Things had been hard since my husband left, and I knew some dreams were God’s way of helping me heal. But the dream about Lynn was puzzling. I hadn’t seen her in decades, and we’d never been particularly close. Her parents divorced when we were both in grade school. She’d moved from Ohio, where I lived, to California with her mother. As teens, we saw each other only at family gatherings.
Our lives had gone in different directions. I went off to college. Lynn got married a week after graduating high school. She was a mother of two before I even walked down the aisle. For years, everything I knew about my cousin had come from my mother and grandmother.
One morning, in my late twenties, I was watching my daughters play when the phone rang. It was Mom.
“It’s Lynn,” she said. “She’s been in a car accident. She’s in the hospital. They think she’ll live, but she’ll probably never walk again.”
My breath caught in my throat. I was living in Ohio with my husband and children. Our lives were peaceful. How awful that Lynn’s life had been upended in an instant!
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