Universes of Love: What My Near-Death Experience Taught Me About Who We Really Are

Not long ago, I sat down with Heather Tesch on her show Beyond, and together we went deep—into near-death, unconditional love, judgment, visions, and the power of story.

As I’ve reflected on that conversation, I felt prompted to shape it into something you could read, sit with, and return to—if it resonates with you.  This is my story, not just of nearly dying and coming back, but of what happened after: how that experience changed the way I see God, myself, and every human being I have the honor and pleasure to meet.

The Story I Was Telling Myself Before I Died

Before my near-death experience, the story playing in my head was simple and brutal:

You’re failing at life.

I was a college student working three jobs and still falling behind.My grades were terrible.I was drowning in debt.I was struggling to make my truck payment.

On top of that, I was very sick and didn’t know why. One day, shaking and exhausted, I filled my truck with my last five dollars from a waitress's tip and started driving down a narrow canyon to my mother’s house.

Part of me just wanted my mom—nurturing, safety, comfort.

Another part of me dreaded facing her, sure I’d only disappoint her with how badly I was “messing up” my life.

By the time I reached her door, I had lost 30 pounds in three days. I’d been a runner and bodybuilder—I didn’t have 30 pounds to lose! My mom took one look at me and rushed me to the doctor. I collapsed there. Luckily, the clinic was next to a hospital in Brigham City, and I was taken into emergency surgery.

When they opened me up, they discovered sepsis, caused by the ulcers and fissures in my colon from stress. They pumped pints and pints of infection from my body. I was so emaciated that they had to place a subclavian line near my heart because they couldn’t get a standard IV in.

After surgery, I woke to a row of IV bags and multiple strong antibiotics, dripping into my veins. My fevers were sky-high. The doctors were worried. The medicine didn’t seem to be working, but none of us knew one of those antibiotics was actually killing me.

Pain, Prayer, and a Glimpse of Grace

I shared a hospital room with another woman, separated by a curtain. She and her husband began reading from the Big Book—the foundational text of 12-step programs.

I’d been part of a 12-step group. After a rough road, the steps had helped bring me back to God. Hearing those familiar words brought me a tiny measure of comfort in a world that felt increasingly dark and painful.

Later, my roommate went in for old-fashioned gallbladder surgery. When she came back, she was writhing in agony. I didn’t yet know I was empathic, but I felt her pain in my own body—so vividly I was squirming in my bed, too.

Then her clergy and her husband came and blessed her. I heard her sigh. The pain left her body—and at that exact moment, it left mine as well. She fell asleep.

I lay there stunned.

Meanwhile, I was getting weaker.

Around 2 a.m., with my mother finally gone home to rest, I heard two nurses outside my room quietly discussing my case.

“She’s not going to make it until morning. We’d better call her mom back.”

I still get emotional thinking about that moment.

Because right then, deep in my soul, I knew:

I have not fulfilled the measure of my creation.

It didn’t come from any doctrine or dogma. It was a knowing:There was something I had come here to do, and I hadn’t done it. And now…it was too late. 

I felt heartbreak, regret, and this deep sense of unfinished purpose.

My roommate, Linda, called out gently, “Bridget, you know you’re dying, don’t you?” “Yes,” I whispered.

And then I had a bold, almost ridiculous thought:

Can anyone have one of those blessings?

She said yes. She called her husband, and he and another clergy member came and offered me a blessing. It was different from what I’d experienced earlier with my beloved Catholic priest—equally sacred, but distinct. A strange peace settled over me. I fell asleep.

What happened next changed everything.

When Christ Walked Into My Hospital Room

I awoke to light.

Not a metaphor—an actual, brilliant, living light filling my hospital room. To this day, I struggle to find words that come even close to what I experienced. The light was pure love. It was presence. It was Him.

Jesus Christ was there before me.

I knew Him instantly, as naturally as you recognize someone you’ve loved your whole life. 

There was a sense of, I remember you. I didn’t have pre-earth memories like some people report, but there was this deep recognition—I know you, and you know me.

And He did.

He knew every mistake I’d ever made.He knew how much debt I was in.He knew I was failing my grades, my goals, my family.

And He loved me.

Not in a soft, vague way—but in a fierce, tangible, energetic way that filled every atom of the room. The metal tray table vibrated with that love. The cells of my arms and hands were vibrating with that love. The air itself shimmered.

I had loving adoptive parents. I knew love and affection. But this was a level of love I had never experienced. It undid me. It healed me. It changed me in an instant.

For a moment, I came out of my body, watching myself and watching Him. My consciousness expanded. I was aware of universes and universes of knowledge—far beyond our solar system. I saw layers of dimensions and star systems and time and space. In comparison, everything I had ever thought of as “the universe”—our Milky Way, our planets—was like the head of a pin.

All of creation was alive with love. Creation was love.

Then I was back in my body, still in His presence. And all I wanted was to stay there forever.

He communicated with me—not with words, but with pure understanding. He told me I was being given a second chance at life. I knew I would live.

And then I slept.

The Antibiotic, the Miracle, and Walking Out

Early that morning, a nurse wheeled in more IV antibiotics. As she hung the bags, I suddenly knew something I had no way of knowing:

I can have every one of these—but not that one.

I pointed to a particular antibiotic and told her, “That one is killing me.”

She looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “We thought we were going to lose you,” she said. “These are the only things saving your life.”

But I insisted: “Not that one.”

She left to tell the doctor how “uncooperative” I was being. We both knew she was going to tell him I was crazy. 

Thankfully, my doctor had cared for other patients with near-death experiences before. He came in, asked me questions, listened—and finally told the nurse, “We can take her off this one and leave her on the rest. Let’s see how she does.”

Within 24 hours, I walked out of the hospital under my own power.

I wasn’t suddenly perfect. I still had stress. I still held it in my body. I still made mistakes—major, still-very-human mistakes. But one thing changed forever:

The story I told myself about who I was.

I now knew: I came from love. I was made of love. I was loved—deeply, unconditionally.

And I wanted to live from that love.

For the first time in my life, I could look into the eyes of anyone I met and see love there. And maybe even more miraculous: I could look into my own eyes in the mirror without disgust  for the first time in my life…and see love looking back.

The lesson was indelible and written on my soul: If someone like me could be redeemed by love…then anyone could.

Seeing Universes in People’s Eyes

I’d always been an avid reader, but after my hospital experience, I felt drawn to stories… of real people, living real lives. 

I began working at the YWCA with teenagers whose lives were shaped by gangs, violence, and hardship. A man from Community Learning Centers read an article

I’d written and asked if I would come write stories about the kids he and his large team worked with. Many of them were second or third-generation gang members. Gang life was their religion, their “box.” They believed the story they’d been handed: This is just who we are.

Because of what I’d seen and experienced, I could see something different.

When I look into someone’s eyes now—I see universes. I see an exquisite thread of divinity. I see the story they tell themselves about who they are, and I also see past it to the sovereign story of what God sees.

I’ve written books that many find unusual:  one with a former skinhead, one with the daughter of a serial killer, one with the 19th wife of a fundamentalist polygamist leader, one with the sculptor of the Statue of Responsibility. I’ve seen unimaginable darkness—and the breathtaking pendulum swing into light when someone opens to love, truth, and transformation.

It’s one of my daily prayers:

“Lord, let me see through Your eyes. Let me hear with Your ears. Let me feel with Your heart. And when prompted, let me speak with Your words.”

I don’t always get it right. I still hold judgments sometimes. But whenever I do, God sends me a story.

Healing Divides Through Story

A few years ago, I hosted one of my Inspired Writers Retreats. People came from all over the world, and they brought their politics, their pain, and their strong opinions with them.

Some were deeply entrenched on the political right. Others were firmly rooted on the left.

I remember looking up and saying, “Okay, God. I don’t know what you’re going to do with this mix of people, but I trust you.”

From Thursday to Sunday, they shared their stories. They listened to each other’s journeys—the traumas, the triumphs, the beliefs that had shaped them. And something beautiful happened.

Walls fell. Labels loosened. Love grew.

By Sunday morning, people were hugging each other, saying things like:

“If I met you on the street, I would not have liked you. But now—I love you.”

And, “Thank you for sharing your story. I want to be your friend forever.”

The same weekend, on the drive home, I heard the news about horrific violence overseas in the Middle East. It felt like a stark illustration of our human capacity: in the same moment, we’re capable of profound hatred and profound love.

And yet, the seeds of our greatest glory so often lie in the darkest soil.

When Jesus Came Back to Correct a Lie I Believed

Many years after my near-death experience, I went through another low point.

From the outside, it looked like I was doing well. I’d written bestselling books. I’d built a company. I was helping extraordinary people tell their stories.

But inside, there was a piece of coal—this hard, pressurized belief that I was not doing enough with the “second chance” Jesus had given me. I felt I wasn’t big enough, expansive enough, impactful enough.

One night, he came to me again.

And in the most loving way, He told me something that shook me to my core:

“You’ve been lying to yourself.”

He reminded me that after my near-death experience, I had told myself:

If He gave me a second chance, there must have been something worth saving. Then I thought I had to go prove it.

Without realizing it, I had spent years trying to prove myself worthy of that second chance and of His love.

He showed me how I had taken His unconditional love and placed conditions on it in my own mind! 

Then came the deeper truth:

Whether I was sitting on the couch eating bonbons, or out in the world writing books and building leaders, His love for me would be exactly the same.

No hierarchy. No scoreboard. No performance-based affection.

Just love.

Sounds great, right? But honestly, that realization felt like having the floor pulled out from under me. If I wasn’t “the one who must constantly prove herself,” then who was I?

The answer that came was simple and profound:

I am a child of God. And so are you.

Learning to Love Even Those We Can’t Understand

Another powerful vision involved my dad and my grandmother.

My dad passed away years ago, and occasionally he’s appeared in meditations and spiritual experiences to teach me something. In this particular meditation, I saw him in a tuxedo, younger and glowing, laughing his big belly laugh. He held out his arm, and there was my grandmother—my mother’s mother—dressed in a beautiful shimmery gown. They were dancing to big band music. My grandfather watched proudly in his tux from nearby. It was a wonderful celebration. 

The scene would have been sweet enough on its own—but there was history there.

When my dad moved my mom and their two little boys from Detroit to Utah, my grandmother was outraged. She felt he’d taken her daughter and grandchildren away. She took his wedding picture with my mom off the mantle, and put her graduation picture in its place. She resented him for years.

And here they were, dancing together with joy. I was wowed. 

In the same vision, my dad showed me an image connected to that prayer I shared that I say often: “Lord, let me see through Your eyes…”

He showed me an expanse of light surrounding me—and then, suddenly, a stark black wall. No light. No warmth. Just cold, back void.

He bid me to look over that wall of darkness. 

On the other side was the man known as the Happy Face Killer—the serial killer I had written about with his daughter, Melissa Moore. My dad asked:

“How much light do you think he receives behind those prison walls?”

Up to that point, I didn’t hate the man—but I had withheld love from him. I was furious about what he had done to his victims and to his own daughter. I wanted nothing to do with him, even in prayer.

And yet there I was, asking God daily to help me love with His love—while on my own, deep in judgment, I carved out one exception.

That vision didn’t mean I suddenly respected that man or approved of his actions. I still don’t. Just as I don’t respect the choices of other abusers, perpetrators and exploiters I’ve encountered, including infamous religious leaders.

But it did confront me with a hard truth:

Love like Christ’s has no exceptions. Mine still did—and sometimes still does.

I’m still learning. I still get triggered. I still withhold at times. But I also know what I experienced in that hospital room, and in the years since, is real.

His love is relentless.His love is infinite.His love is for everyone—including you.

You Are Infinite

What I’ve learned about you and I is that we are not the sum of our mistakes.

You are not your bank balance, your grade report, your failed relationships or your worst decision. You are not the story of limitation you’ve been telling yourself.

You are infinite.You have infinite possibilities.

If the story you’ve been carrying is one of failure, shame, or “not enough,” I invite you to loosen your grip on it. Let it begin to expand. Ask to see yourself through the eyes of Love.

Because from what I’ve seen — of universes, of souls, of my own broken and rebuilt heart — we are on the cusp of something magnificent as a human family.

But we have to choose it.

We choose it every time we look into someone’s eyes and search for the light there, even if we disagree with them.

We choose it when we tell the truth about where we’ve been and where we’re going.

We choose it when we refuse to dehumanize each other—and instead, share our stories.

If You Feel Called to Share Your Story

My work now through my books, retreats, and my company, Your Inspired Story. is to help people like you discover and share the extraordinary story you carry within.

Some of my clients call me the Book Whisperer, but really, I just help midwife what’s already in you: your truth, your healing, your voice.

You don’t have to be writing a book to reach out.

If you simply want to connect, to share a piece of your story, or to be friends—I would love that.

Because your story matters. Your life matters. You matter.

If there’s one thing I hope you take away from my experiences, it’s this:

You are deeply, deeply loved, no matter who you are.

If this story stirred something in you—a memory, a question, a longing to share your own truth—you don’t have to explore it alone.

Come join us in the Inspired Writers Clubhouse, an online community of heart-centered writers, creatives, and truth-tellers who are turning their life experiences into healing stories. Inside, you’ll find gentle accountability, craft support, live calls, and a circle of people who get what it means to carry a story that wants to be born.

Whether you’re just starting to wonder if you might have a book in you, or you’re already deep in the writing process, you are welcome.

Learn more and join us in the Inspired Writers Clubhouse. Your story belongs here.