From Childhood Night Terrors to Spiritual Peace in One Night

A Moment of Quiet Conviction

Have you ever felt like the universe is trying to send you a message? After my recent post, “Summerween: Inside the Top 10 Real Hauntings aboard The Queen Mary,” something curious began to happen. Religious pamphlets started appearing on my doorstep, and I noticed bumper stickers in traffic proclaiming “Jesus Saves”, etc. Initially, I dismissed these as coincidences—like suddenly noticing all the red cars after buying one. But the persistence of these signs stirred a deeper reflection within me, making me question if they were more than just random occurrences. They reminded me of a time when faith felt woven into the fabric of everyday life, a stark contrast to my current, more complex relationship with religion.

For years, I had drifted away from the Church—not out of a rejection of its core beliefs but because I struggled with certain sacraments and traditions. Although my formal practice had waned, my respect for the Church remained. My faith had become less about strict observance and more about a personal connection with God and Jesus, shaped by significant moments in my life. One of these moments, “The Experience,” stood out as a pivotal point in my spiritual journey. This memory, from childhood, became a touchstone that reconnected me with the comforting presence of faith in a world that often feels overwhelming.

The Night Terrors

When I was little—about five or six—I was haunted by night terrors. These weren’t just nightmares; they were something worse. I’d wake up screaming, my heart pounding with fear I couldn’t explain. My dad, just back from two tours in Vietnam, would rush into my room like he was ready to fight some unseen enemy. He’d search every corner, open every closet, while my mom held me close, telling me I was safe. But I didn’t feel safe. Nothing could shake the fear that lingered long after I woke up.

My Great-Great Aunt

It was during this time my great-great aunt from California came to visit. She was a beloved figure in the family, someone everyone respected. As soon as she arrived, she sensed the unease hanging over our house.

My parents had filled her in on my night terrors—how I would wake up screaming, with no memory of what caused me to wake up terrified. Instead of dismissing it as just a phase or bad dreams, she took it seriously as if she knew there was something more to it than a bad dream. She took charge of my bed time routine from that night on until it was time for her to leave, every night, she would tuck me into bed, sit beside me, teaching me prayers of protection. She believed my night terrors were more than just bad dreams—they felt spiritual to her. She often prayed the Rosary aloud, asking for Jesus’s help to shield me from whatever was haunting my nights. I don’t recall all the exact words she used, but the peace that came with her prayers was undeniable. For the first time in what felt like forever, I could drift off to sleep without fear.

When she eventually had to leave, I clung to the prayers she taught me, feeling a bit stronger, as if she had passed on some kind of special protective shield.

The Experience

One night, not long after my aunt had gone back to California, something strange happened. My dad tucked me in, turned on the night-light, and left the door cracked open, just like always. But this time, as I lay there, a soft light began to fill the room. It grew brighter, coming from under the window, not through the window as you would expect to see headlights or a flashlight. This beam of light continued to grow bigger and brighter until everything was bathed in this warm, white comforting glow with no shadows.

Then I heard a voice—not my dad’s—and saw a hand reaching out to me. It felt safe and familiar. I instinctively reached for it, and suddenly I wasn’t in my room anymore. I was in a beautiful, peaceful place—rolling green hills, trees swaying gently in the breeze, and the bluest sky I’d ever seen with wispy white clouds. It felt like the most serene meadow you could imagine. The one thing I noticed was an enormous olive tree that seemed to be a dividing line between where I was standing and this beautiful meadow. On my side of the olive tree it was overcast, gloomy and the grass was patchy at best. On the other side it was bright, and beautiful.

Off to the left, far off in the meadow, a man walked toward me with his arms wide open, I knew who he was right away. As he got closer he seemed to glow. He was wearing a white thick robe that didn’t look like it was made of any kind of cloth or material I had seen before, it was more like a white light type of energy that glowed. As he came closer I looked down, feeling like I was in trouble because I wasn’t supposed to be there. The man stopped, looked at me with a perplexed look on his face which prompted him to test me. In a serious voice he asked, “Do you know who I am?” I looked up, nodded and said, “Yes”, he looked relieved and smiled, then he asked, “Who am I?” I said, “Jesus.” He smiled and said, “Come.” I ran to him, crossing over from the gloomy side of the olive tree into the light. He picked me up, spinning me around, I felt pure joy and peace like nothing I’d ever felt before.

Jesus showed me glimpses of things—moments, people—that wouldn’t make sense to me until years later. It was as if he was letting me know he was there through the darkest of times as well as the good. There was so much more to what he showed me, but to tell it all here would turn this brief personal story into an epic novel of some sort.

Before we parted, Jesus took me by the hand and asked if I wanted to stay with him. Of course, I said yes without hesitation. This made him happy, but his smile quickly faded when he told me if I stayed, I wouldn’t see my mom for a very long time. And that’s when I panicked. The thought of losing her sent me spiraling into another one of my separation anxiety episodes, but only for a brief second since I was still holding on to his hand very tightly. My mother had been my rock through the night terrors, my father’s absence during his military service, and my homesickness for my relatives in California. I couldn’t bear the idea of being separated from my mother. She was the one constant in my life at that time.

Desperate to stay but yet panicking at the thought of being separated from my mother, I quickly thought of a plan: It was simple, I told him I’d go get her, bring her back, and we could stay together. Jesus chuckled softly and said, “Stay with your mom. I’ll be here.” Then he waved goodbye, and faded away.

A few days later, while I was very busy and intent on building a super-soft fort in the living room with the couch cushions, I suddenly felt extremely sleepy, yawned and fell asleep landing on my fort ruining all my hard work. Jesus appeared again. This time he appeared as if he was looking through a portal that appeared in the corner of the room. He asked if I remembered him, and I said yes. He showed me a thick book—not the Bible, but something like a calendar, with endless pages. As he flipped through it, I saw years written in the corners. Just before he reached the end, he said, “Don’t forget me.” I promised I wouldn’t.

And I never have.

Years Later…

For years, I didn’t talk about The Experience. I wasn’t sure how to, and to be honest, I didn’t know if anyone would believe me. But then, years later, my best friend asked me something that made me think now is as good a time as any to share it. He was terminally ill, and watching him fade away was one of the hardest things I’ve ever gone through. One day, completely out of the blue, he asked me what I believed about Heaven and the afterlife.

I hesitated. We had grown up Catholic, attending Catechism together, but he had drifted away from the Church around the time we turned eighteen. I wasn’t sure if he would want to hear about something so personal, something so spiritual. But I could see the vulnerability in his eyes. I realized there wasn’t much to lose, so I told him.

I told him about The Experience.

I expected him to brush it off, maybe make a joke like he usually did, but he didn’t. He just listened, really listened. For the first time, I saw something in his eyes—something like hope. When I finished, he said, “Thank you. I needed to hear that.” At first it sounded like a sarcastic remark, but with the look on his face it was clear, in that moment, he found a small bit of comfort in my story. We talked more about God, faith, and the afterlife although I don’t know if it changed what he believed, but I know it brought him some peace. That seemed be all he needed in that moment.

I also tried telling my mom about The Experience. She listened, but I could tell she didn’t really understand. To her, it was just a dream—a vivid one, but still just a dream. And that’s okay. I’ve come to realize not everyone will see it the way I do.

Looking Back…

Reflecting on the Experience, I realize that the divine often speaks to us in subtle, unexpected ways. The recent signs—those pamphlets and bumper stickers—are a modern echo of the truths I first felt in my childhood. They remind me that faith is not confined to rituals or doctrines but is woven into the quiet moments of our lives.

By sharing “The Experience” with you, I hope to convey that divine presence is not always about grand revelations but often about gentle reminders that we are never truly alone. Whether you interpret my story as a profound spiritual encounter or simply a vivid dream, either way, I’m glad to finally put it out there. For me, it’s more than just a story. It’s a reminder that the divine is always with us, in the quietest, most unexpected moments.

Since then, the night terrors stopped, the separation anxiety slowly got better over time. And my faith in God and Jesus has only grown stronger.