Bus Tickets for Two

Writing what I live and see

• Bus Tickets for Two

It was an ordinary morning that transformed into an extraordinary mission by a single phone call. “There’s a couple who need bus tickets,” the voice on the other end of the line explained, filled with uncertainty. “They’re stranded. I’m not sure who they are or how to handle this. But someone mentioned you might help.”

In moments like these, decisions can’t dawdle in the gray; they demand the clarity of black or white dancing in my head. Yet, there I was, nestled in security, a good thirty-minute drive from any potential action on my part, and I wrestled with my decision about whether and how to step into this unfolding story.

The first resolve came swiftly, fueled by a conviction that the origins of their plight didn’t matter so much, and somehow, it had landed at my doorstep. The call was a divine nudge, one I’d love to tell you I received readily, but those moments come with the chance to help or not, and fortunately, I wasn’t going to let that be my answer this time. So I offered my yes to take strides to make a difference, even if a little.

My next concern was purely practical—the state of my finances. Mind you, these aren’t my family account but my little repository of funds, which often felt more like a tin can than a treasure chest. I tallied up the pennies and, just barely, the total whispered back enough for one ticket.

Conversations flowed as I reached out to this family’s relative three hours away, ensuring that the couple would be greeted by a friendly face, not the cold shoulder of uncertainty upon their arrival.

It was settled then; I had enough for one ticket. But, as if choreographed by unseen hands, a friend, moved by the spirit of generosity, stepped in to cover the second ticket.

The purchases were made, and the tickets were set for a will call. I chose a password for them—“God saves”—a small testament to the faith I hoped they had in Christ.

The sweetest twist came later as I dashed home for a lunch break and sifted through the day’s mail. Amid the usual suspects of bills and flyers, an envelope lay. I opened it, and inside, I found money, which added up to the cost of two bus tickets. It was cash sent by another friend, a gift mailed even before the need had fully revealed itself.

I marveled at how seamlessly the Lord had orchestrated these provisions, a divine choreography that had commenced before I knew a couple would need help to get home.

As for this man and woman, they departed on the bus that very day. By nightfall, they had reached their destination, the journey behind them but a new chapter ahead.

It wasn’t until later that I learned from the relative in a text about the man’s health—the heartbreaking revelation that this man hadn’t seen his grown daughter in years.

This journey, facilitated by many small acts, wasn’t just a physical relocation; it was a crucial passage in their life’s story, a chance for this man to see his grown daughter.

Reflecting, I felt a profound sense of connection and purpose. It reminded me how closely intertwined our lives are and how extending a hand can echo in ways we might never fully understand.

Yes, the experience left me humbled and amazed, a reminder that every act of kindness is a thread in the tapestry of God’s grand design and how a woman nearly two hours away from me mailed the donation to help someone before the need arose, and just in time.

Oddly enough, this encounter was like several years prior, when two bus tickets were bought to help another couple find their way home!