I don’t usually remember my dreams. But this one—I can’t forget. It wasn’t just a dream; it felt like an experience. A message.

It started on an ordinary day. I was at home with my husband. I stared out the window at the sky, and that’s when I saw them: two stars, tiny but impossibly bright, chasing each other like children at play.

Before my husband could even look, the stars collided.

The crash was blinding, the explosion huge. At first, it looked far away, but then it grew larger, closer, louder. I whispered, “Oh my God,” then screamed it as panic filled me. The sound lagged before reaching my ears, like a warning before the impact. And then came the falling debris.

Meteors. Big ones.

One hit the building. My husband pulled me close as the world shook. A fragment seared into my leg, and I screamed in pain that felt too real for a dream. Then darkness. Not full darkness — just enough light to see shadows.

And then a bus arrived.

The driver said we could only take what we needed. My husband and I grabbed two backpacks with clothes, hygiene items, and food. But I couldn’t find my cat. I called her name over and over. Nothing. My heart shattered. I had to board the bus without her, sobbing uncontrollably.

After the bus, my mom called me. She told me she loved me and to be safe. I said it back. Then she went quiet. I looked at my husband and told him, “She’s waiting for you to say it too.” 

And then I woke up.

The Day After

I Heard God

For the first time in a long time, I remembered a dream. Not just the faint, scattered pieces you forget the moment your eyes open—but a dream that clung to me, whispering truth long after I woke. I couldn’t shake it.

The first person I told was my husband. We didn’t get to finish the conversation at that moment—life and work pulled us away—but I promised myself I’d come back to it. I also shared it with a colleague, someone who usually shares her dreams with me, and this time, I had one to offer. What stuck with me was her saying, “God is always with you. He will never leave you.”

I thought about it all day.

Later that evening, sitting outside with my husband, he asked if I wanted to finish talking about my dream. I shared both the spiritual and practical interpretations. Then he asked me the question that made everything shift: “But what does it mean to you?”

And that’s when I heard God.

I couldn’t say the words out loud—not at first. The truth sat heavy in my chest, terrifying to even acknowledge. Later that night, during my shower routine, the emotions poured out of me. I found myself crying, repeating the same two words over and over: “I know.”

The Breaking Point

The next morning, a massive toothache woke me out of my sleep. My husband helped me find medicine and lay awake with me until I drifted back off. When I woke again, we had our coffee and sat outside, just like we always do. And that’s when I finally said it out loud: I think I heard God.

My husband’s response was simple: “You probably did.”

So, I went back to the dream and this time, I didn’t hold anything back. I asked him if he remembered when he once told me he had prepared himself for the passing of his grandmother when she first got sick. That’s when the words caught in my throat. My mom suddenly opened the door, startling me—and my husband finished the thought for me:

That I felt the need to prepare for my mom’s passing.

The Hardest Truth

My mom has cancer. Writing that out hurts. Saying it out loud feels impossible. It’s something I’ve avoided because I don’t want to “manifest” anything by acknowledging it. But it’s the reality. And it’s the very thing I’ve been afraid to face.

The thought of losing her shatters me. She’s my best friend, the one consistent parent I’ve had, and I feel her love for me deep in my bones. But I know what God is asking me to do: prepare. Not because it will happen today or tomorrow—only God knows that. We are all on His time. What I feel Him showing me is mercy. He doesn’t want me to be blindsided when that day eventually comes. He wants me to be rooted enough in Him that the blow doesn’t destroy me.

So, I cried. And cried. And cried. The kind of tears that feel endless, the kind that leave you raw. And through it, my husband held me. He reminded me that death is not something to fear, but something to celebrate. Just as God will always be with me, my mom will always be with me too.

It hurt like hell to say those words out loud, but once I did, I realized I wasn’t saying them in fear. I was saying them in surrender. In trust. In acknowledgment of God’s mercy.

Before I woke from my dream, my mom called me on a phone I didn’t know I had. She told me to be safe, and that she loved me. I said it back, but then she grew quiet. I looked at my husband and said, “She’s waiting for you to say it back.”

When I told him this part of the dream, he asked what his face looked like. I told him—it was a look I know very well. A blank stare he gives me when he knows I already know the answer. That look felt reflective.

What I Realized

I’ve never told him, or anyone, how I’ve truly felt about her diagnosis. I’ve been carrying that in silence. But God reminded me of something vital: I don’t have to carry grief alone. I will need my people. People who know Him, who will remind me of His Word when I can’t lift it for myself.

God is preparing me. He’s telling me to lean on Him, to strengthen my prayer life, to keep reading His Word, to not wait until the storm comes to start building shelter.

I asked to hear God, and I did. Loud and clear. Not in fear, but in comfort—in His promise.

My Takeaway for You

When my mom’s voice came through that mysterious phone in my dream, telling me to be safe and that she loved me, it wasn’t just a dream moment. It was a promise.

A reminder that love doesn’t leave.

A reminder that God doesn’t leave.

A reminder that even in grief, we are held.

So here’s what I’m holding onto:

✨ Travel light. Love deeply. Don’t miss your moment to say the words that matter.

Because when the stars collide and the world shakes, what remains — is love.

Hearing God doesn’t always sound like a booming voice from the clouds. Sometimes it comes as a whisper in your spirit, a dream that lingers, or a truth that finally breaks through the silence. If you’re carrying fear of loss, or grief, or uncertainty—you don’t have to carry it alone. God’s timing is perfect, even when it hurts, and His mercy is shown in the way He prepares us. If you ask Him to be near, He will be.