The bus was late again. It was not that I had to be anywhere particular, but I really hated waiting at bus stops. There was just something about standing next to a busy street and sticking your neck out to see if there were any visible signs of it. Getting hopeful when you do see it a half mile down the road only to be disappointed as it draws closer, not my bus.
Was nobodies’ fault but my own that I was standing here in the first place. A little over 6 months before I had been in a bar drinking and left there drunk. Getting into my car I had no more than driven out of the parking lot when all kinds of flashing blue lights were in my rearview mirror. Nailed for drunk driving. I had refused a breathalyzer or blood test for alcohol content. And on top of that had been a ‘funny guy’ with the arresting officer. That was a mandatory one-year suspension of my license, a $1500.00 fine, DUI classes and 96 hours in lock up. Let alone all the other issues that ensued. That was back in Vernal, Utah but it was no better now in Las Vegas, Nevada. My transportation choices were limited, Metro bus or as my father used to say, shank’s mare, better known as walking.
My problems were compounded because even if I had wanted to drive illegally, which would be nothing new for me, there was no way to do so. My fancy convertible I had bought with company money was now in need of a new engine or being thrown on the junk heap. Either way it was of little or no use to me. Hence my standing at this bus stop on Boulder Highway waiting.
The other thing about riding the bus daily is you get to know what I came to think of as ‘bus people’. Folks who for whatever reason depend on public transportation. In Las Vegas that was mainly casino workers. Women and men dressed in uniforms that represented their employers. There were a scattering of business types and then there were the down and outs, like me who had no other choice.
After a while bus people formed a type of camaraderie. Mostly just a nod or soft hello as someone you recognized got on at their usual bus stop. Regular as clock work, I could tell which stop we were at just by the people getting on and off. As for me I tried to stay to myself, not wanting or needing conversation. Just get me to the corner of Tropicana and Maryland close to where my office was. But there was one lady who sat near me every time she got on and almost always wanted to talk.
She, like most, was a casino worker. Cleaning rooms at what used to be Fitzgerald’s, but it was called Terrible’s now. Every morning when she came aboard it seemed like the bus mood got lighter. She knew just about everyone and if she did not, she did her best to get to know you. That is why she sat near me most mornings.
Always polite she would nod to me and then try to make eye contact, if it happened then she would ask in a cheery voice, “Good morning, tall man, I see you made the early bus this morning! Any good words for me?” Most days I would just nod back and then turn away. Last thing I needed was a happy conversation. Just let me get to my stop and maybe I would go to work or maybe I would get an eye opener at the English Pub next to the office. In that bar no one talked at this time of day, my kind of place.
The morning of the late running bus was no different. Stopping to talk to several on her way back to where I sat, she finally sat next to me. This was something she had never done before. I was very uncomfortable, and I could tell she knew it. Still she leaned closer to me and said, “Tall man, there are days I would like to stay in bed. Do you know why I don’t?” Silence was my answer. She shrugged and continued, “Two reasons. One, I have four children and no matter how much money their Poppi and I make, it is never enough.” She waited a minute and looked directly at me. I turned to her gaze, “The second is less about me and more about him.” Again, she waited. This time I took the bait, “Him? Him who? Your husband?” At this she smiled. “No, my tall friend, him is the God who gets me up every morning and says, “Issy,” “God always calls me that.” Another big smile. “Issy, today you smile and show my love to someone who needs me. Make my joy complete. You know that famous Bible verse John 3:16 don’t you?” I shrugged. She said, “God so loved you, tall man, that he sent his only son to die for you. How can you not smile thinking of that?”
Her warmth kept me from my usual gruff answers when Christians got in my face. I finally spoke but softly, “I am glad your God loves you and talks to you. But neither he or his son have shown much to me lately. So, thanks for sharing but not today. I have no need for that kind of love today!” She patted me on my hand and said, “Sure you do and if you know it or not his love is yours!” With that she said no more.
We rode together for another 6 months or so until I moved from Vegas to the Bay Area. Every morning she would smile at me and nod with something I see now as true love, God’s love.
When I came to the Lord almost nine years later, I often wondered if she was still riding that bus and blessing so many people each day. Often when I get discouraged, I think of her and her simple faith. A woman named Issy that God talked to still continues to bless me years later. I pray today I can do the same for another maybe just with a smile or a word of encouragement. Thanks for showing me God’s love, Issy!
Blessings, john
2/11/19
