Peace From Broken Pieces: How to Get Through What You're Going Through Read online

  ALSO BY IYANLA VANZANT

  Tapping the Power Within: A Path to Self-Empowerment for Women—920th Anniversary Edition

  Acts of Faith

  Faith in the Valley: Lessons for Women on the Journey to Peace

  Every Day I Pray: Prayers for Awakening to the Grace of Inner Communion

  In the Meantime

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  Until Today Cards: A 50-Card Deck

  Tips for Daily Living Cards: A 50-Card Deck

  The Value in the Valley: A Black Woman’s Guide Through Life’s Dilemmas

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  Copyright © 2010 by Iyanla Vanzant

  Published in the United States by: SmileyBooks

  Distributed in the United States by: Hay House, Inc.: www.hayhouse.com • Published and distributed in Australia by: Hay House Australia Pty. Ltd.: www.hayhouse.com.au • Published and distributed in the United Kingdom by: Hay House UK, Ltd.: www.hayhouse.co.uk • Published and distributed in the Republic of South Africa by: Hay House SA (Pty), Ltd.: www.hayhouse.co.za • Distributed in Canada by: Raincoast: www.raincoast.com • Published and Distributed in India by: Hay House Publishers India: www.hayhouse.com

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  Design: Nick C. Welch

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any mechanical, photographic, or electronic process, or in the form of a phonographic recording; nor may it be stored in a retrieval system, transmitted, or otherwise be copied for public or private use—other than for “fair use” as brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews— without prior written permission of the publisher.

  The opinions set forth herein are those of the author, and do not necessarily express the views of the publisher or Hay House, Inc., or any of its affiliates.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2010933582

  ISBN: 978-1-4019-2822-3

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-4019-2859-9

  13 12 11 10 4 3 2 1

  1st edition, November 2010

  Printed in the United States of America

  This book is dedicated to

  Gemmia Lynnette Vanzant,

  Omo Obatala,

  OrisaSami,

  and Niamoja Adilah Afi for her contribution

  to the next seventeen generations of a healing love

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 Here Is Also There

  Chapter 2 The Walking Wounded

  Chapter 3 From the Pot into … a Bigger Pot

  Chapter 4 Blind in One Eye … Can’t See Out of the Other

  Chapter 5 Territorial Invasion

  Chapter 6 The Divine Setup

  Chapter 7 Ain’t Nobody’s Prisoner!

  Chapter 8 The Personal Lie

  Chapter 9 Pushed to the Breaking Point

  Chapter 10 Me and Mickey Mouse

  Chapter 11 Be Still and Know

  Chapter 12 The Soul Sisters

  Chapter 13 Things Fall Apart

  Chapter 14 Truth and Consequences

  Chapter 15 The Upward Downward Spiral

  Chapter 16 Unfinished Business

  Chapter 17 Life and Death

  Chapter 18 Beyond Death

  Chapter 19 Starting Over

  Chapter 20 Standing in Grace

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments.

  About the Author

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This is a work of nonfiction.

  Conversations have been reconstructed to the best of my recollection.

  I found Jesus.

  He was behind the sofa.

  He said; “Come near;

  I’ get down and stay down.

  I’ ll take care of everything.”

  So, I did.

  And then, He did.

  PROLOGUE

  CHRISTMAS DAY

  1:00 A.M.

  I had just nodded off when they arrived: My dearest friends from New York, Tulani and her husband Stan, had come to spend Christmas Day with us at Gemmia’s house. I was exhausted but excited about having guests for the holiday. After the last few days with Gemmia, I needed some comfort and support. My husband was sprawled across the living room sofa, fully dressed, with his shoes on. I wasn’t sure where he had come from or when he had arrived. Like me, he was ecstatic to see our friends, our extended family. Tulani was like a sister who had helped me raise Gemmia. There are few things more comforting than having good, close friends with you when you are going through a difficult time.

  After our greeting, with a lot of jumping up and down, kissing and hugging, we all went upstairs to Gemmia’s bedroom. Gemmia was down to 91 pounds now, but if Tulani was at all shocked at her appearance, she never let on. She and Gemmia stared into each other’s eyes like long-lost lovers. It was beautiful to see the love pass from one to the other. I was holding on to Stan because I knew he loved me as much as Tulani loved Gemmia. My husband just watched. I felt a twinge of sadness that he didn’t love me like that, like Tulani loved Gemmia, but when I felt my heart sinking, I shook off that thought and squeezed Stan’s hand.

  2:20 A.M.

  We sat around chatting, remembering the good ol’ days in Brooklyn, reminding each other who had married whom, left whom, and was now with whom. Gemmia was alert and very talkative between naps. When she was awake, the men excused themselves while Tulani helped me get her on and off the Porta-Potty. She really wanted to use the toilet, but in her condition, the bathroom door on the other side of her bedroom was just too far to go.

  I really did understand. My exhaustion from the past week made it feel like I had lead bricks in my feet. My head, although it had not grown in size, felt as if it weighed 20, no, 50 pounds. It was only sheer determination holding it upright. I could not crumble! If I did, Gemmia would also. That was not acceptable! Not now. She seemed to be getting weak again. Perhaps she was hungry. No, she just wanted to lie down.

  3:40 A.M.

  When I woke up, everyone else was still asleep. Tulani was curled up in Gemmia’s favorite chair in front of the window. My husband and Tulani’s husband were curled up in opposite corners on the floor. I sat up on the corner of the bed where I too had been tightly curled. Gemmia was lying behind me. I checked to see if she was breathing. Don’t be stupid! Of course she’s breathing! This was Christmas Day. I told myself that she would be breathing all day long.

  I wondered if my younger daughter Nisa had finished wrapping the children’s gifts. I tried to lift myself from the bed slowly so that I would not wake Gemmia. But as soon as I stood up she asked, “Where you goin’?”

  “To see if the gifts are wrapped.”

  “Okay,” she said. Then, “Don’t go.”

  “Don’t go where? Don’t go home?” I tried not to sound alarmed, but everything she said set off bells and whistles in my mind. “I’m not going home, sweetie. I’m going downstairs.”

  She was silent. Asleep again, perhaps. Then I heard a small sigh. “Don’t go.” As gently as I could, I sat back on the bed. I waited to see if she would say anything else. She didn’t.

  6:17 A. M.

  When my son, Damon, came into the room, I realized that
I had been asleep in a sitting position. “What time are you opening the gifts?” he asked.

  “As soon as the kids wake up. We don’t have much because I never got to go shopping.”

  “Ma, they don’t care about that. They just want to be here, and they want their Auntie Gemmia to get better.”

  I knew he was right. But Christmas in our family had always been such a big deal, not so much for the presents as for the folks and the food. It was Gemmia’s favorite holiday, and she went all out to make sure the children and everyone else had a really good time. We stayed up all night wrapping gifts, drinking virgin piña coladas, and wishing we didn’t have to cook. This year it was very different. There were a host of nieces, nephews, grandchildren, and the children of friends spread throughout the house, Gemmia’s daughter Niamoja among them. This was as it had always been. The difference was that we were not in my home as usual. We were at Gemmia’s house because we needed to be. I really tried to believe that everything and everyone was going to be okay.

  6:30 A.M.

  The house and everyone in it was still, except me. I could hear Gemmia’s soft sighs as she slept, in counterpoint to my husband’s light snoring. I decided to go downstairs to make a pot of coffee and call my prayer partner, because I knew she would understand the vision I had had the evening before. My friend had been through every step of this journey with me and always made herself available to my Mother Bear ravings. She had the perfect spiritual understanding of my vision. We had been talking for a while when my husband came into the kitchen. He said, “You’d better come upstairs. Something is happening.”

  7:12 A.M.

  Gemmia was staring off into space, laughing to herself. “They’re doing it again.”

  “Who?” I asked her. “Who is doing what?” She turned her face toward me, peering as if she could not see me.

  “They are doing that open-eyed meditation,” she said with a soft smile. I knew she was talking about my dear friend who had been with me day and night for the past month. Gemmia was in the room. The friend was not.

  “Where are you, honey? Gemmia, tell me where you are!” She seemed to listen for a moment.

  “I’m at Damon’s house … I think. Yes, this is Damon’s house.”

  I am not sure why my knees didn’t buckle, but they didn’t. I covered my mouth to stifle a scream. Oh my God! She’s traveling.

  It is said that before a person makes the transition from life to the afterlife, they travel to say goodbye to those they love.

  As I looked around the room, I realized that it was full of people and everyone was staring at me. They wanted to know what I was going to do next. They wanted to know what I knew. Where had they come from? Who let them in? My entire staff, 14 people, had come into the house with me noticing them.

  “Somebody give me the phone, please.” I wanted to call Gemmia’s godmother. I needed to talk to her. She needed to talk to Gemmia. Suddenly, I had a telephone in my hand. At the sound of her godmother’s voice, I felt the tears welling up in my eyes. I took a deep breath, trying to find the words to speak what I did not want to say. Somehow she knew.

  “Is she still here?”

  As if she could see me through the telephone, I shook my head.

  “Let me speak to her.”

  I held the telephone to Gemmia’s ear, refusing to give my tears permission to fall on her. From that moment forward, everything happened quickly; but not really.

  7:30 A.M.

  I am not sure when it started to happen, but my body had become rigid. I was not cold, but it felt like there was a cool breeze blowing through me. When I looked around the room, I could see people, but I could not feel my body. When I tried to move, my feet would not cooperate. I closed my eyes, placed my hand on Gemmia’s head, and started to pray.

  After a while, I asked where Gemmia’s daughter was. “She’s downstairs with her father,” Nisa said. He had come to pick her up for the day; this was to be the Christmas they would spend together, away from her mother for the first time. I gathered enough of my senses to walk down to the kitchen. They were in there, fixing toast.

  “Come here, sweetie.” I reached out to my granddaughter. Her eyes were brimming with tears.

  “I guess you’re pretty scared, huh?” As she nodded yes, the tears began to fall. “Yeah, me too! I’m scared too, my love.”

  “Is Mommy going to die?”

  “I don’t know, sweetie, but I sure hope not. Do you want to go with Daddy or do you want to stay here?” She glanced over at her father. He motioned to her to respond.

  “I’ll go.”

  “Do you want to go?” She glanced at him again. Why does she need his permission to speak to me?

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell you what. You take my cell phone and I will call you if anything happens. You put it in your pocket, and I promise I will call you.” We hugged and I ran back upstairs.

  8:12 A.M.

  People continued to gather in Gemmia’s bedroom. Somebody must have gotten the word out to come and come quickly. They all seemed to know what I could not, would not acknowledge. It was unthinkable, unspeakable, and they all seemed to know as I continued to hope against hope.

  Gemmia was going in and out of consciousness. I kept talking to her and she answered as she could. With one hand I stroked her head, and with the other I held the telephone so that I could talk to her godmother, who was keeping me from losing it. Periodically I would put the telephone to Gemmia’s ear so she could hear her soft, soothing voice also. Although I hated to admit it, her godmother’s voice seemed to keep her alert in a way I could not. How could I? I could barely keep myself from banging my head against the wall and tearing at my flesh with my teeth. In a room filled with words of prayer, with all of my family and friends watching me, I’m not sure anyone one could comprehend what I was experiencing. For that matter, I didn’t know what I was experiencing.

  Then without warning, I felt it start to happen. That cold breeze again, around and throughout my body. A strange heaviness in my legs, and at the same time, a lightness—almost numbness—in my feet. The sensations became so intense I had to sit down on the edge of the bed. Oh my God! My child is dying! Help me God! Please help me! Those were the words I was thinking but I couldn’t get my mouth open to speak them aloud. Without anyone prompting it, everyone in the room started praying aloud. Somebody put music on. One by one, people came over to the bed, bent down and prayed into Gemmia’s ear. Some she acknowledged, others she did not. When I prayed for her, tears began to roll down her face. She was trying to speak but she could not. I asked someone to call my granddaughter at my cell phone number. She needed to come back home.

  9:30 AM.

  Everyone had fallen into silence. For one instant, I closed my eyes and I could see her: Gemmia, strong and healthy. She was standing in the same place I had seen her in my vision the night before. It was the place where I had encountered Jesus. He was standing there also. She was midway between the two of us. I wanted to open my eyes, as if that would make what I was feeling less real, but it seemed as if my eyes had been glued shut.

  Then I couldn’t see Gemmia any more. Instead, I saw what appeared to be a black curtain dangling in front of me. I was focused on the curtain when I felt the jolt in my head. How can this be? Intuitively, I knew that Gemmia’s brain was about to shut down. My entire head felt numb. I also felt a strange sensation in my lower back. No pain, just intense pressure. As suddenly as it had begun, it was gone. One by one her organs shut down. I could feel it in my body. Pieces and parts of me were dying. The kidney, the liver, the pancreas. It felt like sludge was being pushed through my veins as the flow of blood through her body slowed to a halt.

  Nisa let me know that my granddaughter had come home. I turned my head to see her standing in the doorway of the bedroom with her father. She looked terrified. I told them both to say goodbye. Everyone in the room did the same. Professing their love, praying and saying goodbye to o
ur angel, our beloved angel Gemmia.

  I sensed that I was near her, even though I could not quite figure out where I had gone in my mind. Reaching out, I felt her body. It was still warm. I kissed her face all over like I had done when she was a baby and told her I loved her. I heard her sigh. Then her heart stopped. When it did, my eyes flew open. Gemmia was sitting propped up on a pillow. Her head was dangling slightly to one side. Someone was lifting me up, from where I did not know. It was 10:18 A.M. Christmas morning.

  My daughter Gemmia was not the only one who died that morning. My family of origin died. My marriage, already in its coffin, died for good. My ministry, which had been the foundation of my relationship to God, was counted among the fatalities, too.

  My career, my personal vision, my life’s purpose as I had come to know it came to an abrupt end. Most important of all, when my best friend, my middle child, took her last breath, my sense of self died along with her. I was a woman whose dance card was suddenly filled with death and whose heart had shattered into a million pieces.

  What is it that would make a creature as fierce, majestic and powerful as a lion is, subject itself to the intimidation of a man, a whip and a chair? The lion has been taught to forget what it is.

  CHAPTER 1

  HERE IS ALSO THERE