Premonitions Part 4

I dreamed I heard the phone ringing.  When Peter knocked on the door and woke me up with the phone in his hand, I realized it wasn't a dream.  "It's for you," he said.  He sounded mildly annoyed.  He had seemed that way ever since my birthday, when I had reacted so strangely after receiving the necklace.  I told him I loved it, and I did.  I wore it every day.  But he seemed to think something was up.  There probably was, but I didn't know what it was.  How could I tell him that?

"Who is it?" I muttered as I rubbed my eyes and glanced over at the clock to see it was almost 10:30am.

He shrugged.  "Some guy from work," he said as he continued to hold out the phone.

I wanted to tell him how unhelpful that was, but instead I just forced a smile and took the phone from him.  He turned and sauntered back on out the door.  I couldn't help but smile a little more genuinely when I saw him go.  He was a good looking man with a strong bearing.  I really had to find a way to assure him I cared about him even though I had seemed distant lately.  Maybe after I took this call.

It was probably a good thing this call woke me up.  Even on a Saturday, 10:30 is a bit late for me to be sleeping in.  It would normally seem strange to get a work call on a Saturday, but I figured it must be Charlie.  He was our new intern and they had him work Fridays and Saturdays due to his school schedule.  I was supposed to be his "mentor" or something and I made the mistake of giving him my home phone number.  Still, I didn't want to assume anything, so I held the phone up to my ear and said simply, "This is Sarah."

It wasn't Charlie.

"Sarah Williams?" the unfamiliar voice on the other line said.  "My name is John Carpenter and I was hoping I could ask you a few questions about the corporation that employees you."  Suddenly the voice was unfamiliar no longer.  It was a voice I had heard before, in person and in my dreams, and now it was speaking to me on my telephone.  I was stunned, and that must have kept me from speaking for at least 10 seconds because the next thing I knew, the voice was saying, "Hello?"

"Yes, sorry, I'm here," I answered, trying to stay calm.  "What did you say your name was?"

"John Carpenter," he repeated, just so I could be absolutely sure.  "I'm a reporter with the City Times.  I understand if you don't want to talk to me, but I'm just trying to learn the truth about the company you work for.  I'm not going up against you, and I don't want you to lose your job.  Anything you tell me will be completely anonymous and though most have turned me down, a few of your co-workers have agreed to talk, so you wouldn't be alone."

My first thought was to simply tell him to go to hell, but really, I had no real allegiance to my job.  I was sure I could get another one if I needed to.  And this wasn't about exposing my company for who knows what.  Well, maybe it was for John, but for me it was about finding out more about this man who had haunted my dreams, and why on earth he had been doing that.

"Yeah, okay," I finally said, probably just as he was opening his mouth to check if I was still there, again.  "I could meet you for coffee this afternoon.  Say 2:30?"

"Oh, okay."  He sounded genuinely surprised.  Probably wasn't expecting it to be that easy.  "How about the Starbucks and Thoroughway and 4th?"

I shrugged.  "Yeah sure, that would be fine," I said.  At least he didn't seem to know where I lived.  There were plenty of coffee shops much closer to my house, but I wasn't about to tell him that.  "I'll see you there at 2:30."

"Great," he said.  "It's a date."  And just like that he hung up.

Rude and disturbing.  "It's a date."  I know it was just a phrase, but I couldn't help but feel it might end up meaning just that.

I shook my head.  That was ridiculous.  I have a loving boyfriend who I had been thinking about making happier just a few minutes ago.  And now I had to explain to him why I was meeting a reporter for coffee.  I sighed as I got out of bed.  No, I wasn't going to have to explain that.  I couldn't.  This was just about me.  I would just say I was meeting a friend or something.  Peter and I still live our own lives.  He might continue to be annoyed, but he wouldn't think it odd.  And I'd be sure to make it up to him in the evening.

---

I realized when I walked into the Starbucks, that John probably had no idea what I looked like, but I recognized him instantly, sitting off in the corner, playing with some tablet or something, with a cup of coffee right next to him.  I resisted the urge to walk right over to him and ordered my coffee first instead.  I stood by the counter as I waited for it, and when they called my name, John finally looked up.  He stood as I approached the table.

"John Carpenter," he said.  "Thanks so much for agreeing to meet with me.  I have to admit that I was a little surprised you agreed so readily for this interview.  Forgive me for being so brash, but does that mean you have something specific you'd like to share?"

My heart skipped a beat.  Of course that was what he would think.  He had struck a nerve with me.  I knew something about the evil corporation and wanted to reveal it.  Well, I didn't know anything, and he would find it crazy if I told him the truth, so I just shrugged.  "Just needed an excuse to get out of the house for a bit," I lied.

His face drooped a bit in disappointment.  "Oh, okay," he said, clearly not understanding but not wanting to press the matter.  "Well, have a seat.  I just have a few questions and none of them will be incriminating against you so don't worry.  And I would never use your name unless for some reason you want me to.  Are you ready to get started?"  I nodded.  "Good," he said with a nod, apparently regaining his professional composure.  "First off, how long have you worked for your current employer?"

The questions only went on for about 30 minutes, and just as I suspected, I didn't have much to say.  As the interview grew on and this became apparent to John, I watched him grow subtly more confused about why I had agreed to quickly to come talk with him, but he was a professional and didn't let it show through too badly.

"Well, thanks for you time," he said after I had answered his final question about my working relationships with my co-workers.

As I reached across the table to shake his hand I said, "I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help," not really sure if I meant it or not.

He smiled for the first time since he had first noticed me in the coffee shop.  "Oh, that's okay," he said.  "If there turns out to be nothing to this story, I want to know that, too.  It's my job as an investigative reporter to find out the truth."

And suddenly I saw my chance.  My question wouldn't seem quite as much out of nowhere if I asked it right now.  "Have you ever appeared on the news about any of your investigations?" I asked.

Even though I had hoped my question wouldn't seem totally weird, he still seemed a little surprised.  And then he laughed.  "Well, no, not that I'm aware of," he said.  "I mostly hide behind the print media, though my picture has been published with my stories a time or two.  Why do you ask?"

I blushed, half tempted to say something about how good looking he was as my excuse, which he was, but I didn't want to lead him on, not when I had a boyfriend to get home to.  I shook my head and released the grip on his hand that I suddenly noticed I still held.  "No reason," I said.  "I guess I won't be seeing you, then."

He laughed, thankfully, but then as I stood up to go, I saw his eyes grow wide and I realized he was staring at the necklace, the one Peter had given me.  We were sitting at a high table and it hung low enough to have been hidden before, and when I first walked in I'd had my coat on over it.  "Where did you get that?" he asked.

I was as surprised by his question as the surprise that apparently led him to ask it.  "My boyfriend gave it to me," I said, realizing I hadn't mentioned a boyfriend before now.  "It was his grandmother's."

"I could have sworn..." John muttered.  He shook his head and chuckled nervously in a failed effort to hide his discomfort.  "Never mind," he said.  "Thank you again for you time."  He took a business card out of his coat pocket and handed it to me.  "And please do call if you happen to think of anything else you'd like to share in regards to our... discussion."  He nodded politely and then he was gone.

I realized I had just stood there awkwardly as I had watched him go.  My mind strangely flashed back to when I had watched Peter leave the bedroom earlier that morning.  Why on earth would my mind do that?  Was it telling me I'd rather have this man, this man I barely knew, in my life than my own boyfriend.  I shook my head.  This was crazy.  It all was.  The dream about a man who hadn't been on the news after all, his reaction to the necklace from Peter, my confused feelings for him.  I shook my head again.  I had to get home to Peter, and maybe pick up some groceries for a romantic dinner on the way.  Although I couldn't tell him why, I knew I had a lot to make up for.

Why?

You've heard the story.  She's driving home late one night, alone on an icy road, and the young girl, swerving to avoid a deer or something, crashes into a tree, killing herself instantly.  The little comfort her mourning parents can find is in the revelation that she was listening to Christian music when it happened, music of hope, music for eternity, the eternity they know she is now experiencing in endless happiness.  That girl was me.  Well, it was almost me.  I was listening to the music.  I saw the deer.  I crashed the car.  But by some miracle, I lived.  And now, not a day doesn't go by that I don't pray to God asking him why.  Why, Lord, are you letting me live on in this agony when I was fully prepared to end this earthly life and go on to be with you?  What purpose could you possibly have now for a paraplegic deaf girl who's missing half her face and is almost blind?  Why didn't You just let me die?  Well, I guess it could have been worse.  I was inches away from losing use of my arms as well.  At least I can still write down my story.  Maybe then I'll be allowed to die and finally experience some peace.

I've been a Christian, a believer in Christ, for as long as I can remember.  What does that mean?  Well, I, with millions around the world, believe that this guy named Jesus was literally the Son of God, came down from heaven to earth with the sole purpose of taking on the punishment for all the wrongs all of mankind had committed against God the heavenly father.  All He had to do was live a perfect life, die a miserable death, and then rise again in glory.  Simple right?  Hardly.  And yet he did it.  Am I crazy to believe this really happened, that Jesus Christ is truly the Son of God and my only path to salvation?  I used to believe it unquestionably, but I've come to realize how ridiculous it can seem to others.  First you have to believe in God.  Then you have to believe He's loving.  Then you have to believe He's so loving that He'd send His only Son to suffer and die for a people who'd rather turn their back on Him.  It's like if I were to invent a tiny race of robots and then let myself be turned into one, knowing I'll be destroyed by them when I do so, just so that I can keep them alive after they've already risen up against me.  That's the stuff of science fiction when you make that analogy.  God's love, yeah, well, I know it all sounds crazy, but I'd much rather be right about it than wrong.  So I kept on believing, though all my "trials" and doubts until I got to where I am today:  in a hospital bed.

Before the crash, my "trials" consisted mostly of getting a B- on an English paper I was sure would be an A or trying to get my little sister to stop hitting me all the time.  I remember when I thought my world was ending because I saw a boy I liked kissing another girl after school.  I asked God why he would make me attracted to this boy, why he would put such a nice, smart, funny boy right in front of me, just to give him to some other lousy girl who was clearly not good enough for him.  A few days later, when I saw the two of them fighting and noticed the dejected look on his face, I prayed again and took it all back.  I felt awful, like it was somehow my fault that other not good enough girl had hurt him, and I could never work up the nerve to tell him how I felt.  Such were the trials of my young teenage life, back before everything went to...

No.  As tempting as it is to just give up, I know I'm not in hell yet, and by the grace of God, I never will be.  God, I just want to know what it is you want me to do with my life now.  Is writing all this down why you kept me alive?  Am I supposed to some how be a witness through these words?  What am I supposed to do now?

God is silent, but that doesn't mean He isn't there.  I know lots of people will claim that's exactly what it means, call me a fool for still believing in Him after all that's happened.  But I know my God.  He speaks in whispers and He has a reason for everything.  He brings calm out of the chaos.  I just wish with all of my heart that He had given me the calm I was ready for instead of, well, this.

At least my little sister doesn't punch me any more.  The times she's come to visit me over the past month I've been stuck here, she mostly just cries.  I wonder what she'll do when I get to go home next week.

Going home.  That's what I was sure was going to happen on the road that night.  I saw what was going to happen before I even hit the tree.  In fact, I realized it was so unavoidable that I let go of the wheel, took a deep breath, and closed my eyes to get ready.  I never dreamed I was going to wake up here in a hospital bed in unimaginable pain.  I thought I was going home to experience unimaginable joy.

It's not that I wanted to die that night.  Far from it.  I really, truly wanted to keep on living.  Not that I was actively thinking about it, but I thought there was going to be a lot more to my life.  So much more.  I had just submitted my first college application a few days before and I was excited about the possibilities.  I would be going away from home, but not too far.  It was a chance to branch out on my own, to discover who I really was, and put myself to the test in a good way.  I was even considering studying theology, though physics would have been a possibility, too.  Strange combination, right?  What do you do with a double major in theology and physics?  I think you teach others about the wonders of God's creation, both what we've come to understand and what we might never understand.  And now, what I don't understand is why I'm here in this hospital bed instead of either home in heaven or safe and healthy in my earthly bed at home.  Either one would have been just fine by me, but this?  God, seriously, what am I supposed to do now?

I know, I'm just going in circles, but sometimes that's what happens when you're searching for answers.  You go around and around in your own head, repeating the same laps over and over again trying to figure out what you missed.  Is this my punishment for being ready to die?  Should I have wanted to keep on living more than I did in that last instant before I hit the tree?  That doesn't seem right, but I suppose it's possible that God wants me to still live because He has something yet to teach me, or something that I'm supposed to teach someone else.  Or could it possibly be that God just isn't ready for me yet?  Sorry, Sally, your room in heaven isn't prepared quite yet, see you in another 60 years.

Sixty years.  Am I really going to live on like this for another 60 years?  The doctors say that as traumatic as my injuries are, I have a good chance of living out a "normal" life span.  The average lifespan is about 78 these days, so I figure that means I may very well have to live like this for another 60 years.  And no matter how much I may want to die, I won't give in.  Not now, because that apparently isn't God's plan for me, not yet.

Who knows?  Maybe I just have a few more months and weeks before He's ready, before I've done whatever it is I'm supposed to do.  I would rather be dead than in this pain, but if there's something good for me to still do yet on this earth, I'm going to find it and do it.

Strangely, that makes me feel quite a bit better, knowing there might still be a purpose.  I thought I had my life all figured out, but apparently there's something different in store for me now.  I won't dare speculate about what that might be.  The last time I did that, well, I ended up here.

Am I crazy?  There, I asked it again.  Running around in circles.  Just like before, some might say I am, but I don't think so.  I believe in a God who loves me and has a plan for me, and even if I'm wrong, what harm is that to anyone?  If there is no God and no reason for me surviving this crash, isn't it still better to believe that there is?  And even if you say there is no God, shouldn't I still strive to make the most of my bad situation?

As much as I wake up in the morning just wishing I would die, I won't let that happen.  I have so much still to live for.  You don't realize how precious life is until yours is almost taken away, and even if I have to live in agony the rest of my life, I'm going to try to find something good in it all.  My sister.  Maybe that's something good I can still do.  I love her so much, and I'm realizing now that she truly does love me.  Even if I can touch her life, just one small life before I move on, that could be enough for me, enough of a "why?" for all of this happening.

God, I know You're out there, even if others don't think You're real.  You know I was ready to die, and now, I think I'm ready to live.  Someday, I hope I'll know why, but for now, I'm trusting you and I'm trusting your power in my own soul to make it a why that's worthwhile.  I'll always be your daughter and you'll always be my God and my best friend.  Amen.