As I came awake a few minutes ago the thought in my head was “subsequent hills, subsequent mountains, or subsequent vistas.”  Where the thought came from, and what it means, I’m not sure; but it needs to be explored.

I’m 65 years old.  I’ve climbed a lot of mountains in my lifetime, both real and figurative.  I’ve stood on the peaks of most of the mountains in the Elkhorns, and on top of Eagle Cap in the Wallowas.  From the tops of mountains you can see for incredibly long distances.  What you see is more mountains.  They’re interspersed with valleys, but mostly you see mountain after mountain after mountain until the last one disappears in the haze.  The vistas are breathtaking.  The world is huge.  You want to see it all.  You wish your body could follow your gaze and surmount every hill and explore every dale.  You’re glad that you’re alive, that you’re hale and hearty, that you can see, and that you can appreciate beauty.  You’re either glad to have your mate standing beside you to share the sight and the moment, or else you wish he or she were there.  You gaze in awe and wonder for as long as you can until you have to turn and continue your climb.

You’re rejuvenated.  You’re more alert and sensitive to your immediate surroundings.  You’re eager to push on, to do more, to see more, and to experience more.

Life is like that.

Last week I visited a lady who oversees a home hospice program.  She and her staff care for the sick and the dying.  She said that she has been with many people at the moment of death, and that it’s more common than not for the dying person to see and to talk with deceased relatives.  Those who are inexperienced in such things think that their dying loved one is hallucinating, but the experience is so common that my friend is convinced that it’s real.  The dying person has surmounted another mountain, and a breathtaking vista has opened to view.

A friend and I spent yesterday morning removing a dead birch tree from the back yard of his neighbor.  The dead tree was an irritant to the neighbor and his wife.  They had loved the tree, and had spent a lot of money trying to save it.  They hired tree specialists to inspect it, inject it, fertilize it, and keep it alive.  Ultimately, though, it died.  The question then became how to get rid of it.  A specialist was again called.  Removing the tree was going to cost hundreds of dollars.

The man loved his yard.  He cared for it scrupulously.  It was meticulously landscaped.  There was a water feature with trickling water and a little pond packed with colorful coy fish.  There were pine trees, wind chimes, a homemade nest box for squirrels, bushes, flowers, and a bench for sitting and enjoying the surroundings.

My friend noticed that his neighbor wasn’t taking care of his yard this spring.  The grass was long, and the lawn was getting away from him.  Twice he saw the man lean a ladder against the dead birch tree and climb it with a carpenter’s hand saw.  On both occasions the man climbed back down, looking discouraged, without having sawn off a single limb.

And suddenly the man had kidney failure.  He was rushed to Boise, and put on daily dialysis.  No wonder things were getting away from him.  He was sick.  He had no energy.

My friend mowed the yard.  He and I took a chain saw, and felled the dead birch tree into the pines which gently let it down to the ground without damaging anything.  We cut it into firewood, put it on the woodpile, and loaded all the branches and refuse into a pickup to be hauled away.

Before we’d finished cleaning up, the owner’s wife arrived home and caught us in the act.  She was grateful beyond words to see what we’d done.  This was going to be a huge load lifted from her husband’s mind.  She had just returned from visiting him in the hospital in Boise.

“His blood pressure dropped to zero two days ago,” she reported.  “He said later that he saw himself lying in the bed.  His deceased sister was there smiling very sweetly at him.  She didn’t say anything, but the next thing he knew he was back in bed surrounded by people working on him.  It turns out he has a staph infection, and all of his organs were shutting down.  They think we can bring him home in a couple of days.  When I think about his near-death experience and of seeing his sister, it’s all I can do to keep from crying.  I couldn’t even talk about it yesterday.”

I think my friend was figuratively standing on a mountaintop ready to view subsequent vistas.  There’s so much more out there to see and to experience.

I stand on my mountaintops and look back over life.  I’ve enjoyed the journey.  I’ve worked hard, climbed hard, and have kept climbing.  The view gets better and better.  I have no regrets about any of the ground I’ve covered.  I’m awfully anxious to see what’s ahead, and know that it’s better than anything I’ve already passed.  So I keep climbing.  There are people ahead who have already surmounted those mountains, and they’re anxious to have me arrive so that we can share the view.

My activity in the Church has sharpened all my senses.  It’s made me more aware of the people and scenes around me.  It’s given me a knowledge of what’s ahead, and has enabled me to make sense of all the landscape I’ve passed through.

What a beautiful life this is.  What a wonderful plan is the journey.  I’m on course.  I’ve never gotten lost.  I’ve not turned back.  I’m excited to see what’s over the next ridge.

I worry about the couple with the birch tree.  They’re both wonderful people.  Several decades ago they were both in leadership positions in the ward.  He taught Sunday School, and was a wonderful teacher.  He had a strong testimony, was filled with missionary zeal, and served as a Seventy.  For some reason they quit climbing and got lost.  Because I like and respect them, and because I was in a position to do so, I assigned myself to be their home teacher last year.  I thought that perhaps I could be a positive influence in their lives.

I’ve yet to get in their house.  The past several months, however, if they knew we were coming, he has stepped out the door to visit with us in the yard.

That’s progress.  My hope is that the combination of his glimpse of the afterlife and the service they’ve received will inspire them to resume their church activity.

Their current position is a dangerous one, and they don’t even know it.  They’ve neglected their covenants.  They love one another and have a good marriage; but I’m afraid that if he was to die at this time, their sealing might be void.  They have a living daughter and a deceased daughter who are sealed to them, but those sealings are in jeopardy, too.  The living daughter has a beautiful daughter of her own who probably isn’t even a member of the Church.  The couple obviously adores their granddaughter; but because she hasn’t had an example to follow, and because she hasn’t been taught, this entire family is on course to go their separate and single ways when they leave mortality.

Life will go on.  My friend has seen that.  The vistas will still be breathtaking, but the summits will be lower and each of these good people might have to enjoy the view alone.

—19 June 2012.