Wednesday, January 11, 2017
The substance of things not seen
"Do you happen to have an extra pass? I'm in the ministry for the return of Jesus Christ."
Sympathetic to her request, and realizing it was time to move the bus, I offered her a ride with us.
Pensively rubbing her chin and gazing eastward, she accepted the offer.
"I don't know where I'm going, but I'll take the ride. God bless you."
A few miles later she exited at a stop that wouldn't be serviced the rest of my shift, a rarely used stop even on weekdays, with no obvious reason a person might want to get off there.
"Thanks again. Are you a Christian? My daughter and I are living by faith." There was nothing aggressive in her tone or even necessarily prying as she didn't wait for my reply.
"Hang in there." I encouraged her while effectively ending the interaction.
"It's a good thing." Her closing words were an affirmation she had seen something she could not deny.
Miles from our west end layover, on our next trip in the same direction, a man in his early 30s boarded.
"You have something in your hair." At first I thought he was complimenting my hairstyle, so he repeated it and I reached up expecting to find a piece of lint or similar lightweight debris. It was a five inch long yellow stem, presumably a cast off from a shade tree I utilized at the layover. I was mildly disturbed by two things: being completely oblivious to such a sizable foreign object on my head, and also that no one boarding prior to this fellow had mentioned it. It's size and color prevented it from hiding in my hair and was actually sitting right on top. Plus I greet everyone who boards my bus, so it's impossible everyone could have missed it.
Sometimes we see things no one else does, and need to tell everyone. Other times we see things everyone else sees, and want to say nothing.