For the first time all week, my newly repaired motorbike allowed me to return to being the independent woman I always prided myself on being. I could finally drive myself to school, and a sly smile of confidence spread across my face as the engine roared to life. Sheets upon sheets of rain had finally broken the dry spell of hot season. Our parched and discontented souls rejoiced and then complained when the excess of this humid luxury caused a flood that spilled forth into the neighborhood streets of Chiang Mai. But, rain or shine, I was going to drive to school myself, because I finally could. Pride comes before a fall. Or, in this case, a swim.
Other than the normal fight for survival from the seat of a motorbike in morning traffic in Thailand, all was well until I curved around the round-a-bout to see a friend with a somber face and orange vest holding up his arms in a cross. I sent a weak grin his direction and pulled off my sunglasses and peered forward in anticipation of what might fate might betake me around the next curve. A road block made of the finest spectrum of GIS leadership had firmly planted themselves upon the damp asphalt beach, blocking the entrance to the vast Brown Sea that stretched out behind them.
My preemptive departure this morning, which had left my devotions half read and knee barely bent, had seen my exhaust pipe just rounding the corner as my neighbor burst through our front door bearing the breaking news of the school’s closure, a missing detail that had brought me to this moment of staring in perturbed amazement at this barricade of leadership in front of me. A sweet friend with a mighty jeep saw my hesitation to join the masses who were swinging around back towards home. She broke out from the barricade line to offer me a ride to the lonely island of GIS. Thinking that this would provide a good opportunity to redeem my impatient early morning mistake with the diligence of productivity, I hopped into the barge and we navigated the current downstream until we beached upon the dry ground of school.
At this point, I realized that I had just stranded myself at school on the only day off I would get for the rest of the year. As I climbed up to my empty classroom, listening to bells echoing through vacant hallways and reading texts from friends who had all congregated at warm breakfast joints, laughing and celebrating this glorious day, I realized the gravity of my self-inflicted isolation. The early bird doesn’t always get the worm. Nothing against the early riser, but flocks are always better.
I skipped out this morning on community, both with my Lord and with my carpool friends, and was now swimming out in the open waters. A little “me-do” attitude doesn’t act as a very good floatation device. Humbled by this realization, I strapped on my backpack, tucked my motorbike helmet under my arm, rolled up my dress pants, and headed straight back for the high waters. I would get myself off this island and back to shore with my people. I walked resolutely ahead into the current, dismissing the incredulous stares from the school guard shack as I declined a kind friend’s offer to float away together in her brave, little car. But, no, I got myself in this mess, I would get myself out. A few yards into the river, I realized that I had just made the same miserable “me-do” mistake twice. I always have been a bit of a stubborn learner.
I looked down to see the murky brown current swirling up past my rolled up pants. I felt the cold, gritty water scrubbing the freshly healed motorbike burn on my leg that had just finished it’s round of antibiotics and would be returning back to the ring of fighting for its survival against these infected murky waters. I looked up to see a group of zealous Thai fishermen throwing nets into the river of a street, and realized that I had forgotten what might also be swimming with me in this swift current. A surge of electricity ran down my spine as I recalled all the campfire tales of Thailand being home to the highest quantity of poisonous snakes in the world, which had most likely congregated together in these waters for such a time as this.
As I watched the river turn into a current of snakes around me, I wondered if I was going to live to tell this tale. The broken call of “Tea-cher!” cut through my paralyzed mind. One of the guards had run to grab his motorbike and was parting the brown sea to reach the ridiculous teacher planted in the middle of the river. I swung on the back of his bike and we plowed through the waters until we finally pulled up on the damp asphalt beach on the other side. How his engine didn’t stall out, I will never know, because my motorbike stalls with the first spray of a Songkran water balloon.
With feet firmly planted on solid ground, I gave a deep “wai” and “ka-phun-mah-ka” and watched my rescuer pass back through the waters on his miraculous bike. I hopped back on my motorbike and headed home to an empty house. The returning celebratory breakfast party couldn’t be bothered with the story of my near death experience and I held my tongue that had been checked with a good dose of humility. Sometimes, it takes walking out in the middle of a river of snakes to realize that no woman is an island and the early bird doesn’t always the worm.
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| Motorbiking Friends |
"Two are better than one, because they have good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has one one to help them up."
Ecclesiastes 4:9-10
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| Motorbike Adventures |
"When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you." Isaiah 43:2a
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