We could call ourselves the Prague Christian Writers but I haven’t told her this yet … and I’m running a bit ahead of myself.
This quest that I’ve been on — of actually writing my story has been a long one.
As I look out at the railroad tracks, my mind goes back to the first time I saw them — there in the Andean mountains of Peru. I boarded the train as an 8-year-old, not knowing that I would never return to the simple life in the small village where I was born.
It took me a while to realize that each of has a story and even longer to believe that mine was worth telling. And so as I etch out these words on the screen, my heart yearns to make sense of it all.
To understand why I’m sitting on a train in the middle of Europe in a land that is largely foreign to me even though I lived here for more than 14 years. Just what exactly is this story that I’m living and where will it lead me?
Will these tracks eventually take me back to those old tracks in the mountains of Peru? Will my story end where it all began?
Only God knows. I could sit here and speculate the possibilities but that would be misusing my time.
The reality is that I’m here and the story I’m writing today is largely based on the small daily decisions I’m making. Even this — the writing. The thing that gives me peace is knowing that my story is nested in the greatest story of all — His story. And that’s where the meaning that I’ve been looking for has to begin.