God’s Way of Touching Us

Driving into a storm in the mountains in the middle of the night is a dangerous experience, and seasoned motorcyclists don’t usually recommend that. Mountain roads are muddy and slippery; dark clouds above you hover like a threat: to pour in more rains, as if to wash away the sad experiences of human downfalls. There are breaks on the road, gulleys deep and shallow, that have been created by downpours that have prolonged. One single mistake, one miscalculation, and you will fall—into the ditch, into the gulley, or into the high cliff on either side of the road. Motorbikes such as yours may have been equipped with modern halogen lamps, but on a stormy night like this, their glow could hardly penetrate the thick curtains of fogs and mists before you. You are driving blind, and your temptation is to trust your instincts, or, as pilots would say,” fly by the seat of your pants.” But doing so would be courting trouble. You have no compass to guide you in the midst of the fogs.

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