighter. But when the sun shone, he grew warm and took it off. It was a simple but compelling story. Curious, I went online to learn more about it.

A quick search led me to a Wikipedia page that offered this interpretation: “While superior force leaves us cold, the warmth of Christ’s love dispels it.” I was taken aback by the direct reference to Jesus. Was this the confirmation I had been looking for?

Scrolling further down the page, I came across another line: “This fable has also been proposed as a parallel text in comparative linguistics, as it provides more natural language than the Lord’s Prayer.” Unfamiliar with this prayer, I searched for it and discovered that the Lord’s Prayer — also called the Our Father — was the prayer Jesus had taught his disciples when they asked him how to pray.

It had taken a lifetime, but I finally felt I was on the right path. It was three in the morning, yet I felt more awake than ever. I was struck by how this little booklet, chosen by Naomi on the very day of her cardiac arrest, had led me to Jesus — not once, not twice, but three times. All the earlier clues — the tune, the book, the song, the message, the sun, Jester’s suggestion, Saint Rigby — pointed in the same direction.

I had found what I had been looking for. It was clear that not only Paulina, but I as well, should turn to Jesus. And now I knew how: through prayer.

I found the Lord’s Prayer in the Gospel of Matthew (6:9–13):

Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

It felt like I had unearthed a great treasure. This prayer made it unmistakably clear: not only did we have Jesus, who knew exactly what it meant to be human, we also had a Father in heaven. That brought God so much closer. It meant that the creator of the universe loved us at least as much as I loved Naomi and Sienna, and surely far more.

It gave me an immediate and unexpected sense of reassurance, even a quiet optimism. We were not alone.

I also realised that, like the wind in Naomi’s book, we could strive as hard as we wanted — through energy healing, exercises, and sheer persistence — but there was no way to force the outcome we desired. The harder the wind blew, the tighter the traveller held on. Only the sun, without effort or insistence, achieved what the wind could not.

It became clear to me that this was not about imposing our will, but about trusting the Father’s. As the doctors had already told us, there was nothing they — or we — could do to heal Naomi. What we needed was not more effort, but a miracle. We needed the warmth of Christ’s love.

Was it our Father’s will for Naomi to suffer? I didn’t think so. Then why did she suffer? And why did we suffer as a family? Did it serve a purpose? Strangely, I felt it did, even if I could not yet see what that purpose was. But our Father was there to support us, as Jesus had taught us to ask for our daily bread. To me, that meant we could ask for what we needed, one day at a time — even if we did not know exactly what to ask for. We were not sure what was needed after all.

There seemed to be only one condition: we could count on the Father’s mercy and support, as long as we were willing to forgive others. That prompted me to reconcile with people I had fallen out with.

Finally, we could ask not to be led into temptation. Not immediately clear on what that meant, I looked up another translation: “Lead us not into hard testing.” That resonated instantly. I remembered someone once saying that the will of God will never take you where the grace of God cannot protect you. We were not alone in our troubles. God was with us. And as long as we stayed close to him and did not go our own way again, he would not let us suffer more than we could endure.

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Next: The invitation