Return to the City of My Prayer

Sooner or later, there comes a moment when a dream finally comes true.

I found myself boarding a plane once again, heading to the very place where I had once failed in my first attempt to stay. I thought it was the end. That everything had slipped through my fingers. But fate had its own plan especially after that quiet prayer I whispered inside the Basilica of Fourvière.

It was one of the most breathtaking places in Lyon. Perched above the city like a guardian, this cradle of Christian civilization, this citadel of the Catholic Church, heard my deepest wish. I, a simple woman from Kyrgyzstan, sat in the early morning silence and prayed. I asked not for riches, not for glory, but to stay. To live in Lyon. To one day see this beautiful church from my window.

But life led me elsewhere. I had to leave Isère, fly to Lebanon, then to Bishkek, and back to Lebanon again. Still, the prayer remained alive in my heart. I repeated it silently whenever things grew dark. And then, one day, through Italy, I was flying once more toward Lyon. I looked through the plane window and saw the outline of the land and I couldn’t believe it. I was coming back. This time, I hoped… for good.

There were challenges. Finding housing, settling in, facing the unknown. But somehow, I always felt guided as if someone was gently holding my hand. Just like the dream I had before my son’s wedding, where a presence led me gently through the darkness. I now call it Universal Love. Every step I took felt lit by grace. And for the first time in a long time, I truly believed.

A woman in church once told me, “You must fully trust God. He will walk with you.” And now, I know she was right.

I believe that no matter where we come from, we all speak to God each in our own way. Different names, different customs, shaped by our lands and cultures. But He is One. And He lives within us all. He is the One who found me shelter, brought me friends, opened doors I never thought I’d Walk through. I trusted Him and so far, He hasn’t let me fall.

Of course, life brought both joy and hardship. On difficult days, I would escape to the Parc de la Tête d’Or. It’s more than just a park it’s the city’s lungs, its soul. With its gardens, flowers, trees, and gentle animals, it became my refuge. Every visit was different. The park reflected my moods, or maybe I mirrored its own. But always, it gave me peace.

I started falling in love with Lyon. With the people who kindly say merci, bonjour, au revoir, pardon, madame. At first, I would whisper back, softly, uncertainly. Then one day, I spoke louder. I smiled. I said merci like I meant it. I became a part of this world its guest, its student, its grateful admirer.

I cherished the markets bursting with cheese and flavor, the narrow streets filled with the aroma of coffee and sweet vanilla, the park benches with pigeons fluttering at my feet. I delighted in watching people locals and tourists alike guessing who belonged and who had just arrived. I listened to languages I couldn’t identify, faces I couldn’t place. And still, it felt like home.

Little by little, I began to learn. To navigate the metro, to read the bus numbers, to say words in French. And I wanted to know more. What do the French dream about? What do they eat? What makes them laugh? What do they fear?

I feel like I’m just diving into deep water, and the journey has only begun. And most precious of all my family is with me. My children are here. And like a mother wolf, I have carried them to a safer place.

For me, that place is France.

And I can say, with full heart: I love this new, unknown, unexplored country.

May God grant me health and strength to be here, and to live fully right here, right now.