I woke up at 05:30 (PST) on Wednesday, February 22, 2006 from a series of dreams that I described to Cindy, my wife, as “disturbing.” When I awoke, I immediately took off my CPAP mask (used to treat my sleep apnea condition), and then went to the bathroom. I was clearly troubled by the content of what I had just dreamt. The dreams left me disoriented, agitated, anxious and a feeling a bit like I was losing my grip on reality. I didn’t know if I was overly stressed, or just suffering a slight departure from reality. I was rattled.
The dreams were chaotic and disturbing. I don’t remember specifically what the subject or content was for most of them, but they had to do with people interacting with each other, and being acted upon by outside, negative forces. The only dream that I remember with any clarity came in the last dream section. I repeated the phrase, “It’s raining people,” as it unfolded. Weird, I know. I was looking up into a grey sky at a 45-degree angle watching the rain fall with drops that were evenly spaced and precise. As the drops neared the ground, they would morph into a person, and all the resulting people looked the same: a man, late 30s or early 40s with dark hair and a light beard wearing a blue (maybe denim) coat. I do remember longing for the dreams to be over so I could get away from the discomfort.
As I have done in the past when I experienced a similar situation, I did my best to settle myself with a deep breath, a head scratching and a soothing rub of my eyes and face. I settled back into bed, straightened the covers, put my CPAP mask back on, and felt a powerful compulsion to pray for my nephew, Ian, who was deployed with the Marines in Iraq. It was actually more of a direction to pray instead of a choice. I felt the Lord’s hand in a firm and powerful way leading me to do so.
My prayer for Ian was clearly for protection. I don’t remember all of the words, but I do remember that I asked the Lord to surround Ian with his angels and protect him with a cocoon of care like an engulfing hug of powerful arms and a strong torso. I pictured him in a seated position. I prayed for what were probably no more than two or three minutes, and then I fell back to a restful sleep until the alarm clock sounded about an hour later.
When I woke up, I turned toward Cindy and told her that I had a tough night’s sleep because of some disturbing dreams. After the words left my lips, they were met with a slight acknowledgement and then silence. I didn’t want to elaborate, and Cindy didn’t want any more detail. We both got out of bed and dutifully got ready for work and left the house.
We didn’t talk about it any more until later in the day when Cindy called to let me know that her brother and Ian’s father, Allan, had heard from Ian. He wrote in an email that the Hummer that Ian was riding in while on patrol had been hit by an IED (improvised explosive device), the weapon of choice of the Iraqi insurgents. Everyone in the vehicle had survived, and Ian suffered a concussion, some bleeding from his ear from the concussion and a burn on his leg as a result of the blast. That was the extent of the details from the incident that Allan gave us. It sounded similar, but more intense, to an incident during Ian’s first (and shorter) tour in Iraq about six months earlier. I asked her at what time of the day the attack had taken place. I did so because I had a vague hunch that my dream and the attack were somehow linked. History had proved this possible when I had a similar interruption to my sleep on the day my father died from prostate cancer in May of 1995.
The next day, Cindy called me at work on her way home from her job to let me know that she had spoken to Ian by phone. She talked with him for about 15 minutes and got more of the details. First, the door of the Hummer next to Ian had been blown free from the vehicle. He suffered a grade III concussion and a deep bruise on his leg. He was momentarily unconscious following the blast. His injuries would result in a medal: the Purple Heart! She also asked him the time of day that the attack had taken place, and Ian replied that it had been 05:30 PST, the same time that I had awakened and prayed for him.
The moment I heard that, I was suddenly overcome with a wave of emotion, and I began to cry silently, rapidly shuddering, unable to talk or make a sound. My body was seized by this outpouring for at least a full minute, maybe longer. I was totally engulfed with a sense of wonder, excitement, deep-seeded humility (born from pure respect and reverence of God), a profound crush of blessing, and awe: the Lord of heaven had used my prayers to keep Ian safe and whole. Cindy has heard this silence before and tenderly let it run its course before she said anything else.
We both relished how gracious the Lord was to Ian, and how marvelous it was to be in the middle of such an exciting story. We were humbled by it, and eager to tell others of the power of prayer. I experienced a second wave of emotion when Cindy told me of Ian’s response to the prayer: all he said was, “Whoa.” Knowing Ian as I do, that single word carried a real impact.
One of the things that Ian told Cindy was that he would be on a week’s worth of recovery time with no regular duty. He also said that his commanding officer knows about Ian’s plans after returning from Iraq, and has given him assignments, when possible, that minimize his exposure to dangerous situations. Also contributing to his types of assignments was Ian’s earlier encounter with an RPG (rocket propelled grenade) which is a subject for another time. Ian will also be on guard duty upon his return to active duty guarding Iraqi prisoners on his base which, in light of the fact that the insurgents don’t want to lob mortars at their countrymen, is a safer place to be.
On my drive home from work following the call from Cindy, I felt a huge sense of relief that those disturbing dreams weren’t a signal that I was losing touch with reality. At the time, I wasn’t sure. They were so unnerving, and having an explanation for them (albeit fantastic) was a comfort.
Ian told Cindy that he didn’t want to remember any of the details of the attack, she told him, “No, Ian, you want to remember this. Your truck was hit by a bomb, and you survived, and you have all your parts.”
