Lehi’s Dream
I had my own version of Lehi’s dream the other night. It was vivid and did not end well--but I guess Lehi’s didn’t either, did it?
All of our family was standing in a sort of anteroom between this life and the next, waiting. It was a bit like the marriage waiting room at the temple. There were quite a few people there, perhaps 40 or so, not all of whom I knew. Some were seated in rows, some standing, some quiet, some conversing or milling about. But our children, and their spouses and children were there, some of our relatives and ancestors were there, and other vaguely familiar people. Everyone was the age they liked best--some youthful, some middle-aged, even a few who chose to be somewhat elderly (but vigorous). Our immediate family were gathered close together in a small knot of people. Everyone was the age they liked best--some youthful, some middle-aged, even a few who chose to be somewhat elderly (but vigorous).
My husband and I had a choice to make with our family. Should we go on into the next life? Or should we go back to our earth lives? Someone pointed out to me that if we went on, there were lots of things to do and learn. Specifically, I remember seeing a row of famous composers, mostly sitting quietly in the back row. Arnold Schoenberg was in the corner in a gray-brown linen suit, sitting with his arms folded across his chest, watching me. When I looked at him he nodded at me seriously. Mozart was running around at about age 12-13, with skinny legs in white stockings and a white wig, holding his older sister’s hand--maybe not too much help in that neighborhood!
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| It looked sort of like this, only more ordinary. And we were right in the center of the street, looking straight down it into the distance. |
I turned and looked back at our earth life. It just looked like a straight road with sidewalks in a typical suburban neighborhood, with green lawns and trees in front of houses on a quiet street. But it was suffused with warm, golden light. I could tell it was early fall, and late in the afternoon, and that there wasn’t too much time left. But it was beautiful. It was also golden with the sweet, everyday activities of family life, and there was no question in my mind that we wanted to be there, to finish out the day. So all our family stepped back into earth life, glad to be there.
As soon as we stepped outside the door, however, something terrible happened. Just next to us on our left was a flimsy metal scaffolding, like the neck of a crane, running up into the dazzling blue sky as far as I could see. It looked shaky and dangerous. Immediately, before I could say a word, one of my sons said something like, “I have to catch my friend,” and bolted away up the scaffolding. His wife took their children’s hands and began to follow a little more slowly, but my son was already out of my sight.
The scaffolding was an infinite maze, full of blind corners, branchings, and dead ends. I knew I could never catch them if I followed. I worried they would lose each other, and I felt in my heart that even if they tried hard and turned back looking for each other they were likely to end up separated and alone. I saw a blind corner down a precarious side branch with a discouraged mother and two small children huddled in it, not even trying to find their way anymore. I saw a person wandering alone. The scaffolding went on and on forever, wandering into the infinite distance, long shaky branches of unsupported metal, disappearing constantly into empty blue sky or misty dark clouds. Nowhere could I see it come back down to earth again.
I screamed and cried for my son and his family to come back, but they didn’t hear me and vanished quickly from my sight. I remember hoping desperately that there was another path back down, somewhere at the end, that would reunite them with us. The only other way back was to retrace their steps back to the beginning, and I despaired of them ever being willing or able to do that. I was sick with sadness and with our separation.
Then I woke up.
