Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round

Saturday, October 10th: Christopher, Bailey and Anna drove me to the bus stop in Monroe, WA for a 12 hour bus ride to Missoula, MT. Waving goodbye to my son and the girls was the first of what would turn out to be many difficult tasks I would do over the next month. The image of Bailey and Anna sitting on the bench at the bus stop waving to me as the bus pulled farther and farther away still brings tears to my eyes. To say that I have missed my kids and my munchkins is an understatement.

A couple of people offered to drive me to Missoula but I wanted to journey to my new adventure just as Shannon had a few months earlier as he rode the Greyhound bus to Watkins & Shepard for his 10 day orientation class. My thoughts were scattered as I contemplated this crazy and seemingly insane course of action. It had only been two weeks since the Lord had prompted me to give my resignation to a company where I had worked for the past ten years, where I enjoyed security, good pay, retirement, awesome health coverage, and good friends. Shannon had been driving for Watkins & Shepard for three months at that point and got home once every six weeks or so. I was living in our Monroe home by myself, lonely for my best friend, and completely burned out at my job. My coping ability was diminishing on a daily basis. I needed a change and the Lord graciously agreed by opening doors, providing resources, and gave me the courage to take the leap that landed me in the seat of that Greyhound headed east on Highway 2.

I met two people during the trip that made impressions on me, although in completely different ways. The first man was our bus driver from Monroe to Spokane. Have you ever wondered why people who don't like people work in a profession where you work with people all day? Do they start out that way or do they develop their crust of crumugery after countless encounters with people who ask the same questions day after day, or children who scream for hours, or people who get on the wrong bus or have the wrong ticket, or maybe the funny smelling foreigner whose broken English is difficult to understand. Whatever the reason, the result is the same, "stay away from me and don't talk to me" is clearly communicated and this man was broadcasting this message loud and clear. Of course sometimes it's hard not to ask the person in charge a question or two and as I watched the few who dared to step within the driver's circle of caustic atmosphere they each received the briefest of answers which sounded more like grunts than words, no eye contact, and the view of his back as he walked away from the questioner.

Contrast that with the luggage carrier I met in the Spokane terminal. He was a black man with his hair in corn rows pulled back and fastened with a leather cord. He was transferring my bag from the bus we just arrived on to another bus. I thought we were taking a different bus to Missoula so I said to him that my baggage should go on this other bus. He asked me where I was going so I told him Missoula and he gave me a big smile and said in a drawl that clearly indicated Spokane was not his hometown, "Well, now, I could put your bag on that other bus but if you want it to show up in Missoula with you, you may want me to put it on this here bus. The one going to Missoula." I was so embarrassed when I realized my error and my audacity to tell the luggage carrier how to do his job. He stood there kidding me, asking if I was sure I wouldn't rather have it loaded onto the wrong bus. He assured me he could do that if that's what I really wanted. The smile never left his face the whole time. He wished me a good trip and then went on to take care of the rest of his responsibilities, without my help this time.

As we pulled out of Spokane I thought about the differences in the "atmosphere" each of these men surrounded themselves with and the effect it had on those who came into contact with them. What kind of atmosphere do I cloak myself with? Do people want to be around me or avoid me? The Lord reminded me, that while waiting to board the 2nd bus, of the number of people who had approached me to ask questions. At one point I actually thought, "Do I have a sign on my back that reads Information Counter?" In the period of a short 15 -20 minutes, one lady asked if she could use my cell phone because her ride hadn't shown up, an older man asked me where our bus had originated and then told me his story about missing his bus and he was going to have to stay in the terminal for the night, and finally a woman with two children asked me where our bus was going and would I watch their stuff while she took the munchkins to the bathroom. Could it be that the people of this world can actually sense the presence of God in a Christian's life? A beacon that transmits that there is safety, acceptance and assistance available through this person? Does their spirit sense the spirit of the One who created them? It wouldn't have been so unusual for these contacts to have been made if there were only a few of us in the lobby, but there were at least 30-35 people standing around. They singled me out. It gives me goosebumps when I think about the power of God in our lives.