How do I communicate the Gospel when I can’t speak the language? After spending years in India learning to speak and minister to people in their native tongue, it’s tough to start over again. Being able to speak the heart language of a people group that needs Jesus is foundational to being a missionary. So it’s a bit humbling to be in a new place and a new culture, and the most complicated sentence I’m able to put together in Thai is to ask how much a kilo of mangos costs. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I figured out how to buy mangos, and I know that with a little patience and study I’ll be able to learn Thai, but it’s hard to shake the feeling of being a clueless freshman on the first day of class.
The other day, I was cruising home on my motorbike just before sunset, overwhelmed with thoughts of the huge task I knew lay ahead of Tonya and me, when I saw a young Thai man pushing a scooter along the edge of the highway. A little old Thai woman was following him, her back and shoulders hunched, an old, worn purse in her hand. It was obvious that their scooter had either run out of gas or broken down.
I mentally debated whether to stop. I can’t really speak any Thai, I reasoned to myself. How could I be of any help? Still, I turned on my blinker and pulled off onto the shoulder.
Not sure what to say, I thought, Well, I guess it’s time for the silly foreigner to play charades with the locals!
Raising the visor on my helmet, I gave the Thai greeting, “Sawasdee krap.”
Folding their hands in front of their faces, they returned my greeting politely.
I pointed at my gas tank and then at theirs. “Petrol. Petrol. Do you need petrol?”
The young man and the woman, whom I assumed was his grandmother, smiled at me nervously, giving no indication that they had understood a single word I had said.
I motioned for the young man to come and get on the back of my bike, and I pointed down the road. “Petrol. Go for petrol.” I acted out what I thought was a pretty good charade of pouring gas into my gas tank. They just continued to stare at me, looking bewildered. “You go with me. Buy petrol. Come back.” Now my English was starting to sound as silly as I probably looked, waving my hands around like a total goofball.
“Petrol?” My voice trailed off, and I sat there looking as bewildered as they did.
They chatted between themselves for a moment or two, and then the young man hopped on the back of my bike. Relieved that we seemed to be communicating, I started the engine, and we took off down the road.
The sun had set, and it was getting dark. It was an empty stretch of highway, and I didn’t know how far we would have to go to find fuel. As we rode on, I fretted about having left the nice little grandma alone in the night.
After about five minutes of driving, we came to a little convenience store along the road. The young man signaled to me to pull over. He jumped off the bike and went to ask if they had any petrol. Sometimes little shops will sell gasoline in old liquor bottles. I saw the shop owner shake her head and point down the road.
The young man came back got on the bike again, shaking his head. “Petrol mai mee. Petrol no have.” At least I could understand that!
We continued on down the highway for a while. We stopped at two more little shops before the young man finally came back carrying a plastic grocery bag with what looked like an old whiskey bottle filled to the brim with petrol. We turned around and headed back the way we had come.
By the time we got back to where Grandma was waiting for us, it was quite dark. There were no street lights, and I almost passed her before the young man patted me on the back and pointed her out. I made a U-turn, and the young man got off and began fueling up his bike.
As he unscrewed his gas cap, Grandma came over, took hold of my arm with both hands, and started talking very fast and very excitedly in Thai. She was smiling, and I knew she was trying to thank me. I just smiled and nodded my head.
Grandma was still holding my arm tightly when the little scooter’s engine roared to life. The young man called to her, but she was still clinging to my arm and continuing her one-sided conversation with me. I motioned towards her grandson and gave her a gentle nudge. “It’s okay. Go.” She finally let go of me and scurried over to climb on the scooter behind her grandson. I also climbed back on my bike, started the engine and waved as I pulled back out onto the highway. They waved goodbye to me as I sped away into the night.
I may not be able to share the Gospel in Thai words yet, but every day I can live it by my actions.

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