Intra Muros

by Rebecca Ruter Springer

"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."