For he felt that LOVE, although talked about, was greatly misunderstood, so he sat down to write his book. He took out the first page and right in the middle with perfect focus and concentration and a truly loving intent, he wrote the world LOVE.

Immediately, across the street, a woman put down the phone and comforted her crying child. Next door, two children gave each other a hug. Across time, a family picked up their new dog. Three thousand miles away, an unexpected wind arose and blew away the city smog.

With the same focus and concentration, with peace and sincere intent, the monk wrote LOVE in the middle of the second page.

Immediately, several blocks away, a child was conceived and a woman who had been contemplating death, decided instead, to risk truly living. Many people in the city just felt happy for no apparent reason. In the capital, an attempted by the government to cover up a scandalous misuse of money was unsuccessful.

The monk pulled out a third page and in the middle, wrote LOVE with the same feeling and intent as before.

Not far away, a woman from a dysfunctional family suddenly, effortlessly, forgave her parents and in that moment ended the cycles of pain that had dogged her family for generations. In the city, a businessman asked a depressed colleague to lunnch and a mother bent down to give her tired child a piggyback. Across the world, a rich man gave a poor man, one hundred dollars, a fortune in that country.

In the middle of the fourth page, the monk completed the writing of LOVE.

Nearby, a woman with small children chose to meditate for 5 minutes rather than let her irritation run things. A child in a coma from a car accident and not expected to live, opened her eyes. A man and woman disined to become lovers, met for the first time and a wise and gentle healer felt a tumor dissolve beneath her hands.

The monk did this 365 times, for each day of the year. He really wanted to remind people about LOVE since he'd found LOVE to be the true key to happiness and self-realization.

At first, several publishers returned his manuscript but the monk still felt it had changed the world. Naturally being the monk, he gave away copies or showed people how to write it themselves. The manuscript became so widespread and so well-known and had such an impact on people, it changed the world again.

The monk became even happier and more loving. Such is the power of LOVE.

If you liked this story, you'll love this! We've compiled a list of the top 10 spiritual stories that our readers love. You can read them here.

After spending her 20's as a journalist, publishing in Canada, the US and in Europe, Janet Hobbs' life changed when her son experienced a miraculous healing from terminal Leukemia. This experience sent her on the path of healing and study with aboriginal and East Indian spiritual masters. For the last 15 years, Janet has had a healing practice in Vancouver and the interior of BC. Clients report emotional and physical healings.

Visit her website at http://www.thecompassionateway.com to learn more.

What Is the Spiritual Moral / Meaning of “The Power of Love” Story?

Love, often spoken of yet so frequently misunderstood, finds its resonance in this tale, revealing its boundless capacity to shape destinies and illuminate lives.

The monk, guided by an inner calling after years of self-realization, embarked on a mission—to pen a book that would embody the essence of love. His intent was pure, fueled by a desire to offer something true and transformative to a world steeped in confusion and misinterpretation.

With each stroke of his pen, inscribing “LOVE” upon the pages, a subtle yet seismic shift unfolded in the tapestry of existence. The resonance of love, permeating through the words, echoed across streets, transcended boundaries, and touched the hearts of individuals in ways unforeseen.

This simple act, the deliberate inscription of love, rippled through the fabric of humanity, invoking moments of compassion, reconciliation, and unforeseen grace. From comforting a crying child to inspiring forgiveness in a tormented soul, from dispelling darkness to fostering unexpected generosity—the manifestations of love knew no bounds.

Day after day, page after page, the monk etched the essence of love into existence, and with each stroke, the world responded with harmonious echoes of its power. The impact of this act was immeasurable, transcending the confines of written words, as the vibrations of love permeated hearts and minds across the globe.

Initially met with skepticism by publishers, the monk's manuscript found its true purpose beyond the realm of traditional distribution. Through his altruistic nature, he freely shared his work, empowering others to invoke the transformative force of love in their own lives.

The ripples of his labor of love stretched far and wide, igniting a chain reaction of compassion, healing, and awakening. As the manuscript found its way into the hands and hearts of countless individuals, it catalyzed a wave of change—a profound shift in consciousness that reverberated across the collective human experience.

The monk, embodying the essence of love, found himself immersed in an ever-deepening state of joy and compassion. His unwavering dedication to the message of love transformed not only the world around him but also the very fabric of his being.

The “Power of Love” story encapsulates the profound truth that love isn't just an abstract concept—it's a dynamic force capable of transcending barriers, healing wounds, and instigating profound transformation. The monk's journey stands as a testament to the immense power of love—a force that, when embraced and shared, has the capacity to shape destinies, mend souls, and create a world illuminated by its radiant essence.

The post The Power of Love – A Spiritual Story by Jane Hobbs appeared first on Spiritual Growth Events.

The heavy handed specialist gave us no hope at all. There was nothing they could do, he informed us. He thought John had a year at the outside.

I went home and in a kind of timeless pause where the infinite and the material meet, I decided that if I believed the doctors, John would feel it in my milk and would give up.

Who wouldn't?

I saw the choice not to believe them and instead to put my faith in John. Maybe I could fuel his decision to live.

All that hugely powerful, maternal passion went into this decision. I willed him to get better. I held him. I nursed him. I loved him with my full being. I realized that before when I had loved people, I had loved them with about 10 per cent of my being. John got 100 percent and I got a lesson in what love really is.

We needed a miracle here and I received several. First, my dad came in behind me, believing too, that John would live. He was the one person who stood with me, trusting in something intangible when the obvious data pointed the other way. (Others tended to think I was just in denial…)

The miracle of it was that while growing up, my father had caused me enormous pain. So for him to come alongside me at this time, in a place so deep in our hearts, was a Godsend.

Another miracle was more of a sequence.

It started when two pictures of John fell off the wall and the glass inside both of them broke. A few days later, one of his Peter Rabit plates fell and smashed. Then, very soon after that, a small child came over and while her mother and I were talking, the little girl got a hammer and crushed a beloved music box I had bought for John.

I had bought the box at the onset of John's illness to cheer us all up. It had turned into a symbol of eventual triumph.

And now it was smashed. And so fragile was my faith that its demise smashed our lives too. The bottom just fell out.

Life now just seemed so stark and unloving. God just seemed like a bad joke. I could barely stand to be alive, could hardly bare the agony of it. The only thing that kept me going was John who needed my love, hugs and adoration and I gave myself to him 100 per cent.

Even if God didn't exist, I could still believe John was going to get better. If the Great Spirit's love didn't exist, at least mine did.

It took me several weeks to feel my love strong again. I was still scared and things looked stark but my love flowed utterly to John. Then one day, I had to go to the store. Depressed and worried though I was, I followed an unusual impulse into a nearby gift shop.

There on a shelf was a single music box, identical to the other one. That was truly amazing as I had bought it overseas. And don't you know it was on sale at half price!

I bought it. I took it as a signal of the Great Spirit's assurance that the child would live which he did, despite such a terminal diagnosis.

(Maybe doctors should ask mothers what they think more.)

This brings me to the third and biggest miracle of all. Two days after I had made that crucial decision to ignore the doctor's death sentence, my mother, plus an incredible series of coincidences, put me in touch with a famous healer named Olgas Worral.

Olga Worral, then a woman in her 80's, had once lost her infant twins to dysentery and now worked with sick children, sending compassion to ailing youngsters all over the world. We spoke. Olga asked for no payment. Nor did she need to touch or meet John to help. She just needed to know his full name. Then she asked me to put my hands on him every night at 7pm to ground the compassion she was sending.

I knew Olga was gold.

The cancer clinic monitored John's white cell count, checking him once every two weeks. We had watched it climb steadily.

When John was 10 months, it hit 60,000, six times higher than normal. The cell count left his skin so white, it was almost transparent. He hardly moved or made any noise. He was a sick baby.

We started working with Olga. The next checkup showed the count had dropped by 1,000 and that John had gained a pound in weight. The time after that, his blood count fell another 1,500 and he had gained another pound.

This continued. Gradually over the next three years, John's white blood cell count fell to normal and he began to grow and flourish.

The doctors didn't say much.

I phoned Olga regularly to thank her and heard that people seldom let her know how their loved ones fared. Sometimes they'd phone up three years later.

‘Thanks for helping Uncle Bill. He's fully recovered.. Can you help Aunt Sara now?'

She would.

Much later, after Olga had died, I read an article in which she'd participated in an experiment which featured an dysentery culture and penicillin. When she spent time in a laboratory, maybe an hour or so a day, the penicillin took 10 times as long to kill the bacteria as usual.

I think Olga embodied so much of her own godself, her mere presence strengthened all of life, even the dysentery bacteria.

But what impressed me was that when she gazed into the petri dish, at the same type of bacteria, that had killed her children some 50 years earlier, her capacity for unconditiional love was so strong, her comment was:

Cute little critters, aren't they?

My hat off to her.

After spending her 20's as a journalist, publishing in Canada, the US and in Europe, Janet Hobbs' life changed when her son experienced a miraculous healing from terminal Leukemia. This experience sent her on the path of healing and study with aboriginal and East Indian spiritual masters. For the last 15 years, Janet has had a Shamanic healing practice in Vancouver and the interior of BC. Clients report emotional and physical healings.

Visit her website at http://thecompassionateshaman.com/ to learn more.

The post The Roller Coaster of Life – Spiritual Story by Janet Hobbs appeared first on Spiritual Growth Events.