Scheduled another topic to write on today, but got hijacked by a story that touched me so deeply I must comment.
Lars Walker at Brandywine Books clued me into the heartbreaking tale of a woman from southern Thailand who 25 years ago boarded the wrong bus in her country and wound up 1,200 miles away from home. Since she spoke only the rare language of her village, she found no one in the remote city who could understand her. With no means of support, she fell into vagrancy. A government round-up of beggars landed her in a sponsored shelter for street people. A chance encounter this month with three people who spoke her language resolved her two-and-a-half-decade nightmare. At 76, she’s finally on her way to a reunion with her family.
You can read more here.
When I hear stories of people locked in jail for years only to be released after further evidence proves them innocent, I can’t imagine the crushing sense of years lost. Wrong place, wrong time means a chunk of life ripped out of you—forever.
Or you’re just some average Joe or Jane who makes an everyday decision that bears bitter fruit for the rest of your life. This Thai woman’s story grips me because she made one simple error and paid for it for twenty-five years. One mistake anyone can make, but a not-so-funny comedy of errors spun it into tragedy.
It shakes me.
Years ago, maybe even decades, perhaps you got on a similar bus. Now you look back at the wake of chaos trailing behind you and wonder, “How did I get so lost?” Or “God, I got on in faith, so why does that decision still haunt me? Why can’t I find home?”
If that’s you, let me pray for you. Drop me a line at the e-mail address at top-right, or leave a comment (even anonymously).
I can’t answer why or how, but I can pray that the Lord restores all those lost years wandering in a far-off land where no one understands you, not even other Christians.