Embraced by the light betty eadie pdf

My overall perspectives in this life completely changed thanks to Ms. Our thoughts have exceptional power to draw on the negative or positive energies around us. We can protect ourselves by controlling our thoughts, by allowing the light of Christ to enter our lives.

A co-worker passed this book along to me after Mike died. We are his spirit off-spring and all of our good comes from him. They were astonished to witness his return to life each time with a clear mind and filled with energy, even though he was dying of terminal cancer and old age. There was enough interest in her story to create a mob scene at her lecture. I th further down into the covers and felt warm and content. During the time she was clinically dead, Betty was given knowledge of the afterlife that would make even the greatest skeptic think twice.

The pain we experience on earth is just a moment, just a split second of consciousness in the spirit world, and we are very willing to endure it. Thoughts of death began creeping into my mind. Its specific character, like numerous other details, were removed from her memory, in order, she said she was told, to prevent difficulties in her fulfilling it.

Into the garden came a group of spiritual beings. He wanted me to know how I felt when the creation occurred. Being locked inside this big darkened room horrified me. The Looms and eadle Library. I became aware of other people as well as animals traveling with me, but at a distance. This website uses cookies to improve your experience while you navigate through the website.

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These cookies do not store any personal information. Time seemed to stand still. I needed to talk to someone. Perhaps a nurse would come visit with me, or better yet, I could call home. I reached across the bed and got the phone.

Moments later it was ringing, and Donna, our fifteen-year-old, answered it. She immediately asked if I was okay. It was wonderful to hear the concern in her voice. I told her that everything was fine but that I was a little lonely. My heart dropped. I wanted so desperately to talk to him. Are you okay? Get him here 13 as soon as you can! I heard little voices over the phone: "I want to talk to Mom. I spent the next half hour saying goodnight to each child.

But when I hung up the loneliness fell on me again like a blanket. The room seemed darker, and the distance between the hospital and our home felt more like a million miles than just across town. My family was life itself to me, and being away from them scared me, hurt me. But as I thought again of each of my children, and of course of my husband, Joe, I felt better, and at that point nobody in the world could have convinced me that in only hours I wouldn't care if I ever returned home to them again—that in fact, I would be begging not to return to them.

I had always thought that my husband and children would eventually replace the family I had missed in my childhood. I had promised myself that when I married and began my own family that they would be my prime interest and my greatest refuge.

I promised myself that I would love my husband and remain with him through thick and 14 thin, and that our children would always be able to count on us being together. When I turned fifteen I was sent to live with my mother. My father felt that a maturing young lady should be with her mother—not in a boarding school or with him. My mother found also that she needed a babysitter while she worked full time. So, I was taken out of school and stayed at home to care for my youngest sister.

As I spent each day at home I began to feel sorry for myself, watching the neighborhood kids go to school in the mornings and come home in the afternoons.

I wasn't fully aware yet of what an education would mean to me as I got older, but I knew that I missed the companionship of friends and my other brothers and sisters. Within a short time I began to feel that the only way out was for me to get married and start a family of my own. I felt that my life was controlled by the needs of others and that I was losing the right to any personal happiness.

I wanted clothes of my own, a bed of my own, a home of my own. I wanted a husband I could trust, one who would always love me no matter what happened in our lives. It was no wonder then that I fell hopelessly in love with the boy next door and married him the 15 following spring. My father was adamantly against it, but I was living with my mother, and she, supported it. I was fifteen and very naive as to what the demands of a real family were.

The immaturity of us both, and the fact that we had vastly different goals in life, ended our marriage six years later. My dream was broken, and I had a wounded soul that would take a lot of patience and love to heal. I have never regretted this marriage, though, because it gave me four beautiful children.

My first were two girls, Donna and Cheryl, and then I had a son, Glenn. I met Joe at a dance the Christmas following my divorce. Joe too had been through a divorce, and as I got to know him I found that we had a lot in common. He had a background similar to my own and also a desire for a strong family unit.

We seemed to fit somehow. Even my children wanted him to be with us, perhaps more than I did at first, and the time came rapidly when we married. From the beginning it seemed almost too good to be true.

Joe had a tenderness about him that I had not experienced before. He was tremendously 16 patient with the children, yet firm enough that they responded to his love. They fought over who would be first at the door to greet him when he returned from work at night. Joe was "Dad" to them from the beginning—in every way. We wanted to remain together, and that, combined with our growing maturity, is the glue that has held us together through the years.

As we moved from place to place, and as we adjusted in our own lives, we simply made the commitment to work things out and keep our family together, no matter what the cost. Our desires were to the family first and ourselves second. Computers were making their debut, and Joe was reassigned to learn computer programming. During our four years in Texas I gave birth to two boys, Joseph Jr.

We were living a dream come true. We had a new car and a new house complete with air conditioning. The kids had plenty of clothes, and I was able to stay home and care for them. I truly felt blessed. The security and joy I felt now seemed an eternity away from the boarding schools and 17 loneliness of my childhood and broken marriage. But still, I knew that something was missing. I still prayed, but my relationship with God seemed distant and filled with fear. I knew that he had answered my prayers from time to time—such as after my divorce; when I had prayed for someone loving and patient to help me raise my children, he had literally led me to Joe.

I believed that God was real and loved his children—despite his professed vengeance—but I had no idea how to incorporate that love into my life or how to share it with my children. I discussed the matter with Joe and suggested that we begin attending a church. He was less than enthusiastic, mostly because of earlier experiences that had disillusioned him about religion.

I respected his position but still sought a way to bring a stronger sense of religious belief into our family. We attended a few local churches, but we didn't feel satisfied, and after a while I just let things go.

My beliefs about religion would remain uncertain for many years. The nurse came into my room and interrupted my thoughts. She had a little cup of sleeping pills, but I refused them because of my aversion to almost any type of medication. My fear of drugs went back a long way, and I seldom even 18 took aspirin, preferring instead to tough out a headache or illness. The nurse went out of the room, and I was left again with my thoughts.

In the utter loneliness of the night, my thoughts now turned to the surgery just hours away. Would everything be all right? I had heard many stories of people dying on the operating table. Would I be another? Images of graveyards filled my mind.

I conjured up scenes of tombstones and crosses around skeletons' necks in buried coffins. I began wondering about the last rites, something I had heard about in my youth. I tried to figure out why the dead wore crosses. Was it to show God that they were saints? Or were they sinners who needed protection from the demons of hell? Gloom settled more strongly upon me, the darkness still tugging at me, and I reached over to the buzzer and called the nurse. She gave me a puzzled look for a moment, but she got the pills for me.

I took them and thanked her as she turned down the lights and shut the door. It was a while before I felt drowsy, and, finally, I said my prayers and went to sleep. The surgery was scheduled for noon.

I could either wake up and wait for hours, or I could enjoy the luxury of sleeping in. I was still groggy from the sleeping pill, or perhaps I was exhausted from my fear and anxiety of the night before. Now with the morning light brightening the room, I relaxed and began to reflect on the last time I had been in a hospital.

My fears of the previous night had been slight compared to my fears then. At least this time I knew what was supposed to happen. Computers were becoming a new industry in themselves, and his training qualified him to begin a new career just about anywhere he wanted. All we had to decide was which side of the country we wanted to live on.

We finally chose to move to the Pacific Northwest, where Joe would take a position at a large aerospace corporation. We felt that the climate would be a welcome contrast to the hot, dry weather we had. Also, we would be able to live near my father and his wife, who now lived in the Northwest Shortly after moving there, I became pregnant with our seventh child. This was not the kind of surprise we wanted. Feeling that we had all the children we could properly care for—five children living—we had taken precautions to prevent another pregnancy.

My six previous pregnancies had weakened my body, and the doctors had discouraged me from having another child. In the third month I began experiencing severe cramping and bleeding. The doctors told me 21 that I was passing fetal tissue. Because of this and other complications, they were sure that I would miscarry soon.

I was admitted to the hospital for a week as the bleeding continued. We waited for my body to dispose of the damaged fetus naturally. Soon, it became apparent that the pregnancy was not going to terminate, and one of the doctors suggested that I consider aborting it.

He believed that the baby, if carried to term, would most likely be born with parts of its body missing. I had no reason to doubt him. After discussing it with Joe, we decided to undergo the surgery. The day before the scheduled abortion I was in the hospital to be examined by another team of doctors, and they were in agreement that we should continue as planned. Just as the last doctor passed by me to leave the room, he said, "We don't understand why that little fellow is hanging in there. You must have this child.

He wants to be born. We talked about going ahead with the pregnancy and having a deformed child. Joe agreed that we had to keep it and we met later that night with the doctors and explained our feelings. They were adamant. We must abort the damaged fetus. They said that no doctor would approve the continuation of the pregnancy, and that they, certainly, wouldn't be a part of it.

I was discharged from the hospital the next day and began looking for a doctor who would accept me on my terms. I finally found a young doctor who had just begun his private practice after spending several years in the Air Force. He felt a kinship with Joe because of their common background and agreed to take me on as a patient. He saw some possibility that the baby might live but he too was afraid it would be born deformed. He put me to bed and gave me a list of orders to follow.

Joe and the kids were great in filling in for me around the house, and I used the time to take some home study courses and finish my high school education.

As the months flew by and we rapidly approached my due date, I became increasingly frightened. We prepared the children for the likely outcome, that the baby would be born 23 either deformed, possibly with parts of its body missing, or it could die. Joe and I tried to comfort each other by recalling often my impressions upon hearing the doctor's words: "This little fellow is still hanging in there.

Though the hospital staff agreed to let Joe stay with me during the delivery, they were apprehensive about Joe's possible reaction to it. They told him that if he fainted or became ill during the experience that their first responsibility would be to me.

He was asked to sign a waver that exempted them from liability for him. Labor began and I entered the hospital on June 19, I was so frightened that my body shook uncontrollably. Joe stood by me in the delivery room holding my hand and stroking my head.

He had to wear a green gown and white mask like the doctors. His gray-blue eyes tried to comfort me, but I could tell by the puffing in and out of the mask that he was as terrified as I was.

As delivery approached we tightly clutched hands. As the baby was born, I watched the doctor's eyes. I knew immediately that our months 24 of fear and anguish had been in vain. He laid the baby on my stomach so I could hold it, and Joe and I quickly looked it over from head to toe. We began crying. Our son was as perfect and healthy as any baby ever born. I knew as I held him that, indeed, this baby was meant to come to me, and that it did, very much, want to be born.

Although I would not have changed my decision for anything, the pregnancy took a toll on my body. Over the next few years a multitude of problems developed, and my doctor suggested that I have a hysterectomy. After thoughtfully considering it and discussing it with Joe, I decided to go along with the doctor's recommendation, and the date for my surgery was set.

Now, the morning of the surgery, a new nurse came in and prodded me awake. She wanted to give me a shot to put me back to sleep in preparation for the surgery.

I was amused that she was waking me up to put me back to sleep. I probably would have laughed, but I was already feeling the drug working through my veins with its warmth spreading through. The doctor must have come in about then because I heard his voice say: "Is she ready? My doctor was standing by me, saying that the surgery had been a success and that I should be feeling fine shortly.

And I remember thinking to myself, "This is great. Now I can finally get some rest and stop worrying about the surgery. That night, I awoke and looked around me. Although I was in a semi-private room, I was alone. The other bed was empty. The room was cheerfully decorated, with brightly striped orange and yellow wallpaper. Loud, I thought, but cheerful. I noticed two night stands, two closets, a television set, and a large window near my bed.

I had asked for a window because ever since my childhood I had suffered from claustrophobia. It was dark outside, and the only light in the room was the night light over the sink by the door. I rang for the nurse and asked for some water.

She said I had been given ice chips since earlier that afternoon, but I had no recollection of getting any. And she said that my husband and some friends had been in and visited with me, but I couldn't recall seeing them. I was conscious of the fact, however, that my makeup was a mess and that I really didn't appreciate anybody seeing me when I 26 didn't know about it. And then there was my gown; as I looked down I realized that it covered only the bare essentials. I would have to talk to Joe about bringing his friends around.

At nine o'clock the nurse brought my evening medication. Except for a little pain from the surgery, I felt fine. I took the pills and settled down to watch a little television before sleeping. I must have dozed off because when I looked at the clock again it was nine-thirty, and I was suddenly feeling light-headed and had the sudden urge to call Joe.

I found the phone and somehow managed to dial him. I do not remember the conversation—I was becoming so tired that all I wanted to do was sleep. I managed to turn off the television set, then pull the blanket up under my neck. I was beginning to feel chilled to my bones and weaker than I had ever felt before. Then suddenly I woke up with the strangest feeling.

Somehow, my instincts warned me of impending danger. I looked around the room. The door had been pulled half-dosed. The dimmed light was still on over the small sink by the door. I felt myself become keenly alert and growing in fear. My senses told me that I was alone, and I could feel my body becoming weaker and weaker.

I reached for the cord near the bed in an attempt to call the nurse. But try as I might, I could not bring myself to move. I felt a terrible sinking sensation, like the very last drops of blood were being drained from me. I heard a soft buzzing 28 sound in my head and continued to sink until I felt my body become still and lifeless. Then I felt a surge of energy. It was almost as if I felt a pop or release inside me, and my spirit was suddenly drawn out through my chest and pulled upward, as if by a giant magnet.

I was above the bed, hovering near the ceiling. My sense of freedom was limitless and it seemed as if I had done this forever. I turned and saw a body lying on the bed. I was curious about who it was, and immediately I began descending toward it. Having worked as an LPN, I knew well the appearance of a dead body, and as I got closer to the face I knew at once that it was lifeless. And then I recognized that it was my own. That was my body on the bed. I wasn't taken aback, and I wasn't frightened; I simply felt a kind of sympathy for it.

It appeared younger and prettier than I remembered, and now it was dead. It was as if I had taken off a used garment and had put it aside forever, which was sad because it was still good—there was still a lot of use left in it.

I realized that I had never seen myself three-dimensionally before; I had only seen myself in the mirror, which is only a flat surface. But the eyes of the spirit see in more dimensions than the 29 eyes of the mortal body. I saw my body from all directions at once—from in front, behind, and from the sides. I saw aspects to my features I had never known before, adding a wholeness, a completeness to my view. This may be why I didn't recognize myself at first. My new body was weightless and extremely mobile, and I was fascinated by my new state of being.

Although I had felt pain from the surgery only moments before, I now felt no discomfort at all. I was whole in every way—perfect. And I thought, "This is who I really am. I realized that nobody was aware that I had died, and I felt an urgency to tell somebody. They wore beautiful, light brown robes, and one of them had a hood on the back of his head.

Each wore a gold-braided belt that was tied about the waist with the ends hanging down. A kind of glow emanated from them, but not unusually bright, and then I realized that a soft glow came from my own body and that our lights had merged together around us. I was not afraid. The men appeared to be about seventy or.. The impression came to me that they were much older than seventy or eighty years old—that they were ancient. I sensed in them great spirituality, knowledge, and wisdom.

I believe they appeared to me in robes to evoke the impression of these virtues. I began to think of them as monks—mostly because of the robes—and I knew that I could trust them. They spoke to me. They had been with me for "eternities," they said.

I didn't fully understand this; I had a difficult time comprehending the concept of eternity, let alone eternities.

Eternity to me had always been in the future, but these beings said they had been with me for eternities in the past. This was more difficult to comprehend. Then I began to see images in my mind of a time long ago, of an existence before my life on earth, of my relationship with these men "before.

The fact of a preearth life crystallized in my mind, and I saw that death was actually a "rebirth" into a greater life of understanding and knowledge that stretched forward and backward through time. And I knew that these were my choicest friends in that greater life and that they had chosen to be with me. They 31 explained that they, with others, had been my guardian angels during my life on earth.

But I felt these three were special, that they were also my "ministering angels. They somehow communicated a feeling of peace and told me not to worry, that everything would be all right. As this feeling came to me, I sensed their deep love and concern.

These feelings and other thoughts were communicated from spirit to spirit—from intelligence to intelligence. At first, I thought that they were using their mouths, but this was because I was used to people "speaking. I felt their emotions and intents. I felt their love. I experienced their feelings. And this filled me with joy because they loved me so much. My earlier language, the language of my body, was truly limited, and I realized that my former ability to express feelings had been almost nonexistent compared with the ability of the spirit to communicate in this pure way.

I suddenly thought of my husband and children and was worried as to how my death would affect them. How could my husband care for six children? How would the children get along without me? I needed to see them again, at least to satisfy my own concerns. My only thought was to leave the hospital and go to my family. After so many years of waiting for a family, of working to keep my family together, I was afraid that now I would lose them.

Or, perhaps, I was afraid that they would lose me. Immediately I began to look for an exit, and I spotted the window. I quickly went through it and emerged outside. Soon, I would learn that I didn't need to use the window, that I could have left the room at any point. It was only because of my lingering thoughts and therefore limitations Of mortality that I thought of using the window. It occurred to me that I was in a "slow moving mode" because I still thought in terms of having my physical body, when in fact my spiritual body could move through anything that had been solid to 33 me before.

The window had been closed the whole time. My trip home was a blur. I began moving at tremendous speed, now that I realized I could, and I was only vaguely aware of trees rushing below me.

I made no decisions, gave myself no directions— just thought of home and knew I was going there. Within a moment I was at my house and found myself entering the living room. I saw my husband sitting in his favorite armchair reading the newspaper. I saw my children running up and down the stairs and knew that they were supposed to be getting ready for bed. Two of them were in a pillow fight—actually normal bedtime procedure for our children. I had no desire to communicate with them, but I was concerned about their lives without me.

As I watched them individually, a preview of sorts ran through my mind about them, enabling me to see ahead into each of their lives. I came to know that each of my children was on earth for their own experiences, that although I had thought of them as "mine," I had been mistaken. They were individual spirits, like myself, with an intelligence that was developed before their lives on earth. Each one had their own free will to live their life as they chose. I knew that 34 this free will should not be denied them.

They had only been placed in my care. Although I don't recall them now, I knew that my children had their own life agendas and that when they had completed them, they too would end their stay on earth. I foresaw some of their challenges and difficulties but knew that these would be necessary for their growth. There was no need for sorrow or fear.

In the end each of my children would be all right, and I knew that it would be only a brief moment before we were all together again. I felt bathed in serenity. My husband and my precious children, this family I had waited so long for, would be all right. I knew that they could go on—and so, then, could I. I was grateful for this understanding and felt that I was allowed to reach it so that my transition through death would be easier.

Now I became filled with the desire to move on with my own life and to experience all that awaited me. I was drawn back to the hospital, but I don't remember the trip; it seemed to happen instantaneously. I saw my body still lying on the bed about two and a half feet below me and slightly to my left. My three friends were still there, waiting for me. Again I felt their love and the joy they felt in helping me.

I also knew my dear friends, the monks, would not be going with me. I began to hear a rushing sound. I knew it now. A deep rumbling, rushing sound began to fill the room. I sensed the power behind it, a movement that seemed unrelenting. But although the sound and power were awesome, I was filled again with a very pleasant feeling—almost hypnotic. I heard chimes, or distant bells, tinkling in the background—a beautiful sound I'll never forget.

Darkness began to surround my being. The bed, the light by the door, the entire room seemed to dim, and immediately I was gently drawn up and into a great, whirling, black mass. I felt as if I had been swallowed up by an enormous tornado. I could see nothing but the intense, almost tangible darkness. The darkness 37 was more than a lack of light; it was a dense blackness unlike anything I had known -before. Common sense told me that I should have been terrified, that all of the fears of my youth should have risen up, but within this black mass I felt a profoundly pleasant sense of well being and calmness.

I felt myself moving forward through it, and the whirling sound became fainter. I was in a reclining position, moving feet first, head slightly raised. The speed became so incredible that I felt that light years could not measure it. But the peace and tranquility also increased, and I felt that I could have stayed in this wonderful state forever, and knew that if I wanted to, I could. I became aware of other people as well as animals traveling with me, but at a distance. I could not see them, but I sensed that their experience was the same as mine.

I felt no personal connection to them and knew that they represented no threat to me, so I soon lost awareness of them. I did sense, however, that there were some who were not moving forward as I, but were lingering in this wonderful blackness. They either didn't have the desire, or simply didn't know how to proceed. But there was no fear. Love filled this whirling, moving mass, and I sank more deeply into its warmth and blackness and rejoiced in my security and peace.

I thought, "This must be where the valley of the shadow of death is. The black mass around me began to take on more of the shape of a tunnel, and I felt myself traveling through it at an even greater speed, rushing toward the light. I was instinctively attracted to it, although again, I felt that others might not be. As I approached it, I noticed the figure of a man standing in it, with the light radiating all around him.

As I got closer the light became brilliant— brilliant beyond any description, far more brilliant than the sun—and I knew that no earthly eyes in their natural state could look upon this light without being destroyed. Only spiritual eyes could endure it—and appreciate it. As I drew closer I began to stand upright 40 I saw that the light immediately around him was golden, as if his whole body had a golden halo around it, and I could see that the golden halo burst out from around him and spread into a brilliant, magnificent whiteness that extended out for some distance.

I felt his light blending into mine, literally, and I felt my light being drawn to his. It was as if there were two lamps in a room, both shining, their light merging together. It's hard to tell where one light ends and the other begins; they just become one light.

Although his light was much brighter than my own, I was aware that my light, too, illuminated us. And as our lights merged, I felt as if I had stepped into his countenance, and I felt an utter explosion of love. It was the most unconditional love I have ever felt, and as I saw his arms open to receive me I went to him and received his complete embrace and said over and over, "I'm home.

I'm home. I'm finally home. And I knew that I was worthy to be with him, to embrace him. I knew that he was aware of all my sins and faults, but that they didn't matter right now.

He just wanted to hold me and share his love with me, and I wanted to share mine with him. I knew that he was my Savior, and friend, and God.

He was Jesus Christ, who had always loved me, even when I thought he hated me. He was life itself, love itself, and his love gave me a fullness of joy, even to overflowing. I knew that I had known him from the beginning, from long before my earth life, because my spirit remembered him. All my life I had feared him, and I now saw—I knew—that he was my choicest friend. Gently, he opened his arms and let me stand back far enough to look into his eyes, and he said, "Your death was premature, it is not yet your time.

Until then, I had felt no purpose in life; I had simply ambled along looking for love and goodness but never really knowing if my actions were right. Now, within his words, I felt a mission, a purpose; I didn't know what it was, but I knew that my life on earth had not been meaningless. It was not yet my time. My time would come when my mission, my purpose, my meaning in this life was accomplished. But even though I understood this, my spirit rebelled.

Did this mean I would have to go back? I said to him, "No, I can never leave you now. My thoughts raced on: "Is this Jesus, God, the being I feared all my life? He is nothing like what I had thought. He is filled with love.