“You have a Bible at home, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“When you get there, try to find Ephesians 2. In the New Testament,” she added. “Paul tells us that we’re saved by grace, not by works. None of us can brag or boast or speak well of ourselves, he says, because the gift of heaven is not something we can deserve by our karma or good deeds.” Rachel Marie felt a rush of emotion and she had to pause before allowing something to spill out into this precious new friendship. “Maybe you have always thought that one religion is mostly like the next one. That the differences are unimportant. But the reason I came to BCS was because I am so much in love with Jesus and his free offer. Your salvation and my salvation . . . Khemkaeng, it’s a gift. You don’t have to earn it. And loving that good news is what makes me a good teacher for you and John and Bangkok Christian School.”
There was a wonderful and lingering moment as her hand stayed tucked in his. Khemkaeng’s face was a study in conflicting emotions as he swallowed hard. “When you say ‘grace’”. . . . His voice trailed off. “Please tell me more of this.”
It was pleasantly odd to continue the conversation while holding hands across a pizza restaurant table, but she savored the precious seconds as they ticked by. “Pastor Mike always used to tell us that grace was ‘unmerited favor.’ God loves us even though we’re unlovely. He forgives our sins even though we don’t deserve this. He wants us to have a home in heaven with him despite our many failures.”
. . . That saved a wretch like me. Her gentle soliloquy hung in the dewy air as a lump came into her throat.
He seemed moved by her words. “This is a most beautiful truth, Rachel Marie.” His voice was uncharacteristically husky. “The best I have ever heard.”
Without speaking further, Rachel Marie slid her chair around until she was seated next to her friend Khemkaeng. They looked out together into the romantic aura of exotic Bangkok, her hand nestled in his as the moon rose into the heavens between the skyscrapers surrounding them.
CHAPTER TEN
The little television in her apartment was on but the low chatter of Thai newscasters was a distant non-distraction. Rachel Marie, curled up on the couch, heaved a delicious sigh of female contentment.
Dear God in heaven . . . I have myself a boyfriend. This delightful, caring, and gorgeous man who epitomized ideals treasured by women around the globe, had spent the evening looking into her eyes and holding her hand.
There had been a sweet reverie of five minutes where the conversation had lapsed into a sacred silence. The nearby mix of aromas from late-supper pizza treats and garlic bread still wafting through the Bangkok air, she and Khemkaeng had simply blended, her hand safely in his. The conversation, when it resumed, was about more trivial things, but his hand stayed where it was.
She smiled now, remembering. It was almost amusing, in a high-school-crush kind of way, that Khemkaeng, so sophisticated and admired at school, was suddenly a bit clumsy. When the spell finally came to its inevitable moment of tender conclusion, he had been ill at ease, responding to her forced cheerfulness with awkward monosyllables.
Did he regret the romantic turn their shared evening had taken? Perhaps he already wished to extricate himself from an entanglement with his American co-worker. Was there in fact a beautiful Thai girlfriend Rachel Marie didn’t even know about? Girls in Form 6C were forever giggling and illegally whispering about someone’s fan, the Thai idiom for sweetheart. It was possible, she mused now, retracing her steps of the past few weeks, that he had been innocently pulled into a spiritual search which–with both of them crossing their wires–had taken a tingling detour.
It was impossible to not have a kind of womanly checklist and keep replaying it. Khemkaeng was: one, incredibly good-looking and polished. He looked terrific without trying hard, but wore his handsome ways comfortably and without an apparent patina of pride.
Two: he was kind and cordial. His politeness was perfect without being fussy or put-on.
Three–and she felt almost holy considering it–he seemed the most genuine “seeker” even the Lord Jesus could ever hope for. Tonight for sure, he was earnest and wide-eyed in his quest to embrace the mystery and glory of Calvary.
Despite the finality of the breakup, though, it was hard to not put up a rival scorecard and still give Adrian Morris a fair hearing. Both men were equally stunning in the looks department; her California ex-boyfriend was a page torn right out of Gentleman’s Quarterly. Truth be told, he had a western ruggedness that her gentle Khemkaeng was better off leaving alone.
As she twisted her long legs around on the couch to get comfortable again, she mused to herself that it felt like she was at Dodger Stadium, where the illuminated right-field scoreboard had two sides to it. The home team and the visitors. Slugging percentages and batting averages and RBI totals running up and down in two columns, letting fans know who held the advantage. Our pitcher’s ERA is 2.34; theirs is a whopping 5.07. Hey, we should take this game!
One wild card, she confessed, was the unquantifiable matter of chemistry. Adrian had made her weak in the knees. His kisses were a sultry temptation. Being around him, while safe, was also exciting. She had always been comfortable in his presence, but it was an edgy satisfaction, knowing that a moment of extravagant generosity or passionate temper might suddenly shift the floor underneath her. Most of the time she liked that, and wondered if Khemkaeng, with his precise tailoring and impeccable care with words, could ever light the fires the way she was used to back home.
The invisible contest of the two shining knights did nothing to diminish the ardor she felt for her new beloved friend, though, and she again replayed the moment when their hands finally met across the table with the napkins and empty soda cups. It was a wonderfully tingling memory, made the more holy by the accompanying testimony of his burgeoning convictions.
Dear God, I almost love this man, she whispered aloud, remembering the sparkling Bangkok skyline and the beams of moonlight as they enveloped the young and enthralled couple.
It took a moment of continued reflection before the stark magnitude of this truth hit her. Tonight’s moonlight had a Bangkok signature. Khemkaeng was a Thai man. He came from a Thai home and a Thai background. He was the vice principal of a school with one thousand students, all of them with the blood of Bangkok coursing through their veins. His parents lived in an Asian city just four hundred miles away from where she was now curled up on a couch in the very bosom of a distant and overwhelmingly foreign culture.
The 11:00 news came on, and she suddenly focused her attention on the beautiful anchor and her co-host. Both were light-skinned Thais, perhaps the result of a mingling of Asian and European heritages. This was common in Bangkok’s world of media and advertising, Ellen had wryly observed the other day. But the pair, exquisitely dressed and made up, bowed slightly to the camera and offered the polite wai greeting before launching into Thursday headlines no doubt scrolling up a Teleprompter screen using forty-four Thai characters.
Without knowing why, she padded over and turned up the volume, trying to decipher graphics and footage and somehow dope out at least the barest germ of each story. A toy factory in Chonburi had burned to the ground, causing damage to the tune of perhaps three million baht. An uprising of the “Red Shirts” in Haad Yai, created by residual resentment over last year’s military coup, had been successfully quelled after the monarch sent emissaries to plead for forbearance. A plan to curtail the grungy pollution of the Chao Phraya River had foundered in Parliament. In the Asia Games, just now beginning, Thailand scored two goals, but came up short in the first round of soccer contests.
The relentless Thai-ness of her new world suddenly caused a quaking and temporary panic. She was Miss Stone, an American professional, a teacher trained in the customs and practices of the Golden State. Her family lived in Seattle and Boston; her president was hard at work now in the White House. Her vocabulary was sprinkled–no, make that steeped–in Americanisms. She was a Wester
n woman trying to make it for ten months in this alien universe simply because she wanted to serve Jesus and play her role in New Hope Church’s dreamed-of revitalization project.
In fact, now it’s only eight months, she thought in a sudden realization that was almost a moan. What had she been thinking? In a flicker of time, she would be away from here forever, back to a public school in southern California where kids wore baggy shorts and Bart Simpson shirts and spoke Spanish at home. She was just visiting here. Her suppers with this kind friend were only supposed to be cautious, temporary friendliness with a dollop of “Take the gospel to every nation, kindred, tongue, and people” thrown in.
Confused, Rachel Marie flipped off the set and sat in the Bangkok darkness, now overwhelmed with her schizophrenic thoughts. Khemkaeng was too rare a find to pass by simply because of the freak nature of birthplaces. On the other hand, cultures and 9,500 miles were a formidable adversary.
She prayed for a few minutes, her thoughts incoherent but earnest. Rachel Marie could see into her little bedroom where the digital readout of her bedside clock sternly reminded her it was 11:30 at night. Twenty-eight Thai students expected Missie Stone to be her effervescent American self in a few short, sleepless hours.
An idea came to her, and she went into the kitchen and fished out her new cell phone. “Bucky’s awake,” she whispered hopefully to herself. In fact, it was just past noon in Massachusetts, and it was oddly comforting to think that her big brother was actually residing in the same day as she was, at least for a few more minutes.
She dialed in the country code for the United States, feeling a renewed rush of affection as she recalled how Khemkaeng had taken her to an electronics store and helped her purchase an inexpensive cell phone. Patiently explaining the options, he walked her through enrolling in a prepaid plan that allowed her to call the States for just seven cents a minute. Dear Lord, he’s too good! Please help me know what to do.
“Hello.”
“Hi. It’s me.”
Startled, Bucky took a moment to recover. “Hey, R.M. Wow! How are things?”
Without preamble, she poured out her tale of mingled delight and woe. “I’m so mixed up,” she wailed. “I have no idea what to do.”
The line crackled as her brother reflected. “Do you love this guy?”
Rachel Marie hesitated. “Pretty close. It’s going there fast if I don’t hit the brakes.”
“And Adrian is . . . that’s totally over, correct?”
“Well, I still think about him. Can’t help it sometimes. But no, that’s gone for good. Barring a Damascus-road smack on the head.”
“It’s probably for the best.”
“I guess I don’t have to do anything immediately,” she said. “I mean, Khemkaeng hasn’t asked me to marry him or anything cosmic like that. But we’re definitely careening toward something romantic. Unless I’m just a completely dumb and clueless American chick who misread the whole evening.”
Bucky laughed, his warm humor reassuring. “Do you mind if I ask you some personal stuff?”
“‘Course not. That’s why I called.”
“Do you think this guy is truly serious about Christianity? Or is he just using that as the obvious pathway to Miss Stone’s heart?”
“I worried about that a while ago,” she confessed. “Tonight, though, it seemed very real. I guess he could be suckering me, but right now my Jesus radar doesn’t think so.” A rush of nice memories floated through the window and Rachel Marie could almost smell the pizza again and recall the sweet touch of Khemkaeng’s hand holding her own. “But it’s really confusing, because for, like, the last two weeks I’ve just had this idea in my brain and I keep saying, ‘This makes no sense!’”
“What doesn’t?”
“Like I told you, our pastoral team at New Hope, and also John Garvey out here–they brought me and a couple others out for one specific purpose. They wanted us to be, you know, superstar teachers who could inspire the rest of the team and also all the students. I’m here as Exhibit A for ‘Awesome Christianity looks like this.’”
“I don’t see how they could do any better.”
“Well, thanks. But then it’s just ludicrous that the same school has a vice principal who is both awesome and great and also not a believer. Because the kids know he’s not a Christian. So the minute they figure that out, they go: ‘I guess it’s not a big deal either way. Mr. C is just as amazing, and even he doesn’t believe any of this.’”
“So they’re undercutting their own message.”
“Yeah. I mean, not deliberately. But I can’t help but think that subliminally, sure. ‘Christianity is okay, but it’s no big deal. We got those who do and those who don’t.’” She described her casual friendship with the raffish Brit up in the Matthayom level. “Every kid in high school knows that Mr. Cey is an atheist. Not that he’s much of a role model, but it just reinforces the idea of take it or leave it.”
“Wow.” Bucky paused, digesting the complicated saga. “But if this Khemkaeng was to make a commitment and fully get on board . . .”
“Are you kidding? It’d be galactic. The children adore him. Upper grades too. It’s all I hear about.”
“Better hang around and try to bring him over the line, babe. That’d be amazing.”
“Well, that’s my plan. But back to the original. How can I know for sure what his intentions are?”
“I got an idea about that as well. Actually, two things.”
“I knew calling you was a brilliant idea.”
“First, just take it slow. Go to school and teach. Do your job. Keep on being a superstar and don’t let up on that one bit. If these Thursdays together continue, you’ll get a feel for where Khemkaeng’s at. Like Mom used to always say, ‘Let some time go by.’ Men everywhere are pretty much the same when it comes to love. If he’s really attracted to you, you’re going to soon know it in a pretty clear way is my guess.”
“All right.”
“Here’s the other bit. Do you remember back when I was in high school, and you were maybe in third grade? When I was really trying to figure out this whole Lisa business?”
“Pretty much.” Despite her angst, Rachel Marie giggled. “Up and down. You were so crazy mixed up. Especially when she went up to Seattle and then came back down and you tried to get her back.”
“Here’s what it is,” he said. “And I probably never told you guys this. But I spent about two years there at Hampton High making the same mistake over and over. First with Deirdre. In my gut, I knew she had no interest in sharing the kind of passionate faith I wanted to have. It wasn’t there; it wasn’t ever going to get there. But I just kept blocking out that reality. I compromised and kept on submerging the hard facts staring me in the face. Which maybe you did with Adrian. Because someone looks great and you’ve got some chemistry together–which is really just infatuation, though–and you’re afraid nothing else will come along.”
“Boy, that rings a bell like you wouldn’t believe.”
“So we’re kind of the same, you and me. Which is why I think neither of us can do what Mom did. She’s an amazing Christian; I don’t fault that at all. But it’s just quieter with her. When she and Dad just float along on separate tracks, I’m sure it hurts, but Mom just never got called like you did to be a superstar ambassador for Jesus. That’s why you and Adrian could never have had a low-key, look-the-other-way marriage. I don’t think.”
Rachel Marie felt her face going hot and cold at her brother’s blunt diagnosis. “Wow,” she said simply. “Wow. You have no idea how true all this is.”
“Well, I think I got off track a bit.”
“No, I needed to hear all that. But go ahead.”
“What I was going to say is this. Back to Lisa. I got to a time when I just had to say to God, ‘More than I want Lisa, I want for you to have her. Save her first, and then if it’s heaven’s will for us to get together, then that’s good too.’ But I had to really struggle and pray and”–his voice a
lmost cracked with the memory of it–“almost, even, you know, cry a bit over it. But all at once, when I made Lisa being saved the highest thing I prayed about, God gave me that, and then also made it happen that we ended up together for keeps. Which now just gets better all the time. God’s so good to me I can hardly take it in sometimes.”
The stark beauty of what her brother was saying left her floored and deeply moved. “That’s amazing. I didn’t know any of that.”
“Well, I think it at least answers your question. Your friend–what’s his name again?”
“Khemkaeng.” Rachel Marie suddenly realized she was tumbling into love with a man whose last name she didn’t even know, let alone know how to spell or pronounce.
“Well, look. The highest priority you have is to keep helping him to make a commitment to Jesus and be saved. Without that, you’ve got nothing and you know it.”
“You’re totally right.”
“That’s it then.”
She stifled a yawn, grateful and overwhelmed. “You’re too much. I mean, I don’t know what that means I do tomorrow when he comes around, but I get the principle of it at least. Thanks, Bucky.”
“All right, kid. Get some sleep now.” He chuckled. “Let’s see, Bangkok’s coming up on midnight is what I figure. Naughty girl.”
“Yeah. I’m going right now.”
And it did seem that when the sun came up the next day, life in Thailand near this mysterious and special man did just . . . continue. That weekend when she went to church with Ellen and sat down by John and Marilyn, Khemkaeng suddenly came in a side door, beaming and waving to the row of BCS faculty. He took the vacant seat next to her and cautiously sang along with the praise songs, his voice a pleasant but unsure monotone.
“What does this mean, ‘second coming’?” he whispered at one point in Pastor Munir’s sermon, and she murmured a cryptic reply. But there was no hand-holding, and after the service concluded, Khemkaeng simply waved a cheerful farewell as the two female teachers climbed into a tuk tuk and zoomed away to Orchid Gardens in a noxious cloud of diesel smoke.
Love In a Distant Land: Rachel Marie Series Book One Page 13