I was in church. This was to be the last place I attend before my death. My death at the time and place it was to happen was entirely unavoidable. It was set-in-stone, bound to happen. No escaping. Just as simple as that. A fact of life. I was with my family. I wanted us to sit in a smaller pew because I knew who was coming and wanted to avoid having to face them. A smaller pew would not allow room for them. But my parents knew they were coming and said we needed to make room for them. My heart sank.
It was fast and testimony meeting. A lot of people I knew came to attend. They sang just one verse of the hymn, started on the second but the church leaders quickly signaled for it to end. There was a very quick opening prayer, followed by remarks from the bishop. They acknowledged my presence and asked for a vote of thanks. People stood up and raised their right hands. Then people began saying things about me that they liked. They started talking about me in the past.
It was very difficult to attend this. Listening to people speak of me as a memory was heart breaking. I did not want to leave. I was not ready to leave my husband, who for some reason was not there. I started to tear up, but managed to keep myself together.
Everybody was waiting for the arrival of President Obama. (I realize this sounds really funny, but in the dream, his presence was the source of my dread and anxiety.) For it was he who was sentencing me to death by means of lethal injection.
While waiting, people were going up to the stand to bear their testimonies. I was waiting for a good opportunity to go bear my testimony for the last time in this life. The purpose of that testimony would be to share my knowledge and spirit with those in attendance. It would also be what people would remember me by. And finally, I figured, what greater thing to do in this exact situation before death? Witnessing to the truth of the gospel to my friends and family, and many others in attendance who I did not know.
However, before I could go up and speak, the door to the chapel opened and in came the president and his wife. They came over to our pew and sat down. They allowed me to stay a little longer, but you could tell they were focused on the events to come.
I never got the chance to bear my final testimony.
Eventually I had to be taken away. I was so, so sad. I did not get to see my husband, but that was almost for the better because it was easier to keep myself put together this way. I would not go down without my dignity. I tried to prepare myself for what was to come. I knew my body was going to die but my spirit would not. I tried to prepare myself for what I was about to experience - the transition from this Earthly world to the Spirit world. The transition would not comfortable. Like being squeezed into this shapeless sack and rendered immobile.
Then, I was brought back to reality. I was told to sit in a chair. I began to refuse. Not only was I not going to go down without my dignity, I decided I was not going to go down without a fight.
It was the president's daughters administering the drug. I began to ask them questions about their ethics. Then, straining for want of reason, I asked "What did I do?" I was finally trying to figure out why this even had to happen. They did not want to tell me. They began to fear that I was about to discover something.
Then I attacked them. I don't remember all that happened, but I know I tugged at hair, yanked their heads down, and chucked the syringe as far away from me as I could.
The colors around me began to change. I don't know how, and I don't know what colors they were, but the atmosphere and mood colors around shifted.
Suddenly, those who were trying to put me to death were rendered immobile. It was done by God. They were trapped. They were literally far beneath me, and I literally walked up and away from the room.
I had been freed.
It was seen as a miracle.
I could look back at what I left, and it was all black and red. It was the grasp of Satan.
I returned to my family and live out the rest of my life with the responsibility of teaching others about God and his infinite power.
This dream had a positive ending, but there were so many twisted perspectives that I cannot explain through words. It was very upsetting and put a strain on my positive spirit.
Outside of my dreams, I am not afraid of death. But never have I experienced the perspective of having to face it directly, knowing exactly when and how it was coming. In the dream, I kept thinking "I would rather die in my sleep, or get a fatal disease, or starve to death, or die in a plane crash." Because it would be so much easier to accept that form of death. Those seem to make me helpless, I suppose. It is out of my control. This dream, though seemingly it was out of my control, it was completely wrong. It was unethical, it was cruel, it was not right. It did not sit well with me. Red flags were raised everywhere.
Now I have to go teach a lesson and play in a concert. Hopefully my death will be a little less on my mind now that I have written out this dream.