In a Fog

Can you see the cars and the white lines?

The central valley in California is plagued by fog this time of year.  Where we live near the Delta, it's called Tule Fog.  Apparently it's unique to this area.  It's incredibly thick and scary.  I remember when we first moved from here to New England 15 years ago, the weathermen there would talk about the fog and Keith and I would just laugh.  There's no fog like Tule Fog--well, what do I know?  It's really bad.  Every time it's really foggy, it makes me think about the vision of the tree of life in the Book of Mormon.

Lehi was a prophet, as was his son Nephi, so their vision and interpretation was extensive.  They saw the tree, the fruit, the building, the mist, the filthy water, all the people and the rod of iron.  They were also given the meaning behind each symbol they saw.

I'm not a prophet.  My understanding and vision are narrower.  All I see is the very end of the rod sticking out of the fog--intense fog like we have here in Stockton.  I'm not privy to all the obstacles between me and eternal bliss.  Nor can I see the shiny white fruit at the end.  I'm just in the fog.  I have one simple choice to make:  grab the rod of iron and cling to it or not.  Then I can use my faith to hope that if I continue to follow the rod, I will, at some point, see the things prophets saw.