Through the Tunnel

The train I ride stretches on without end, propelling me toward a destination I can’t yet see. Sitting just behind the engine, my view ahead is blocked—leaving me only the scenes rushing past my window to piece together the journey unfolding before me.

At times, the view glows with sunlight spilling over open fields. Other times the sky darkens, heavy and gray. I’ve fallen asleep in the desert then wake in the mountains. Each mile draws me closer to the end of this journey—an end only the Engineer knows.

At the last station, a stranger boarded and took the seat across from me. Her eyes cast downward, fingers circling a worn wedding band, she offered me the faintest smile. I smiled back. “First train ride?” I asked gently. She nodded and turned to the window.

The train took off, and soon, without warning, the windows went black. The train plunged into a tunnel, and the world vanished. Darkness swallowed us whole—no view, no escape, only the echo of iron wheels rattling against steel. Fear pressed close, but I steadied myself. I remembered. I’d been here before and knew what to do. I whispered God’s promises to myself until His peace calmed my soul and reminded me I only need to trust Him.

That’s when I noticed the woman’s trembling hands—one clutching her chest, the other pressed over her mouth. Her eyes darted toward me, wide with fear. I slid into the seat beside her and took her hand.

“It’s okay,” I said softly. She squeezed so tightly it hurt. “I’ve been through tunnels like this before. Yes, it’s dark, but you’re not alone.” Her shoulders eased as I wrapped my arm around her. “Hold on,” I whispered. “There’s light ahead. I know, because I’ve been through tunnels before, and the Engineer always leads us to the Light.”