I’ll never forget the first night I slept in our Texas home. The kids and I arrived late. It was dark and cold. I was not expecting the winter air to hit me quite so hard and chill to the bone. Exhausted from the move and traveling it seemed that bed could not come soon enough. Which, by the way, was a blow up mattress and a blanket on the floor.
Snuggling into my blanket I fell fast asleep. A few hours later I awoke with a start, to the sound of a locomotive on distant train tracks. I could hear the horn, the racing sound of its wheels turning on steel, and for a moment I had to remember where I was. Calmly I remembered thinking, “this is now home”.
As time moved forward and days turned into weeks and weeks into years, I stopped hearing that train. Even though it passes through our city every morning, somehow I manage to sleep right through it. That is, until now.
The past few weeks each morning I wake up to that once unfamiliar sound of the train plowing through town. In the morning, before sunrise, I listen to its wheels turn and make their way down the track. It is almost like that train is saying something to me. It is like it whispers ever so lightly words that I can only feel, comforting words, words that settle deep down into my soul. And it tells me, “it is time to go.”