A Mud Story

Our car got stuck in the mud. Actually, just the wheels, not the entire car. Cool, right? But we got lost somewhere in the middle of nowhere north of the equator. There were muddy rice fields as far as the eyes can see, separated only by this solitary dirt road with occasional mud cakes.

I got out of the car to check if my golf skills can figure out a way out of this muddle while my wife Rissa, my lone passenger who has been keeping track of my recent games, started burning incense and praying for divine intervention. 

All my efforts —that include getting my hands and running shoes dirty collecting stones to reinforce areas around the wheels, steering them left and right, forward and reverse —only sent the car closer to the earth’s core.

A van approaching in the opposite direction saw my predicament. It stopped for a while. I signaled to the driver that there was no way for them to pass through. Seeing none of its passengers or driver, and probably because I didn’t ask for help, I saw the van maneuver back and drive off. I wonder if they thought of that helpless, sinking black car that saved them from getting stuck themselves before their mommies tucked them in that night:

Did they get out safely?

Are they still alive?

My faith-full wife made best use of the intermittent cellular signal by calling our hosts who invited us for a ground-breaking event that brought us there in the first place. Her prayers were answered. 

A pickup truck carrying an international rescue team arrived in no time at all: our Filipino hosts (husband and wife), an Australian priest who celebrated the Mass in the event and an Irish benefactor to the project who is a golfer himself. Yup, that needs to be mentioned, too!

Faster than the spin of my sinking wheels, we got out and drove home safe and sound.

To the rescue team, thank you. To God who answers prayers, I praise and thank You. To the van, yup, we made it out alive.



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