The hours spent in small seats besides strangers have taught me more than I expected. Or rather, in my silent observations and long thoughts, I have learned much- I am sure many who ride the bus more often than I gain little from the experience, but for me it has been revealing.
I found early on in my newly-doubled commute that riding the bus provided a natural, lengthy window of time to read the Bible. I began scrolling through Proverbs in the Bible on my phone on my way to work, instead of singing with the radio up loud as I had when I was driving. It took time, but my need for music as a constant companion lessened, and I found instead great joy and comfort in the verses I filled my mind with.
Everyone around me, however, played mindless games on their phones, watched movies on their ipods, or listened to their ipod’s at painfully high volumes that promise they’ll suffer from hearing loss at an early age. I alone tried to ignore the plentiful background noise and soak up wisdom and truth from the greatest book of all time.
How foolish of me to assume I was alone in that.
Several weeks ago I noticed an older African-American gentleman turning pages a few rows behind me on the bus one morning. When I turned to look, always pleased to see someone reading, I saw that the book resting in his hands was the Bible.
Thick with well-worn pages, this man’s choice of reading material was clearly an old favorite of his, as the lines of scripture were neatly marked in yellow highlighter and small handwritten notes in the margins. This, it seemed, was a book he had spent much time with. He must know those pages well; I think it likely that he loves them well also.
I saw him again just this afternoon- sitting quietly, unassuming, his Bible spread before him. And I was reminded that I am not alone- not in my faith, my growing love for the Word, nor in the way I read this contraversial text quietly in crowded public busses.
That is beautiful to me.
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