Author: Roberta Grimes

Sharing with you my formative night

Perhaps many folks can point to a single moment that transformed their lives, although for most that watershed moment likely happened when they were a bit older. I was eight years old on that singular night in April of 1955 when I went to bed as a normal kid. Then I was awakened just before dawn, and I was never normal again.

It must have been about four o’clock in the morning. Nearly sixty years later I still remember it well. I woke up with the throat-clenching, heart-pounding certainty that there is no God. No God! There is nothing but screaming clockwork terror in an infinite void of nothing. I have never in my life been so afraid. As that lack of God went on for minutes, I thought of running to my parents’ bed. But what comfort can there be when there is no God?

As I stared in panic into the darkness, there came a brilliant flash of white light. It was big! It filled my room with light, so to this day I recall the lavender wallpaper with its purple and white cornflowers, the bookcase with its row of dolls, the plastic palomino with its ball-chain reins. Oddly, such a brilliant light in the darkness didn’t affect my eyes. I stared in amazement.

Then I heard a young male voice say, “You wouldn’t know what it is to have me unless you knew what it is to be without me. I will never leave you again.”

Oh.

That’s nice. If you forget that there’s a God, they’ll remind you. When you are eight years old, everything is new so nothing can be very surprising, and I was so comforted by that voice that I snuggled down and went back to sleep.

Nearly forty years went by before I told anyone about this experience, but it shaped my growing-up. From that day on I always knew that God is real and there must be a lot going on behind the curtain that we can’t see. As is true of all such experiences, my memory of my formative night has remained as vivid throughout my life as if it happened yesterday, which fact bothered me as I grew older. Surely that must have been normal, right? It had to be happening to lots of people? So why was nobody talking about it at church or at school or just casually at home?

Eventually I went to Smith College, in part for its great religion department. I planned to major in religion in college, assuming still that what had happened to me had to have been a variant of normal. But I was learning that if you don’t ask questions, no one ever gives you answers. No one at college mentioned anything even similar to my experience, and soon I began to suspect that perhaps it hadn’t been so normal after all. Realizing that made me even more reluctant to mention it to anyone.

The summer when I was twenty was a time of frustration and near-depression. I still was failing at what I saw as my young life’s fundamental mission, which was to find out what my experience had been and reassure myself that I was normal. And now here I was, majoring in religion at an elite college, but this was looking like another dead-end. No one was going to answer a question that I was still refusing to ask, and what could I do with a religion major?

I came home from my summer job one evening and plunked down on my bed, feeling miserable. I was thinking about trying to declare a different major, but there was no other field that grabbed me and I had taken so many religion courses that changing majors now might mean summer school and I still hadn’t resolved my lifelong quest. What had happened to me when I was eight?

Just then – and I was sitting up, in daylight – that same white light flashed from over my right shoulder and brilliantly splashed in the center of the room. This time it was accompanied by extraordinary music, like millions of tiny silver bells. And the same young male voice said, “I will never leave you.”

My reaction to having a second experience of light was odd, in retrospect. I felt like the dunce of the universe. Apparently nobody else has to be reminded even once that God is real, but I had to be reminded twice? For many years thereafter I prayed, “Dear God, I know You’re there and I’m never alone and I promise never to forget, so PLEASE don’t do that to me again!” In all the years since, God never has.

While I was deeply involved in getting married and having babies and beginning to practice law, I dipped a toe into investigating the afterlife. I was assuming that wherever that light had come from was likely the same place where dead people went, but before Raymond Moody published Life After Life in 1975, death was not much of a topic. Wonderfully, Dr. Moody sparked a curiosity about life after death that continues to this day.

In 1991 my father had a stroke. For the couple of weeks before he died I made a daily round-trip to assist my mother. One morning I phoned her as I drove to ask how Dad had spent the night, and I found her in a state of giddiness. Something had happened that was so amazing, but…

“I can’t tell you! Don’t ask! But it was wonderful!”

“You saw a bright light, didn’t you, Mom?”

“How did you know that? How could you know that?”

“And a voice said something…?”

“How did you know that? You can’t know that!”

When I got to my parents’ home, I told my mother about my experiences of light. It was the first time I had ever told anyone. But hearing how similar her experience had been to mine, I discovered at the age of 45 that I was somewhat normal, after all. It actually had happened to someone else! Perhaps it had happened to many others, but – like my mother, like me – they wouldn’t talk about it. So then I began to mention it to people, and in the twenty-two years since my father’s death I have heard a number of amazing stories. I have found that few people will tell me about their own extraordinary experiences until after I have first shared mine, but I would guess based upon unscientific research that two or three percent of all Americans will have an experience of light in their lifetimes.

Here is what I have come to understand about such encounters with the Divine:

1)      They happen when people are under spiritual stress. Not physical or emotional stress, but spiritual stress.

2)      They might include a bright light or a voice, or often both a light and a voice. Rarely are there other elements. Most people agree that the light is external – anyone in the room would see it – but the voice may be in our minds.

3)      These experiences remain as vivid for the rest of our lives as if they had happened just yesterday. This is true of near-death experiences and visitation dreams from the dead as well: it’s as if spiritual memory exists outside of time.

4)      These experiences are transformative. After more than half a century, my experiences of light continue to shape my life.

I have read the Christian Bible from cover to cover perhaps a dozen times. I don’t recommend that anyone do this who hopes to remain a practicing Christian, but at one time it seemed like a good idea. So I was familiar with the Bible, but I was so deeply shamed by the fact that God had to remind me of His existence twice that I didn’t think about the fact that the Bible contains experiences of light until after my mother’s experience confirmed for me that it was a variant of normal. Then almost immediately I slapped my head. Of course!

In Exodus 3:2 and following, God speaks to Moses from out of a burning bush that is not consumed. They have a conversation in which God gives Moses a charge to lead his people out of Egypt, and Moses says, “O Lord, please send someone else to do it.” (Exodus 4:13). It’s never a good idea to make God cranky, but I’m with Moses. Who feels worthy of a charge like that? And in Acts 9:3-6, the tormentor of early Christians who was Saul is converted to the Apostle Paul when he sees a bright light and he hears Jesus say, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?”

They both had the same experience that I had. Both of them saw that same white light, and they heard what may even have been the same voice. The same experience.

So, why me?

It is only in my latter sixties that I begin to dare to ask that question. Why me, of all people? First, of course, there remains the fact that I actually am the dunce of the universe. I needed the experience not once, but three times. I tend to identify strongly with Moses’s “Who, me?” reluctance to stick his neck out, but even he needed just one experience of light! I am weaker. I needed not only my two, but also the validation of my mother’s as well.

I still don’t know why I was given those experiences, but I am coming to think that one reason may be that being touched by God makes you brave. I am not at all brave by nature. If it were up to me, with my children grown and with my career now winding down, I would spend the rest of my days beneath a tree, blissfully reading amid flowers and birdsong. But after my father’s death, I began a single-minded quest to understand death and what happens after death that led three years ago to the publication of The Fun of Dying – Find Out What Really Happens Next! Researching the afterlife was brave, and publishing a book that some folks might think goes against their religious beliefs was brave.

Then I did something so brave that I have found that very few are willing to do it. I don’t find it scary at all, since not only do I know that God is real, but I have come to realize that God loves us perfectly and God knows us better than we know ourselves. So… what the heck. One day I told God that I will do whatever God wants me to do with the rest of my life. Anything. It’s up to You, God! I pray in gratitude affirmations, so what I actually said was, “Thank You for giving me work to do. Thank You for showing me how to do it.” I began to pray that prayer perhaps eighteen months ago, and soon thereafter I came upon a draft of a novel that I had first written in 1977. It had been preserved in a manner so unlikely that it didn’t seem possible that it was random, and as I read it I began to envision a sequel. By the time I had written that sequel, I was seeing a need for four more books in what I was beginning to understand was a series. And doing this writing is turning out to be the most fun that I have ever had in my life. Well, what do you know? If you trust God enough to offer up your life, God will give you back your life arrayed in diamonds and roses!

‘My Thomas’ a literary tour de force [a review]

Below is a review of my novel, My Thomas, that appeared in The Patriot Ledger:

Roberta Grimes’s first major novel is a marvel, a historical novel whose detail, scope and depth seem much greater than the book’s slightly more than 300 pages. My Thomas captures the complicated nature and depth of Thomas Jefferson’s wife, Martha, who died just ten years after the couple were married and whom Jefferson mourned the rest of his life.

The novel is presented as Martha’s own journal of her life with Thomas, and the hand of the author is neither seen nor felt anywhere in the book. The reader is totally immersed in Martha’s life, in the person she must have been.

Grimes’s mastery of the tone of life in late 18th century Virginia is complete. Her characters live, breathe and speak with such truth and realism that the reader is drawn unconsciously into the complicated and fascinating lives of Martha and Thomas.

Thomas Jefferson’s love for his Martha was so total that when she died, he destroyed their correspondence in his grief. This deep love fuels the lives of both characters as the tides of the Revolutionary War ebb and flow, and American independence becomes a reality.

Grimes’s poetic style captures the details and the currents of Martha’s life. My Thomas is a superbly crafted exploration of the lives of two individuals made complete by one another.

Each character has his or her history and complexities. Details are rich, and beautiful moments are bountiful in this world of Monticello and the American Revolution. Martha Jefferson’s mother died at the age of 20, only a few days after giving birth to her, and a miniature portrait of her was constantly about Martha’s neck or wrist.

Grimes’s skill as a writer becomes evident as Martha explains the importance of this portrait, her last connection to her mother.

“My miniature not two inches long seemed greater to me than the living lady. As I grew, my mother remained twenty years old, now older sister, now equal friend, until now she comes to be my junior. I protect and comfort her in my turn.”

Grimes also demonstrates a deep understanding of relationships and the nature of her characters. As Thomas Jefferson’s political career expands and the war widens in scope and savagery, My Thomas opens up to encompass the critical issues of the times. Slavery, the role of women and the meaning of freedom are issues explored through the prism of Martha and Thomas’s love.

Through his letters to her from Congress and Martha’s verbatim recording of many of their conversations, Jefferson becomes absolutely real and understandable. The first thought of both each day is for the other.

“What will make him loved as he deserves to be loved,” she writes of her husband, “will be what I shall write of the man himself, that there never has lived so kindly a man, so gentle and so completely good.”

Not since Michael Shaara’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel of the battle of Gettysburg, Killer Angels, have I read such a fine historical novel.

John Adams and Thomas Jefferson were great friends and loyal correspondents. Their friendship, like the Jeffersons’ marriage, was strong and rare. Adams’s last words were of his friend, “Jefferson still lives.” Adams was right. Jefferson still lives, and he and his Martha can be found in the pages of My Thomas.

—Daniel L. Mallock, The Patriot Ledger, Quincy, MA

Review by Publishers Weekly

The following review of my book My Thomas appeared in Publishers Weekly:

Cast in the form of a diary written by Thomas Jefferson’s wife, Martha, Grimes’s first novel chronicles the years from their courtship in 1770 to her death in 1782. Atmospheric and richly detailed, with exact accounts of such contemporary activities as leaching dye and boiling soap, the novel captures the personalities of two extraordinary people and the tumult of the revolutionary war that consumed their lives. We view the conflict through the prism of Martha’s sharply perceptive mind; the maneuvers of the era’s famous men – George Washington, Patrick Henry and Benedict Arnold – form a well-integrated backdrop to her story. The novel also traces Martha’s evolution from a self-indulgent Southern belle to an outspoken young mother with radical social views; conversations with her slave Betty on the explosive subjects of emancipation and miscegenation are revealing of the complex relationship between white and black Americans in the 18th century. Thomas Jefferson’s steady rise as a lawyer, lawmaker and statesman takes second place here to his role as husband, father and lover, so shattered by his young wife’s death that he never remarried. The moving tale succeeds both as gripping historical saga and powerful love story. BOMC and QPB selections. – Publishers Weekly