Home > Today's Christian
> 2005
> May/June
Dreams Do Come True
My son's nightmare saved my life—and revived his soul.
By Doris J. Grace
 1 of 2
I will never forget that March morning in 1996. Just as I was preparing to drive to the Los Angeles International Airport (LAX) to pick up my husband, who was coming in on a flight from South Korea after a long missions trip, the phone rang. It was from my son, Tom, who was then 34.
"Mom," he said, "please be extra careful on the freeway this morning. It's still dark, and there are fog patches." I assured him that I'm always careful when driving the freeways. "I know you are," said Tom. "It's just that I had a nightmare. I dreamt that when you were driving to pick up Dad, something hit your windshield and you lost control of the car and crashed into other cars around you."
"Oh, Tom, what a terrible dream," I said. "But don't worry about me. I'll be all right."
"But Mom, promise me you'll leave a little earlier and drive very carefully."
"I will, but don't worry. I am sure you just had a bad dream."
As I backed out of the driveway, I said a quick prayer for myself—and for Tom. He clearly had been shaken by that dream, since he had called me when he normally would have been asleep.
I suspected those kinds of dreams came from an overheated imagination, and perhaps unconscious expressions of personal fears. But, to assure my son, I promised him I would call him when I returned home with his dad.
Crisis on the freeway
About 45 minutes after leaving home, I was preparing to transition onto another freeway when suddenly, out of nowhere, I heard a horrendous noise that sounded like a gunshot going off beside my head. An unidentified object had slammed into my windshield.
And then I felt it.
Splintered pieces of shattered glass were flying into my face, hair, and mouth.
Trembling like a leaf and spitting glass pellets out of my mouth, I clung desperately to the steering wheel in an effort to keep the car under control and slowly guided the vehicle to the side of the road. Peering out of my side window I looked for some sign of abnormality. Cars of all shapes and sizes were speeding past me. I could see nothing unusual, and no one seemed to be paying much attention to me with my blown-out windshield. It was like any "normal" morning on a southern California freeway. Cautiously, I made my way back onto the road and continued on to the airport.
When I arrived at LAX and examined my car more closely, I discovered that besides the shattered glass, the windshield frame was bent and there was a six-inch slice in the roof that looked like a can opener had ripped into it. But more disturbing was the large hole in the windshield. It was just above the level of my forehead.
Up until the minute my husband, Dick, cleared customs and met me, I had been able to keep my emotions under control. But the moment we embraced, I began to shake uncontrollably. Dick assumed it was because I was so happy to see him.
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