God, I am Tired of Riding the Bus!

The man had been homeless. Finally he had a steady job and a decent apartment. If only he had a car, he’d feel like he was back in control. Having a car meant more than transportation — it meant being in charge of where you went, when – and with whom.

After several minutes of silence, the man shook his head.

“Can we just split the difference? Give me a car instead of a limo, and I promise to pick up  hitchhikers every now and then.”

“No, my son. There is work for you to do among my people,” his Father said. “But you must decide — are you willing to suffer to serve me? Or would you rather exist in a splendid cocoon?”

The man closed his eyes, wrestling against conflicting desires. Just then, a shiny new limousine pulled up. The nattily uniformed driver stepped out and gestured toward the passenger door, urging the man to climb inside the cool, dark interior.

The man’s eyes widened. A Rolls Royce! How the chrome grill shone; he could almost smell the rich leather seats. The faint aroma of clove drifted past. Could someone be smoking a fine cigar in the cabin?

The man took a step closer when the gear-grinding city bus rattled around the corner, belching diesel fumes. The bloated bus pulled over behind the limo, hovering for a moment for passengers to disembark. An old man with a limp clambered down to the sidewalk.

“Son, this is the trusty old No. 7,” he said. “If you’re getting on board, you’d better hop to it.”

The limo. The bus. The limo! The bus? It was a ludicrous comparison.

“To hell with it,” the man said. “When has anyone ever given me any breaks?”

The limo driver tipped his hat. “Right this way, sir,” he said, exposing the flicker of two gold-capped teeth in his devilish grin.

Hastily, the man strode toward the shiny door, a mere step from slipping inside and leaving his poverty behind. He was almost certain now, yes! Someone was sitting on the large bank seat, waiting. Whoever it was was watching him; the window rolled down a bit above halfway. There appeared to be an elegantly clothed figure with a cloak and a top hat. The man strained, but he could not make out the face. He could see dark silk and pin-striped suit fabric.

He had never owned more than two old pair of blue jeans. Images of himself sporting custom-made business suits danced across his imagination. What else might this limo bring him? His hand touched the outside of the door and pulled it open.

Then, faint as bird song, a child’s voice cried out from somewhere nearby. The man glanced around. A toddler with big brown eyes and colorful cornrows had plastered her chubby cheeks against the bus window. She stared down at him, tears streaking her face. That face! Without even realizing it, the man inched away from the shiny black door.

A bony hand in the Armani suit reached out from the limo, seizing the man’s arm and pulling him forward. “We’re expecting you,” he croaked. “It is time.”

“No!” the man shouted, straining toward the bus. “Wait!”

But the No. 7 doors had swooshed shut; the giant beast began pulling away in a puff of black smoke. Hs heard was racing wildly.

“Wait!”

That child’s face. Her chocolate brown eyes had seen right through him, as if she knew him. For some reason, he felt that she needed him urgently.

“Come back!” The man shook off the claw grabbing him and sprinted to catch the bus. He wasn’t fast enough! The driver was picking up speed. With one last burst, the man managed to grab hold of an outside railing. He pounded on the glass and held on. The doors popped open enough for the panting man to propel his way inside.

The desperate man pushed to the middle of the bus, looking for the window seat where he had seen her. Two old ladies were sitting there chatting about the price of tomatoes. The man scanned the rows in front and behind, then quickly strode to the rear of the bus and back. Nothing! He squatted to check under the seats.  “That toddler with the cornrows,” he kept saying. “Where is she?”

Folks only shook their heads, puzzled. A few raised their eyebrows.

Shaken, the man slipped into the only open seat as the No. 7 jerked along its route. He glanced outside and caught the red tail lights fading away as the sleek body of the limo rounded a corner. Had he made a mistake?

The person next to him was reading a newspaper. After several minutes, the curtain of paper lowered. An attractive young woman glanced out at him. About 25, she wore her short curly hair covered by a jaunty Cuban cap. The man reeled. Her eyes! She had the same almond-shaped curve and doe brown warmth as the vanished child.

Who could have guessed? His Heavenly Father would arrange many divine appointments for him on the public bus, but today they started with an introduction to his future wife.

by Pringle Franklin

This tale is based on a true story of a faithful poor man praying for a car; as his poverty forced him to ride the bus, the man ministered to the many strangers he met along the way.