The story of the
The Vanishing Path
came to me, a grandfather of eighty years, while I was in the back of a van with four of my grandchildren. Trevor was on my left, Nieva on my right, Joe up to the right, and Daniel next to Joe on the left. My daughter Glory and her husband Jacob were up front. Trevor asked me to tell them a story. We had about an hour and a half of travel time ahead of us. I just started with two children playing ball in the backyard, and the rest just came to me. The van was quiet, and all heard the story as it unfolded. I honestly had no idea where the story was going. It reminded me of the many stories I had told my daughter when she was at their age. As usual, questions were ask here and there, which actually aided the story as it went along. When I finished with, “But what about the gingerbread?” I had no idea what came next. The van was silent.
Then Trevor said, “Where did you hear the story, Grampa?”
I said, “Nowhere, I just made it up.”
Again, “Did you read it somewhere?”
“I just made it up right now,” I said.
My daughter leaned back and said, “Dad, you need to write this story down so we can have it for the kids.”
Joe also encouraged me to do this also. I came home and wrote it out, so now what? Watching television, I saw an advertisement for Christian Faith Publishing. One phone call to a publishing specialist, and it went from there.
I believe this story came to me from the Lord for you, the reader, as well as for my grandchildren. I also believe a sequel is in the making.