“What are you doing here?” The words escaped my mouth abruptly, an unfiltered reaction to the surprise of seeing Luke on my doorstep. My voice was a mix of shock and bewilderment.
Luke responded with a chuckle, his tone light despite the surprise of my greeting. “I know it’s been a few years, but that’s hardly the warm welcome that I was expecting,” he replied.
“I’m sorry,” I stammered, still reeling from the suddenness of his visit. “I just wasn’t expecting it to be you at the door.” I was trying to regain my composure, to shift from the shock to the reality of having Luke standing right in front of me.
“Is it Charles?” Greta’s voice echoed from somewhere in the house, her query indicative of her own curiosity.
“No, it’s Luke,” I called back, stepping aside to open the door wider, allowing Luke to enter. There was a rush of conflicting emotions as I watched him step into the familiar surroundings of our home.
“Thank you,” Luke said as he walked inside, his demeanour calm and collected.
The sound of hurried footsteps approached, and Greta appeared, her expression a mix of shock and joy. “Luke!” she cried out, running down the passageway to embrace her son. “Where’s your brother?” she asked, the question laced with a mother’s concern as she threw her arms around Luke.
“Ah,” Luke replied, gently disengaging from her embrace. He turned his head towards me, his expression serious. “I need to talk to you in private,” he said.
Greta’s response was immediate, a mixture of curiosity and defensiveness. “Anything you need to say to your father, you can say to me too. You know we have no secrets in this family.”
Caught off guard by Greta’s assertive remark, a strange, involuntary gurgle escaped my lips. I shot Greta a look, signalling her to give us some space. “Come into the study with me,” I told Luke, my tone firm yet inviting.
Greta, clearly displeased with being left out, huffed loudly and tromped back along the hallway. “So much for a happy return,” she muttered to herself as she turned into the kitchen, her voice carrying a tinge of frustration.
I led Luke along the hallway, making the first left into the study. Closing the door behind us, I braced myself for the conversation that awaited. The sudden arrival of Luke, his request for a private talk, and the tension in Greta's reaction, all hinted at the complexity of the situation unfolding. The study, a room typically associated with quiet reflection and work, was now the setting for what I sensed would be a significant and potentially challenging discussion.
“What’s going on, Luke?” I asked bluntly, my tone edged with a mix of concern and urgency. I pulled my robe tighter around me, suddenly self-conscious of exposing my sacred garments—a personal reminder of my faith and commitment.
For what felt like an eternity, I held Luke’s gaze. His eyes, once so familiar, now seemed to hold depths I hadn’t seen before. The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken words and emotions.
Then, breaking the silence with a decisiveness that took me aback, Luke said, “I’ve had a vision.”
My brow creased considerably at his words. “I thought they would have stopped by now,” I replied, my voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and a hint of skepticism. A battle raged within me, torn between curiosity about the content of Luke’s dream and the wistful hope that perhaps this vision might signify his return to the church. “It’s been five years since the last vision reported in our family. Your grandfather was the last, only a few weeks before he passed. And even that came after the last one you spoke to me about, seven years prior.” My words trailed off, laden with the history and significance of our family’s spiritual experiences.
Luke shook his head, his response sending a ripple of surprise through me. “They never stopped.”
“What was this vision about?” I asked, the question barely above a whisper. My heart thumped in my chest, a mix of apprehension and awe at the thought of God still speaking to Luke, the son I had always considered most spiritually attuned.
A deep silence once again enveloped the room. I watched as Luke’s eyes seemed to light up, as if he were reliving the vision in his mind. The intensity in his gaze was palpable, and I found myself leaning forward, eager yet apprehensive about what he might reveal.
“The building of a great new civilisation,” Luke finally said. The excitement in his voice sent a warm tingle down my spine, a sensation that was both unsettling and invigorating. His words echoed the revelation I had received at the Temple, yet they seemed to take on a different dimension coming from Luke. It was as if pieces of a larger puzzle were slowly coming together, each piece revealing a part of a divine plan that was larger and more complex than I had imagined.
I gasped softly, the revelation striking a chord deep within me. “The New Jerusalem,” I whispered, my eyes widening with the realisation that my son was not yet lost. The words left my lips almost in a hush, reverberating with hope and a newfound understanding.
“You could call it that,” Luke said, his tone indicating a depth of knowledge and experience that was both intriguing and mysterious.
“So, God really is still speaking with you, then?” I asked, the question laced with hope and a deep yearning for it to be true. The possibility that Luke was still in communion with the divine, despite his apparent distance from the church, was both a relief and a revelation.
“I know you believe in miracles,” Luke told me, his eyes locking with mine in a gaze that was both searching and profound.
“Of course,” I replied earnestly. The conversation was taking a turn I hadn't expected, and it filled me with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. “Luke, I have important news for you too,” the words tumbled out of my mouth as I struggled to contain my excitement at the thought of my son returning to the fold. “At the Temple last-” I began.
But Luke interrupted me, his voice calm yet insistent. “I have a miracle to show you.”
His words halted me in my tracks. “You being here is a miracle enough for me,” I replied, the joy in my heart radiating across my face. Luke's presence, his talk of visions and miracles, it all felt like a dramatic answer to prayers I hadn’t even realised I was making.
Luke began to move the computer desk away from the wall, his actions purposeful and deliberate. "Help me clear some space," he instructed, his voice indicating that whatever he was about to reveal required room.
I didn’t understand what was happening, but I helped anyway, my curiosity piqued. Together, we shifted the desk and cleared the area, creating an open space in front of the wall. The study, a place of contemplation and order, was now transformed into a stage for whatever Luke was about to unveil.
When the entire wall was clear from furniture and books, Luke pulled some strange object from his pocket. With a swift motion, the wall lit up in a spectacle of bright, swirling colours. The swirls sent short sparks into the air whenever the colours of energy collided. It was a mesmerising display, and it struck me profoundly. It’s exactly like my dream!
Gasping softly, I couldn't hold back my emotions. “I always knew you would be the one to lead our family to the New Jerusalem,” I told Luke, pulling him into a tight embrace, overwhelmed by the realisation that the visions and dreams were intertwining in ways I couldn't have fathomed.
Luke pulled himself away gently. “Does this mean you’ll follow me through?” he asked, his question carrying a weight of responsibility and expectation.
“If you promise to lead our family in righteousness, of course we’ll follow you to Salt Lake City,” I replied without hesitation. My response was a testament to my trust in Luke’s spiritual guidance and the divine plan unfolding before us.
The sudden squeak of the study door interrupted the profound moment between Luke and me. “Are you two done with your secret man’s business yet?” Greta’s voice, tinged with a mix of curiosity and impatience, filled the room. She stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, her eyes quickly drawn to the swirling colours on the wall.
“The New Jerusalem is just beyond the Portal of colour,” Luke said, his grip on my arm firm and insistent. “Will you and mum follow me through?”
Greta, stepping into the room, asked with a tone of bewilderment, “What is all this?” Her eyes were locked on the mesmerising display of colours, her initial irritation giving way to intrigue.
A still, small voice whispered in my mind, Follow thou me. The words, quiet yet clear, resonated with a sense of divine prompting.
Finding Greta's hand, I squeezed it hard, searching for a way to convey the gravity of what I believed. “Do you love me?” I asked her, my voice laden with emotion and a deep-seated need for her to understand.
Greta’s gaze shifted from the colours to my eyes, her expression softening. “You know I do,” she replied, her voice gentle yet filled with an unspoken question.
“Then we will follow Luke, and he will lead us to the New Jerusalem,” I told her with a conviction that surprised even me. “We must follow him.”
“But what about Salt Lake City?” Greta asked, her face contorting in confusion. The revelation at the Temple, the preparations for moving to Salt Lake City – all seemed to clash with this new, unexpected path.
The soft voice beckoned again, Follow thou me. The words were a reassurance, a divine guidance amidst the confusion.
“I don’t understand everything, Greta. But this was in my dream last night. I know that God is calling his elect. We are his elect, Greta,” I explained, trying to make sense of the overlapping revelations and my own tumultuous feelings.
Tugging gently on her hand, I encouraged her to follow me. Hand in hand, together we walked into what I believed was God’s merciful light.
As we stepped forward, energised tingles swept through my entire body. It was as if we were crossing a threshold into something extraordinary. Stepping into what seemed like bright daylight, I heard a voice. It wasn’t audible in the traditional sense, but I could feel the words and the tone of the voice in my mind. “Welcome to Clivilius, Noah Smith,” the voice said.
