Based in New York, Spiritualundertones is a blog by Sarah Almengor. Her posts reflect spirituality, relationships, and everyday life through her personal musings, photography and acquired wisdom.

Emergency Divine

“What am I doing? What in the world am I doing? How did I get to this point? God, what am I doing?" Her mind is going a million miles a minute, seemingly in sync with her heartbeat. She's having yet another panic attack, except this time it was actually brought on by the thing she thought would ward these episodes off. This attack is unlike any other she's experienced thus far. She reached into her coat pocket and took a hit from her vape pen as she was heading out into the city, to stroll through the park and appreciate the fall foliage. Not even ten minutes later, her innocent plan has backfired. She stops at a bodega to get a bottle of water, barely able to breathe calmly. The more she thinks about what is going on, the worse she freaks out. "This is bad, this is really bad, God please don't let me die this way." She's terrified. She can barely swallow her spit because it feels like her throat is closing up; convinced she is about to die, she cries out to her Father. Something in her still knows she's His child, despite where she had found herself the day before: a roadside motel with a pit in her stomach and a serpent encompassed around her heart. "Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me, God. Forgive me. Please. I am so sorry." A seemingly dull repentance, but hopefully from the heart. Unconvincing, even to her. Have you ever reached a point where you feel you've cried so many tears over the same thing that there simply are no more tears left to cry?

She keeps walking. She thinks she can make it to the train. "You're okay, you're okay. You just smoked when you were in a bad head space. You're fine, you're not going to die." The more she pep-talks herself, the closer to fainting she feels. Everything in her view is spinning and lopsided, and now she is fully persuaded that at any given moment she is going to die of a heart attack. The world is closing in on her; perhaps you can call it a near death experience. "God, please, send me someone. Someone who can pray for me right now. Send somebody, God, please. I need someone who knows you to pray for me right now." A tall, black man wearing an oversized leather jacket passes in front of her. She's not sure if she's going to puke or pass out. She taps him and as he turns around she quietly pleads for an ambulance. He thought she said "napkins" and hands her a few tissues; with a confused look on her face she says, "no, AMBULANCE! Please get me an ambulance" and with that, the sweet man shifts gears from nonchalant pothead to Superman mode. She's grateful for him and, in a respectful way, thinks the shift in gears is cute but is wondering if he's going to take advantage of her being in a vulnerable state. He walks her into the nearby park and has her sit down on a bench, talking to her and trying to retrieve information to recite into the phone. At one point she says, "look, if you're a praying man, I really need you to pray for me right now." He has a grin of conviction on his face. It gets quiet.

Once in the ambulance, she keeps seeing Jesus. He's not a blue-eyed, smug-looking man with flowing blonde hair like the Catholics make him out to look like, no. Rather, he's light. That light that's blinding, but pure. Radiant, vibrant, full, with depth, with body. Literally the face of love, shining brighter than the sun. She sees the face of Jesus in the window of the ambulance truck. "Holy shit am I still high?" But then she feels him. Comfort. Peace. His presence. She's able to breathe normally again. Her heart isn't palpitating anymore. There's no shortness of breath or that feeling of fainting. "I am with you". She hears that, and she knows that's her savior speaking to her soul.

After she's put on a hospital bed and wheeled to the emergency room, with her eyes closed as she tries to stay in a relaxed frame of mind, she hears a voice so soft and angelic that she swears she is hallucinating and imagining things. The voice is so peaceful it catches her by surprise and her heart gasps. She wonders to herself, "wait, are they praying? Is that the voice of a woman? This person sounds so elderly and so worn out and tired, and yet so at peace and beautiful and alive and free". Tears are in her eyes as she just listens to this person talk. It was as soft and pure and humble as a whisper and yet so bold and attractive and demanding attention. A voice with spiritual authority. God gives his children that.

She's able to be restored back to calmness to the sound of this voice that won't stop talking, and despite that, it's not annoying. She can't even make out what this voice is saying, totally inaudible...a voice itself being soothing music, all on its own. She looks to her left to see who owns this gem of a voice, this voice of an angel, and it's someone very old and very dark and glimmering in glory. They are sparkling, it looks like there's gray glitter all over their face. She has to look away. She was not expecting to have a Mount of Transfiguration experience in an emergency room. She eventually falls asleep and upon waking up, a light-skinned black woman is at her bedside. This woman has a warm aura and kind eyes. A soft voice. "Are those tears in your eyes? Why are you crying?", the woman asks. "Boy troubles?" She nods sheepishly. "Girl, pray about it. Don't cry about it. Trust God! You are His child, there's no reason to be down!"

The woman offers further spiritual encouragement, and she can't help but cry in utter amazement at God sending her someone who knows Him.

Hi, My Name Is

Don't Interrupt