Can such things be,
And overcome us like a summer's cloud,
Without our special wonder?
--[Shakespeare.
A time came when one day as I stood in my lovely room that had really
become to me a shrine, and looked up into the pictured face of the
Christ above me, I fancied that the tender eyes looking down into mine
no longer told of a deathless love alone, but carried in their depths a
pity, a loving compassion which I had never noticed there before. Then
as I turned toward my couch I even fancied that his hands reached out
from the canvas and rested in benediction on my head. I stood a moment
in blessed peace before him, then as the hands seemed to be withdrawn,
I turned and lay down for an instant's rest. But strange thoughts and
fancies crept into my brain, such as I had not known in years. I felt
confused and bewildered, and started up restlessly from my pillow, only
to fall back again in doubt, and something akin to dread. What could
it mean? Could the old unrest of earth find place in this divine
retreat? Then I heard unfamiliar voices. Someone said:
"Her color is better than it has been for several days, I think."
"Yes, there is no doubt but she is better to-day. There is really hope
for her now, I am sure. But she came very near passing through the
Gates."
"Very near passing through the Gates"! As though I had not passed
through, and in returning left them so ajar that gleams of the heavenly
radiance from beyond them will fall about my life forever!
I have been in my Father's house.
"We shall know each other there!"
SUPPLEMENTAL CHAPTER
In the many letters received since the publication of "Intra Muros,"
repeated inquiries have been made of me on different points contained
in the book, requiring much correspondence, and it has been suggested
that possibly the addition of a few pages, as a supplement to the book,
might explain some matters, or, possibly, make more clear some points
that have not been fully comprehended by the reader.
Let me in the beginning reassert what I have heretofore stated: that I
have never claimed that this strange experience is either a revelation
or an inspiration. It came to me during a period of great physical
suffering and prostration, and I have always considered it as sent in
compensation for that suffering. Be this as it may, it has been a
great comfort and help to me, and, through the letters received from
others, I am led to believe it has been the same to many who have read
it, for which cause I am extremely gratified. I wish that I might give
the entire experience just as it came to me, but I find that
earth-language is wholly inadequate for me to do so. There were so
many mysteries, so many teachings far beyond anything that in this life
we have known, that I find myself bewildered and lost when I attempt to
convey to others the marvelous things that at that time seemed indeed
to me to be a most wonderful revelation.
The question has repeatedly been asked me, "Was this a real experience,
or merely a fanciful sketch?" What I have written above will as nearly
answer that question as it is possible for me to do. The preface and
early pages as given in the little volume are as nearly accurate as I
can make them; and anything that I might add on that point would simply
be superfluous. To me, at the time, it was as real as any experience
in this life could possibly be.
Questions have been asked respecting the comparative distances in
heaven and our powers of passing from one point to another; and the
question has even been asked if in the other life we developed wings
that aided us in passage, as the wings of a bird. These matter-of-fact
questions are sometimes quite difficult to answer, for my belief is,
that if I were really in the other life, as during this experience I
seemed to be, my thoughts would be so far above, so lifted beyond such
temporal matters, that I would be unable to answer such inquiries
satisfactorily on my return to this life. Looking back upon it now,
and trying to gather facts from the impressions that I then received, I
should say that none who have ever passed through mortal life would in
any way be changed from their present personal appearance, except to be
etherealized and glorified. When I seemed to stand in that wonderful
Temple filled with the Glory of God the Father, four angels with
uplifted trumpets stood beside the golden altar on the great platform
of pearl, and from their shoulders shadowy pinions enfolded them and
touched the floor upon which they stood. And when, in a moment of
bewildering emotion, I lifted my eyes to the erstwhile cloud-filled
dome, I saw about the hitherto invisible choir, the shadowy pinions of
which we so often read, half concealing the harps and instruments of
gold. Also, when at the close of that wonderful day when I had first
met the Savior, we heard the angel voices as we stood together in the
great flower-room, and, looking upward, saw the child faces in the
golden twilight above us, they, too, had delicate shadowy wings, half
concealing the baby forms. Except for this, I have no recollection of
having seen any of those glorious wings of which we so often read.
To me it seems that to the angels of God who have always lived in
heaven, these are given; but to those who have suffered and toiled and
borne the cross below, is given only the glorified form, such as our
Savior himself bore. We appear to our friends when we meet them over
there just as they saw us here, only purified and perfect. Still, we
had powers of locomotion given us that carried us from point to point
swiftly and securely, as though borne by a boat upon the waters.
I do not know how I can better illustrate this point than by giving a
little incident not mentioned in the book. I remember, as I sat one
morning upon the upper terrace in the house of my sister whom I had
welcomed there soon after my arrival, and who, though really then a
denizen of earth, has since passed over and taken possession of that
beautiful home prepared for her, that my sister said to me:
"I often look across the river to those lovely hills in the distance,
and wonder if it is all as beautiful there as here. I mean some day to
go and see."
"Why not go to-day?" was my answer.
"Could you go with me this morning?" was her inquiry, as she turned her
radiant face again toward the river and the lovely fields beyond.
"With pleasure," I replied. "I have often wished to go myself. There
is something very inviting in the beautiful landscape beyond the river.
Where is my brother Oliver?" I asked; "will he not accompany us?"
"No," she said, looking smilingly toward me, "he has gone upon an
important mission for the Master to-day; but you and I, dear, can go,
and be at home again before his return."
"Then let us do so," I replied, rising and giving her my hand.
She at once arose, and, instead of turning toward the stairway in the
center of the building, we turned and walked deliberately to the low
coping that surrounded the upper veranda. Without a moment's
hesitation we stepped over this into the sweet air that lay about us.
There was no more fear of falling than if our feet had been upon the
solid earth. We had the power of passing through the air at will, and
through the water, just as we had the power of walking upon the crystal
paths and greensward about us.
We ascended slightly until we were just above the tree-tops, and
then--what shall I say?--we did not fly, we made no effort either with
our hands or our feet; I can only think of the word "drifting" that
will at all describe this wonderful experience. We went as a leaf or a
feather floats through the air on a balmy day, and the sensation was
most delightful. We saw beneath us through the green branches of the
trees the little children playing, and the people walking--some for
pleasure, some for duty. As we neared the river we looked down on the
pleasure-boats upon the water and upon the people sitting or lying or
walking on the pebbly bottom; and we saw them with the same
distinctness as though we were looking at them simply through the
atmosphere.
Conversing as we drifted onward, we soon were over the tops of the
hills to which we had looked so longingly from the veranda of my
sister's house, and, for some time, we had no words to exchange; our
hearts were filled with sensations such as only the scenes of heaven
can give. Then my sister said very softly, quoting from one of the old
earth-hymns:
"Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood.
Stand dressed in living green."
And, in the same spirit, I answered, "It is indeed a rapturous scene--
"'That rises to our sight,
Sweet fields arrayed in living green, and rivers of delight.'"
As we passed onward, in looking down we began to see many suburban
villages, similar to that in which our own happy homes were situated.
Among many of them there was an unfamiliar air, and the architecture of
the buildings in many respects seemed quite different from our own. I
suggested to my sister that we drop downward a little. On doing so, we
soon realized what caused this apparent difference in the architecture
and surroundings. Where our homes were situated we were surrounded by
people we had known and loved on earth, and of our own nationality.
Many of these villages over which we were now passing we found were
formed from what, to us, would be termed of foreign nations, and each
village retained some of the peculiarities of its earth-life, and
these, to us, were naturally unfamiliar. We recognized again the
wisdom and goodness of the Father in thus allowing friends of the same
nationality to be located near each other in heaven, as on earth.
As we still drifted onward, in passing over an exquisitely beautiful
valley, between low hills of the most enchanting verdure, we saw a
group of people seated upon the ground in a semicircle. They seemed to
be hundreds in number, and in their midst a man was standing who,
apparently, was talking to them. Something familiar, and yet
unfamiliar, in the scene attracted us, and I said, "Let us go nearer,
and hear, if possible, what he is saying, and see who these people are."
Upon doing this we found the people to resemble in a great measure our
own Indian tribes; their dress, in a manner, corresponding to that worn
upon earth, though so etherealized as to be surpassingly beautiful.
But the dusky faces and the long black hair still remained. The faces,
with intense interest depicted on each, were turned toward the man who,
we could see, was talking to them, and, looking upon him, we saw at
once that he belonged to the Anglo-Saxon race. In a whisper of
surprise I said to my sister:
"Why, he is a missionary!"
As so often seemed to me to happen in that experience, when a surprise
or a difficulty presented itself, there was always some one near to
answer and enlighten us. And so we found on this occasion that our
instructor was beside us ready to answer any surprise or question that
might be asked. He said at once:
"Yes, you are right. This is a missionary who gave his life to what on
earth were called the heathen. He spent many years in working for them
and enlightening those who sat in darkness, with the result, as you see
before you, of bringing hundreds into the kingdom of the Master. But,
as you will naturally suppose, they have much to learn, and here he
still gathers them about him, and day by day leads them higher and
higher into the blessed life."
"Are there many such," I asked, "doing this work in this beautiful
realm?"
"Many hundreds," he said. "To these poor minds, unenlightened as they
were when they first came, heaven is as beautiful and happy a place as
it is to any who have ascended higher, simply because we can enjoy only
in the capacity to which our souls can reach. There are none of us who
have not much yet to learn of this wonderful country."
In several instances, as we drifted across above the villages, we heard
songs of praise arising from the temples, and from people collected in
different ways. In many cases, to our surprise, the hymns and the
words were those with which we had been familiar on earth, and,
although sung in a strange tongue, we understood them all. That was
another of the wonderful surprises of heaven. There was no language
there that we could not understand.
On, and on, and on, through wonderful scenes of beauty we passed,
returning finally to our own homes by a different way from that by
which we had gone forth, seeming to have made almost a circle in our
pleasant journeyings. When I left my sister in her own home she
whispered to me as she bade me good-by for the present:
"It has been a day of such wonderful rest and pleasure that we must
soon repeat it together." And I answered:
"Yes, dear, we will."
In several instances the subject of dual marriages has been introduced.
More than once it has been suggested, "If a man marrying in early life,
and, being devotedly attached to the woman he has married, should
unfortunately lose her, and after many years of solitary waiting find
another congenial soul to whom his whole heart goes out and marriage is
the result, and they have many years of wedded happiness together
before she, too, is called, to whom will he belong in the other life?"
In the many phases of the divine life that seemed to come to me in my
vision, such thoughts as the above were never by any means suggested.
Speaking from my own natural intuitions, I cannot but think that as
soon as the immortal part of us leaves the earthly tenement, it lays
down forever, with that tenement, all thoughts that embarrassed or
grieved or pained the spirit. In the homes of heaven there was
perpetual love and joy and peace and happiness without measure. This
one thing I know: In heaven are no conflicting ties; no questions that
vex; no conditions that annoy; the whole heart springs up to do the
will of the Father, and nothing less than that will suffice.
In answer to the question in many instances proposed to me, as to
whether I consider this experience as a revelation, I can only say, as
heretofore, that I gave it as it came to me, and every one must draw
his own inference concerning it. I can be the guide for no one.
There are some seeming inconsistencies in the book, of which I myself
am aware. Looking back upon it after nearly four years have passed, it
seems to me to be more a series of instructions such as we give little
children here in a kindergarten. It does not purport to be a
revelation of what has been or what will be, in the strict sense of the
word, but, as I have already suggested, more as we would teach children
in a kindergarten. I myself noticed, in transcribing this strange
experience, the fact that the first lesson to be taught almost
invariably came as an illustration; and, after my wonder and pleasure
had taken in all that the picture itself would teach, then followed the
revelation, or a general application of its meaning. For instance,
that I may make my meaning more clear: When I myself first entered
within the gates, I was shown the wonders of the celestial gardens and
the magic of the beautiful river; then the meeting with the dear ones
from whom I had been so long parted. And so I came to know the rapture
of the disembodied spirit on its first entrance "Within the Walls."
Afterwards followed the instruction or first lessons concerning this
life into which I seemed to have entered, until, as I said, the first
illustrations and the instructions formed for me but one perfect
lesson. And when, as time passed, I met and welcomed my dear sister,
my husband and my son, I knew the other side of the question--the joy
that came even to the angels in heaven when they welcomed the beloved
ones who came to them from the world below. And so, all through the
book, the instruction was invariably preceded by the illustration.
Thus I can but think, if any meaning can be attached to this strange
vision, that it is simply a lesson in a general way of what we may
expect and hope for when we reach the thither shore.
Again, the question is many times repeated, "Does this experience
retain its vividness as time passes, or does it grow unreal and
dreamlike to you?" I can partially forget some of the happiest
experiences of my earth-life, but time seems only to intensify to me
the wonders of those days when my feet really stood upon the
border-land of the two worlds. It seemed to me that at every step we
took in the divine life our souls reached up toward something better,
and we had no inclination to look behind to that which had passed, or
to try to solve what in our mortal life had been intricate or
perplexing questions or mysteries. Like the cup that is filled to
overflowing at the fountain with pure and sparkling water, so our souls
were filled--more than filled--with draughts from the fountain of all
good, until there was no longer room for aught else. "How then," you
ask, "could you reach out for more, when you had all that you could
receive?" Because moment by moment, hour by hour, our souls grew and
expanded and opened to receive fresh draughts of divine instruction
which was constantly lifting us nearer to the source of all perfection.
Some of the letters that have come to me have been so pathetic in their
inquiries, that they have called forth sympathetic tears, and an
intense longing to speak with authority upon the questions raised.
That privilege God has not given me. I can only tell how it seemed to
me in those blissful hours when earth seemed remote and heaven very
near and real. One suffering mother writes, "Do you think I could pray
still for my darling girl?" How I longed to take her in sympathetic
arms and whisper to her that the dear child of her love, I doubted not,
was praising God continually and had no longer need of earthly prayer.
She loved and trusted the Savior as she went down into the Valley of
Shadows, and his loving arms received and comforted her. To all such I
would say--and many are the letters of like import received:
"Look up, dear friends, and see the loved ones, as I saw those so dear
to me, happy and blessed beyond all human conception in the house of
many mansions prepared for us by our loving Father." Oh, those
wonderful mansions upon which my longing heart looks back! Believe in
them, look forward to them, beloved friends, for we have the Savior's
promise that they at least are there: "In my Father's house are many
mansions." His promises never fail; and I am sure of one thing they
will not be less beautiful than those I looked upon in my vision.
This thought, to me, answers in a measure the questions asked in regard
to dual marriages. My own belief, of this mortal life, is, that no two
friends can occupy the same place in our hearts. Each heart is filled
with chambers stately and old, and to each beloved guest is assigned a
chamber exclusively for himself. That room is always his. If death,
or distance, or even disgrace, separates him from us, still the room is
his and his only forever. No other person can ever occupy it. Others
may have rooms equally choice, but when a guest has once departed from
the room he has held in another heart, the door of that room is barred
forever; it is held inviolate--sacred to the departed guest. And so,
in heaven, each guest has his separate room or home. "In my Father's
house are many mansions. I go to prepare a place (room) for you."
I am no advocate of second marriages. The thought of two lives alone
as one, is beautiful to me; but I do not, all the same, believe that a
man sins against the memory of a wife beloved and lost, when he places
by her side (not in her place) a good woman to cheer and brighten his
home. She cannot, if she would, take the place left vacant in his home
and heart; it is inviolate. I speak, of course, of true marriages,
where not only hands are joined, but hearts and souls are knit together
as one forever.
"What are the duties of heaven?" So many and varied, I should judge,
as to make the question unanswerable. Much in "Intra Muros" shows the
trend of daily life.
"Rest?" One of the duties as well as the pleasures of heaven. Rest
does not of necessity mean inactivity. How often in this life does
laying aside of one duty and taking up another bring rest to both mind
and body! Still, as I found it, there was at times absolute "rest" for
both mind and body in that blissful repose that only heaven can give.
In but one instance of the manifold letters received was any feeling
produced in their perusal except that of pleasure and gratitude that
I--with so little physical strength of my own--could bring comfort and
pleasure into the lives of others. I thank our gracious Father that he
has so kindly permitted it. The one letter to which I refer contains
so many almost puerile inquiries, that I simply laid it aside with a
quotation from St. Paul, "Of the earth earthy," and asked the Father to
lift the heart of the writer into a purer light.
In conclusion I can only reiterate that I am no prophet, I am no seer;
but, in my inmost soul, I honestly believe that if the joys of heaven
are greater, if the glories "Within the Walls" are more radiant than I
in my vision beheld them, I cannot understand how even the immortal
spirit can bear to look upon them.
R. R. S.