A YEAR AGO, I felt as if I was drowning in mental chaos and grief—not knowing how to find the surface of the waters. My mom had passed away, and dealing with her absence was by far the hardest trial I'd ever faced. Struggling to reconcile my feelings of sorrow, I felt betrayed by my own spiritual studies. No amount of reassurance that God was still loving and caring for me, and for my mom, seemed to help. I felt that I was losing my faith.

There were plenty of symptoms that this grief boasted: isolation, doubt, fear, and sadness. And they seemed just as crippling as a physical ailment. I began to feel that I was somehow separated from God.

But intuitively, I knew that the inharmony riling up my thoughts was not from God, who I'd learned is divine Love itself. One day, two important questions came to me: Could I ever really be apart from God? And had God ever changed? Stories from the Bible reminded me that I wasn't the first one to feel paralyzed by anguish.

First, I thought about Jonah. Could he escape God's blessing during an unsettling time? No, even though he tried his hardest to. I felt like Jonah because, at first, I couldn't bear to pick up Christian Science literature to study spiritual ideas—it was just too difficult. I felt as if I'd gone to an isolated place, away from any inspiration or understanding. It was as if I were in the whale's belly. But deep down, I knew that good was still happening and that I was loved.

Then I thought about Job. And reading about his experiences, one could easily think that God had somehow changed from loving to untrustworthy, and had brought Job his suffering. I wondered how Job felt. He had a happy, contented life. Then suddenly everything he'd known and cared about was taken from him, and he had to grapple with evil and victimization. In the end, Job's faith in God didn't waver. Despite what had happened to him, he saw that God had always been fair and loving—and he was rewarded for that understanding.

Over the course of several months, I gradually began to pick up my Bible and Science and Health. Many times I returned to a passage in Science and Health that alluded to the second chapter of Genesis in the Bible. It brought me strength and challenged me to face my grief without fear: "Above error's awful din, blackness, and chaos, the voice of Truth still calls: 'Adam, where art thou? Consciousness, where art thou? Art thou dwelling in the belief that mind is in matter, and that evil is mind, or art thou in the living faith that there is and can be but one God, and keeping His commandment?' " (pp. 307–308).

I honestly asked myself, Where was I? In other words, was I going to accept that the "awful din, blackness, and chaos" of grief would consume me and interfere with my ability to function day to day, and with my peace of mind?

I mulled over that question for weeks.

And the answers I received in prayer turned me away from all the confusion. I'd fallen into thinking that my spiritual understanding had failed me, that I wouldn't be able to move on from missing my mom's companionship. But right there, in the midst of sadness, was the simple truth that there is only one God. That is always the premise, I reasoned, the very healing premise.

Remembering that there is only one power, one source, one Life, and that one source provides each of us the comfort we need—the good we need to see and the vision with which to see it—became essential.

God, the one and only source, I reasoned, loves unconditionally and embraces us. The same embrace includes everyone, so no one can ever be separated from this power, or from good, even if we can't see our loved ones any more.

Gradually, my grief began to diminish. I felt connected to God again. I was with my divine Parent, always. Family members provided a sense of familiarity and love, and friends stepped up and filled my life with joy. For instance, my sister and I began a tradition of sending text messages to each other on our cellphones every morning, just to let each other know we were there. Good friends and family flew from all over the country to visit me, and three friends encouraged me to take a trip with them to Montreal for a weekend. There was never a time I felt I was lacking companionship. To me, this was certain proof of God's care.

Whether I wanted to stay at home, or whether I was coaxed out of the house to see a movie or get dinner, I was surrounded by love. My housemates even tried to make sure that at least one of them was home at all times so I was not alone in the house. One friend bought two concert tickets and encouraged me to go with her. Another continually made me CDs, and I remember listening to those songs, finding inspiration in many of them. My family members were always on the other end of the phone if I needed to talk. The list could go on from there.

When memories of my mom came flooding back, I started to focus on the spiritual qualities she expressed so well. Her joy, humility, spiritual lightheartedness, thoughtfulness, humor, and unconditional love were just a few.

Soon after I began this prayerful journey, I met the man who would become my fiancé. My spiritual studies consistently picked up again, and the grief abated. I was ready to receive the love my fiancé and I were eager to share. We began traveling a lot, visiting our families, meeting friends, and sharing all the good and difficult moments together. My fiancé not only celebrated my progress, he challenged me to stick with my prayers when times got tough.

When I realized that God was showing me the way out of despair, I felt close to Him again. When facing any challenge now, I've asked myself, What premise is my thought based upon? Am I choosing to recognize "Adam's story" of darkness and fear? Or am I firmly grounded in the spiritual recognition that the one source of love stays with me always.

Through this promise, I've found my way back to the surface again. CSS