Bye Thai
The bus to the airport leaves in thirty minutes.
I just remembered: I owe the man down the street 75 cents and he owes me a clean pants and shirt. Leave suitcase in lobby, sprint a block North.
Laundry in hand, the strangest thought occurs: I should say goodbye to that prostitute I met on day one. Stupid idea, and stupid that I don’t remember her name. She has a name. She told me. I forgot it. I feel guilty for that.
Calling her “that prostitute” feels wrong now. I’ve passed her several times walking errands with colleagues. I’ve seen the 50 year old white tourist men walking the street hand in hand with teenage Thai girls. I’ve watched some of the flesh marketing in action. It seems like a trap all around, and it’s hard to tell the predators from the prey. All I know is the people caught in it are loved by God, still people to God, and that but for Grace I would be trapped too.
(I have her photo and almost posted it here, but who knows who sees this site? What if someone used it as a cue to do harm. Better just keep it on my disk. If you’re at my house sometime, I’ll show you. The women pictured above are just shoppers on the street.)
I sprint another half block and find her eating lunch with two younger women. Daughters? Co-workers? I don’t know. “Sawadikrup,” I say, bowing a respectful hello. I take her hands. “Goodbye. I leave today. It was nice to meet you.” She smiles and says, in her broken English, “Nice to meet you. I hope you travel safe.” I say, “Peace to you. I hope you find what we are all looking for.”
Sprint back to the hotel. The bus came early and my friends wait. I have no idea if what I did was good or right. It felt like what Jesus wanted done, but I’ve been wrong before. “Make what you will of it, God. I’m yours.” Meanwhile, there’s 48 hours of airports and planes for me.
I’m so very conscious of the people back home: my wife, my kids, my church, my supporters. I have felt so sustained by prayer. Thanks. Now pray for that lady whose name I forgot.