I had a dream about the kingdom of God earlier this year, though at the time I didn’t know what was being shown to me.

The setting was nighttime; I was standing on a grassy slope under the stars. It must have been summer because the turf under my feet was lush and thick; the air was warm and sweet. I could see water before me—dark, smooth, glassy water, calm as a lake or tropical bay after sunset. Moonlight was reflecting on the water like you’d expect on a summer night, but so were lanterns, shimmering their warm and happy glow.

Across the water I could hear the sounds of a dinner party not far away. Glasses were clinking, silverware on fine china, but the most alluring of the sounds was the laughter and conversation. It was a lavish yet intimate celebration, filled with joy—like what we long for in the best wedding receptions, or perhaps in a gathering of intimate allies at the estate of a wealthy friend.

The beauty of the scene was quietly enchanting, but what pierced me was the ease of the happiness before me—as if it were the most natural thing in the world, not the fragile happiness we know in our experience.

I was filled with longing when I woke.