Eleven months into my husband’s 14-month unemployment, my family was coming undone. My sons grew quiet and retreated. Our marriage was ragged raw. I was scared and angry, especially at God. One evening, I went out onto the dark porch, sprawled flat on the swing, and cradle-rocked myself.
Some place between a fretful prayer and twilight sleep, this happened: I found myself in the waiting room of my childhood dentist’s office. From behind the receptionist’s window, I heard sawing and hammering and voices calling out to each other. They’re building something back there, I thought. Then I noticed a man sitting on a couch near me, leaning forward and watching me closely. He said, “Let’s just sit here and talk while we wait. They’ll finish putting everything together.”
After a bit, I was more alert. I sat up and wondered if I’d had a vision of some sort, but I didn’t think that was something that could happen to me. Whatever had happened, I knew the identity of the man and what he’d meant me to understand. I could trust the Spirit’s work and wait without fear. I got up and went back inside my house. Into its light.