the record

On a train traveling to Ludwigsburg, Germany sat a young man. Head in his hands, paying no mind to his fellow travelers, he did nothing to try and stop the large, crocodile tears that fell continuously out of his ocean blue eyes. For twelve hours, miles of landscape passed by the windows and the steam engine continued to hum. Alois squeezed his eyes shut and balled up his fists in desperation.

Though he was only 18, life had lost all of its purpose. There was no longer any rhyme and reason. He had successfully escaped from his communist-led homeland of Czechoslovakia.  But what waited on the other side; freedom and happiness? No. All he had known had been pain, hunger, and disappointment.

He was supposed to be alongside his three friends en route to Australia and a better life. But, his visa had been denied and he was sent back to the refugee camp in Ludwigsburg. He would depart the train there completely and utterly alone; no friends, no family. There was no one in Germany to share his pain and sorrow. His escape had been for nothing. He had left his family back in Czechoslovakia and they did not even know he was alive.

Alois contemplated jumping from the train and ending it all. He felt numb; lifeless. To God, he prayed, “If you are really up there, look at me, what is happening to me? My three friends go to their new lives, and I go back to nothing. I do not have one human being in Germany to go to and I am at the end of my strength.”

Alois is my grandfather and he has an incredible story; a story of disappointments and sorrow, but also a story of God’s passionate love. My grandfather (or as I affectionately call him, “Opa”) penned his story. As I read this section, I suddenly felt a bond form between him and I, which I never knew we shared.

You see, I too sat in a seat, while tears fell constantly down my cheeks, believing my life was over and nothing was left. I shoved my face into the crevice of the seat. For 14 hours on a flight to London I battled my own personal demons. From all looks of it, God had abandoned me.

Without any forewarning, my marriage had fallen apart. My greatest fears had become a reality. My dream job was ripped away. Everything was gone. My heart was broken into countless pieces and I was deeply scarred.

Sixty-one years after my grandfather contemplated the value of his life, I followed in his footsteps. But, thankfully, Opa kept his record.  Yes, it was began as a record of his lowest moment on the train to Ludwigsburg. But, it became a record, which later tells of him meeting my Grandmother in Ludwigsburg. A record of passionate love between a daredevil of a man and his sweet bride.

Without the rejected visa and train ride back to Ludwigsburg, my Opa would never have met my Oma. Without that day, my mom would not exist – and neither would I.

I called Opa the day I read of his suicidal thoughts on the train to Ludwigsburg. He said, “Jeni, you know that was probably the lowest moment of my life. But, as I look back on it now, it was the best moment of my life.”

God has a way of doing that, doesn’t he? We blame him for orchestrating the devastation of our own personal tragedies. And, maybe we are fair to do that. Because, more often then not, He is behind our worst moments. But, while we cannot see past the reality of that single moment of pain, the same box does not bind God. He sees  the glory that awaits. In His tender way, He smiles down on us and says, “I know child. I see. But, please, just wait. just wait…”

Opa and Oma showing me the route of the train to Ludwigsburg, Germany


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