Splash! My motorbike plunged into the murky depths. I felt the water penetrate my riding gear as I sank down into the swift current. I had ridden off the edge of a bridge and now my motorbike was sinking to the bottom of the flooded creek as I held on for dear life to some submerged planks.

Caleb and I had been riding our motorbikes that morning, taking advantage of some precious down time. As we pulled away from our house, I felt a strong impression that we needed to pray. Generally, we hadn’t made prayer a habit when we drive. After all, we have our personal devotional time and family worship every morning. But that morning I sensed we needed it. After offering a short prayer, we pulled out of our driveway and made our way along the slippery road through the low hills that rise gently from the Great River. Rain from the night before had caused some flooding, so we had to drive carefully through swollen streams and over wet ruts that crisscrossed our path. Most of the streams we had to ride through were only a little over a foot deep. We thought the final stream would be no different.

“What’s the best way to cross?” I asked a nearby fisherman as we sized up our final water obstacle.

“Keep to the left,” he replied.

Must be less bumpy on the left, I thought to myself. As we watched other motos cross with ease, our confidence grew. The water must be no more than two feet deep, I mused. We edged our front tires into the water and began to cross. Perhaps 20 feet from the far shore, I swung my motorbike too far left and was suddenly in deep water! “It’s a bridge, Dad!” Caleb yelled. “You’ve driven off a bridge!” Little did I know that this was not your average flooded stream but a sizable creek whose bridge had been completely submerged by the floodwaters. Now I was hanging onto my motorbike with one hand while gripping the underwater bridge with the other.

I tried heaving the bike to the surface. The handlebar reappeared above the brown soupy water, but it was too heavy to lift higher. As it sank down beneath the water, I felt the current sucking it under the bridge. I glanced at Caleb who by this time had made it all the way across to the far bank. His face reflected the despair of seeing all his dreams of riding motorbikes with his dad sunk in a split second. Even if we did end up getting the motorbike out, would it ever run again? I snapped back to the moment. “Jewy Pong! Jewy Pong!” (“Please help! Please help!”) I yelled to some onlookers who had gathered on the bank to watch the spectacle. Suddenly, men came rushing toward me, stripping off their clothes down to their underwear as they ran. Some took hold of the motorbike, and others grabbed onto them. Together, they heaved the motorbike up onto the bridge. After thanking all my rescuers, I pushed the sodden motorbike a short distance down the road to a hovel that turned out to be the home of a master motorcycle mechanic. A $10 bill and bit of disassembly and drying with a hair dryer, and my motorbike was practically as good as new!

As Caleb and I rode home that afternoon, I shuddered to think what would have become of my motorbike if it hadn’t been for those angels in underwear and that mechanic, even if he did charge me twice the going rate for the repair.

Despite all of the bad news we hear every day, my faith in humanity received a boost that day. No, not everyone has a kind heart, but enough people still have God-given respect for their fellow man and lend a hand when the going gets tough. I pray we all will do the same!

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