The Blonde-Haired Boy

When I was thirteen years old, in seventh grade, I had a dream.

In it, a handsome blonde-haired boy was walking alone down a two-lane road, tall evergreen trees lining both sides. What made the dream so strange was where I lived—eastern Washington, desert country, where evergreen trees were rare.

I remember going to school the next day, unable to stop thinking about it. Who was this boy? Was he real? Where did he live? Why had he appeared in my dream?

The next night, I dreamed the exact same dream again—the same blonde-haired boy, the same road, the same towering evergreen trees.

That caught my attention.

Why two nights in a row? What did it mean? Would I ever meet him? The questions followed me all day. That night, as I went to bed, I wondered if it was even possible to dream about him a third time.

I did.

The same dream again.

He was a mystery to me. I didn’t know him, and I had no idea whether I ever would. I was only thirteen, and I didn’t yet understand the significance of dreams—or that some are worth paying attention to.

Years passed. I grew up. I moved from the desert of eastern Washington to western Washington, into the land of evergreen trees.

When I was twenty-six years old, I met Glenn. He had relocated from his childhood home in Hawaii. Our relationship was a whirlwind—we met and married within four months. This year, we will celebrate our fortieth wedding anniversary.

Several years into our marriage, Glenn’s mother sent us a package of his childhood photos. As I flipped through them, I suddenly froze. There he was—the handsome, blonde-haired boy.

My husband Glenn was the boy from my dreams, the one who had walked down that tree-lined road when I was thirteen years old.

I don’t know exactly why God gave me those dreams, but I know they were from Him. Over the years, I’ve had ideas about why He might have, but mostly I count them as a gift—a blessing and a quiet place marker in my life.

Scripture tells us that God knows the end from the beginning, and I believe that even then—when I was only thirteen—He was already writing a story I couldn’t yet see. Those dreams weren’t meant to explain the future, only to remind me later that His timing is intentional, His ways are kind, and nothing in our lives is accidental when placed in His hands.