Motorcycles have never been neutral objects in my life. From a very young age, they became associated with loss and pain. My family was involved in a tragic motorcycle accident in which my father lost his life, and my mother nearly lost hers. Years later, my older brother was involved in another devastating motorcycle accident that resulted in the loss of his left leg. Because of these experiences, motorcycles represented to me fear rather than freedom, danger rather than adventure.

When I arrived in Cambodia, however, I quickly learned that motorcycles are not optional—they are essential. They are the most practical and affordable means of transportation, especially in rural areas. Even the most common taxis, tuk-tuks, are simply motorcycles with a body attached. In Banlung, Ratanakiri, where roads are often uneven and distances long, I was given a motorcycle that would become my primary way of getting around for daily life and ministry.

Despite my fear, I learned to ride. At first, things went smoothly, and I began to gain confidence. But within a short time, that confidence was shaken. I experienced several accidents—none life-threatening, but all painful. My legs were bruised, my ankles injured, and I suffered a serious burn from the exhaust pipe that left a lasting scar. That scar remains with me to this day, serving as a visible reminder of my vulnerability and my constant need to depend fully on God.

As fear began to take hold, I found myself crying out to the Lord for guidance. I questioned whether I should continue riding at all. During that season of uncertainty, Scripture became my anchor. One verse sustained me again and again: “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13). Another promise spoke deeply to my heart: “He will command His angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways” (Psalm 91:11). These words were no longer abstract; they became deeply personal.

Through prayer and reflection, I came to realize that we are not just meant to read God’s promises—we are meant to claim them. Faith, I learned, is not passive. Faith is a daily choice to trust God, even when fear feels justified.

So before every ride, I began to pray. I intentionally placed my safety in God’s hands and asked Him to fulfill His promises of protection. Slowly, something began to change. Fear did not disappear overnight, but it began to loosen its grip. In its place grew a quiet, steady trust. The road itself did not become safer, but my heart became anchored in faith rather than anxiety.

Through this experience, God has shown me His faithfulness in ways that are real and deeply personal. What once symbolized fear has become a daily opportunity to trust Him more fully.

Each time I start the engine, I am reminded that faith is not the absence of fear, but the courage to move forward—confident that the God who calls us is faithful to walk with us and keep His promises, wherever the road may lead.

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