As most of you know, for some reason I’m a numbers girl.
Dates just have a way of searing themselves into my brain. And like a Rolodex,
each day appears as a blank card or a round of bullet points written to remind
me of the goings on or memories of that particular day. On this day 11 years
ago (our senior year of high school), one of my dearest friends was in a car
wreck that eventually took her life. If my memory serves me, she was working at
our local grocery store and headed home in the middle of a somewhat dangerous
ice storm. She attempted to pull out of the parking and thought she could beat
the semi that was fast approaching her. As she pulled out, her small pickup got
stuck on the ice and the semi hit her (I believe he was actually speeding). I
have been told multiple details of her accident, but I choose to picture her
sporting her adorable new haircut (man was she proud of that) and Santa hat,
singing to a local country station, and dash board drumming on the wheel of her
burnt orange pickup truck. She was just going home.
I was sick at home and couldn’t visit her in the hospital.
It tore me up not to be able to see her, but my dad and sister were able to see
her and then report back to me any progress that was made. She lived across the
street from us, so we were able to get lots of updates from her family/friends
staying there. Brain swelling, infections, and uncertainties surrounded Trista
in the days following her accident. I assumed she would probably have a hard
road ahead of her, but for some reason the thought of her going home to be with
the Lord didn’t seem possible. She was young and had her entire life ahead of
her. For whatever reason, God took her home at the beginning of 2003. While I
didn’t understand, God used Trista’s life and death to teach me about the
importance of living for Him, loving others, and understanding that our time on
earth is but a vapor.
I thought about Trista the other day. I couldn’t get her
wreck out of my head. That night I dreamed that I had been hit by a semi in an
ice storm. I woke up crying, and went on with my day. I had the dream again a
few nights later. More tears, still went on with my days. On December 13th,
I left our house mid-afternoon in the hopes of avoiding the expected winter
storm set to hit later that evening. About 4:00 p.m. I drove onto an on-ramp headed
west on I-72. When I reached the end of the ramp, my car hit a patch of ice and
began to slide. First to the right, then to the left. I went so far left that
my car did a 180, then landed in the middle of the interstate. A yellow
18-wheeler was coming straight for me, and there was nothing I could do…except
pray! I calmly, yet loudly said “Jesus! I don’t know what to do. What do you
want me to do? Jesus?” The semi could see me from quite a ways, so he was able
to slow somewhat. However, he couldn’t slow entirely because of the ice. As I
waited to hear from God the semi’s front left collided with my rear left tire.
It drug me for a bit, and then pushed me safely to the side of the road. At the
end of the whole ordeal I found myself in the median, with my bumper completely
ripped off. But I was OK! Although my left hip and side were sore, I was OK.
Familiar faces and voices and local authorities soon arrived. We were able to
eventually drive our car home, and the other driver was just fine. What a
blessing!
But what about the dream? I continued to focus on that for
days following my accident. Especially since this is not the first time my
dreams have become a reality. I never get a full picture, but they are usually
clear. Not all of them come true, but when they do it tends to freak me out. Why
did I see what happened? Would people think I’m crazy if I say it out loud?
Would they believe me? Should I even care if they didn’t believe me? One night
as we prayed together before bedtime, our oldest son Jake explained to me that
everything that happened that night was familiar to him. I asked him what he
meant by that, and he went on to explain that he had a dream of all that had
happened. He had dreamed that I was in a wreck. Hit by a semi. More tears in
private. The next day I couldn’t keep it inside any longer, so I told my family
how I had dreamed the same dream. While I stood there spinning and screaming in
my head, our six-year-old calmly stood beside me and made the sweetest
statement. “Mom, maybe God just let you and Jake dream dreams like Joseph.”
Such a simple and brilliant explanation coming from such a wise young man. I
will say, that my dream actually seemed to help keep me calm during the wreck.
It was as if I trusted God enough to know His Will was going to be done. I
trusted Him in the middle of the chaos. So thankful.
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