Wheels on the Bus go Round and Round

I love my new mornings.  Yes, the stunning silence of a deserted house with no human presence except my own is peaceful.  Yes, mindlessly indulging in an extra cup of extra black home-brewed Starbucks coffee in my favorite mug while reading books that speak directly to my heart from the very heights of heaven is overwhelmingly delightful. The unbelievable ability to commence my workday upon the stroke of 9.00a like the rest of the modern world is liberating. 

But what do I like most about the 'new' mornings that have entered my life after months of waiting and wondering? The moment when I drop Clark and Claire safely into their school bus, knowing they're going to be just fine... cared for... cherished by those into whom I have commended their care until the reach back home eight activity-packed hours later.   The moment when I see the bus rumble gently away from me, as I am left standing in the broken bits of concrete that dot the landscape in front of the Reliance Fresh grocery store that is now delightfully known as our bus stop.  The instant I can see one of two enthusiastic blonde heads poke its way through the drawn bus curtains to give one last wave, one last grin, one last mouthed 'Bye Mama!' 

In that moment I am instantly transported back to a series of many of my own 'bus time' moments thirty years ago.  Walking from Grandma's house down "Westhampton" street to the corner stop sign.  Waiting in the snow, the drizzling rain, looking around the corner longingly hoping to see my Southfield Public School system bus make its daily appearance.  Sitting near to the bus driver so I can listen to her radio, surprisingly tuned to the Christian radio station.  Pulling in to St. Michael's Catholic school where most of the children disembarked, but where I stepped off the bus only to find another bus that would take me onward another three miles to the corner of 12 mile and Lahser where I would join my classmates at SCS for another day of excellence in education.

I was only six.  Yet my bus ride was so complicated.  Reminiscing about the process reminds me of how sheltered in HIS care I was; how guided by HIS Spirit a young girl in Kindergarten could be in her red jumper and curly pig tails.  I was always fine.  I was always perfectly safe.  I rarely missed the bus.  I never got lost.  I never encountered a bully.  I never got hurt.  I was completely safe and protected.  Riding the bus for me was a comfortable way of life that I grew to appreciate all throughout elementary school and into junior high.  I had the distinction of being a 'bus student' which granted me safe passage to be late to school and to depart 10 minutes earlier than everyone else.  Riding the bus defined a portion of my life from age six to age twelve.  

Today, as I place my own two precious babies onto their bus every morning I have been recently struck by the comforting realization that my own personal experience of safety, care and guidance on the bus at a young age was indeed HIS preparation for me to release my own children into HIS care as I put them on their super-deluxe, air-conditioned, security-beguiled, DVD-containing, extra long coach.  It is with full confidence that I can wave goodbye in the morning and be the recipient of joyful hugs and exuberant smiles upon their return home in the afternoon.