West Liberty. West Liberty, #1

The Christmas lights at Charlotte Motor Speedway were nothing short of breathtaking. A dazzling array of colors illuminated the grandstands, the track, and the infield, creating a magical spectacle of holiday cheer. As our mission team drove through the speedway, we marveled at the creative displays-some shaped like race cars in mid-action, others forming nativity scenes or wintry landscapes. The air buzzed with excitement, not just from the twinkling lights but from the underlying energy of a place where legends had raced.
As we wound through the display, I couldn't help but think about the incredible work we had done earlier that day at the Operation Christmas Child processing center. Every shoebox we packed was destined to bring joy to a child somewhere in the world. The thought of a child opening a box filled with love, perhaps even hope, struck a deep chord in me. That moment, as I reflected on our mission while sitting in the passenger seat, sparked an idea-one that would linger in my mind for weeks to come.
Fast forward to the journey home. The highway stretched ahead as I made my way back to Ohio, the memories of Charlotte still fresh. It was on that drive, somewhere between North Carolina and West Virginia, that I noticed something interesting. Up ahead, a truck from Iowa was pulling a trailer with a stock car. The vehicle looked like it had seen the intensity of competition, its tires covered in dirt and its body sporting scuffs from close battles on the track.
I couldn't help but wonder-where had this car raced last? Was it coming from the very speedway I had visited just nights ago? Was the driver inside chasing a dream, fueled by adrenaline and the passion for speed? There was something poetic about it. Just as I had been inspired in Charlotte, perhaps this young driver was on his own journey of purpose-one that involved high-speed chases, roaring engines, and the relentless pursuit of victory.
As I passed the truck, I glanced over, catching a glimpse of the driver. He looked young, focused, and determined. For a brief moment, our eyes met. I gave a nod of acknowledgment, a silent gesture of respect "He returned it with a slight wave before turning his attention back to the road ahead." That simple encounter stayed with me. It reminded me that inspiration comes in many forms- whether in a quiet moment of packing gifts for children or in the roaring echoes of a raceway.
Perhaps, in some way, we were both chasing something bigger than ourselves. Yes, this inspiration began over 4 years ago. I wrote the first 8 chapters and told many friends of the story of Jake. Many thought it would make a novel. My daughter, Jessica Fry bought me a notebook to write in as well and gave me thoughtful insights along the way. Pastor Carol encouraged me along the way. Great friends like Kathy Ward helped to organize and challenge me to go forward and gave me colorful suggestions for the interiors to the places I imagined.
As the Spirit would have it, I was writing with the main character as Jake. Turns out unaware to me that my very good friend Laura married a guy by the name of Jake and just a few years ago I discovered he was a dirt racer. So here it is a short novel about a small town in Iowa. Yes, I am taking from my first draft to continue on with the story of Jake of West Liberty, Iowa. Hope you enjoy.