God Started With the Dishes Premium

When the war ended and the Dayton Agreement was signed, the reason I had entered the seminary disappeared almost overnight. I had come there to escape death. At least that is how I understood it at the time. The front lines around Sarajevo were real, immediate, and merciless. The seminary had opened a path out of that reality, and for six months I stepped into a world of structure, study, prayer, and routine while the war slowly exhausted itself behind us. Then suddenly it was over: peace agreements were signed, borders redrawn, governments replaced, and for the first time since leaving Sarajevo, I found myself facing a decision that no longer concerned survival, but direction — whether to remain in the seminary or return to the life I had left behind. I left. At the time, I still did not understand what had actually happened to me. I did not understand why I had survived while others had not. I did not understand why the path through checkpoints had opened. I did not understand why the seminary life attracted me and yet did not fully fit me. I only knew that somehow my life had been redirected. Nearly ten years passed after that decision, and during that time another process slowly unfolded — not dramatic or sudden, but gradual and quiet, almost unnoticed while it was happening.

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