Preface

“And there shall be an highway for the remnant of his people,
which shall be left, from Assyria;
like as it was to Israel in the day that he came up out of the land of Egypt.”
— Isaiah 11:16

What if a highway could be more than lanes and lamps—what if it were a ribbon of joy, an experiment of the heart disguised as an engineering feat? What if a street named Thunder, right here in Oceanside, California, became not merely pavement but prophecy—a doorway through which humanity rediscovers its own unity beneath the soil of nations?

The Thunder Underpass is that vision made real in words: a great tunnel beginning where Oceanside meets Vista, on Thunder Drive, and continuing—unbroken, radiant, and alive—all the way to Israel. Yet its true origin lies deeper still, in the heart’s yearning to connect what history and distance have long kept apart. It is both a story and a summons—a call to imagine connection before we attempt construction. No gloom, no debate, no cynicism—only vision. For a world divided by suspicion, imagination itself becomes the first act of healing.

Isaiah once saw a highway blazing through prophecy—a radiant path for the remnant of God’s people. To write of it now is to echo that vision with joy, as though the pen itself were a beam of light drawing the way forward. Fiction becomes the rehearsal of wonder, where heaven sketches what earth will one day complete. This highway is a song made visible—a corridor of blessing stretching beneath seas and continents, joining hearts before it joins lands. And if ever such a passage comes to be, may it rise in harmony with divine purpose, glowing with peace, unity, and the laughter of those who walk within its lights.

This book, then, is a celebration of the tunnel itself—of life beneath the earth made bright and beautiful. It is a tale of glowing shopfronts and the warm scent of fresh bread drifting through tiled arcades, of laughter echoing off the walls and gardens that bloom without sunlight. Families walk hand in hand through gentle air, children run ahead to hear their voices bounce back in musical reply, and travelers rest in cheerful stations alive with color and song. It is not an escape from the world above, but a world of its own—safe, merry, and wondrous—where every step forward brings the pilgrim closer to Israel and to joy.

The Thunder Underpass is a promenade of hope—bright, unbending, alive. It winds from Thunder Drive to Israel, from hello to shalom, from imagination to incarnation. And should the day come when men truly build it, may they remember it was born first as a prayer—that joy might flow freely through every heart, like the tunnel that leads to Israel, and that the earth itself might one day hum with peace beneath our feet.