I boarded a bus, for the first time since Cambodia, leaving Ryan and Kay waving after me.
I was alone.
One of the few times in the past year that I can honestly say that there was nobody that I knew surrounding me. It was strange, but I was excited to have the next six hours to talk to the Lord and be by myself.
I looked around the bus looking for an empty seat. There were none to be found except in the very back row.
I question why as a kid it was always the cool thing to do to sit in the back of the bus. The Race has changed my perspective. Maybe it is the mass amount of traveling, bumpy African roads or overcrowded busses, but the more comfortable ride is found in the front of the bus.
I felt my spirit sink a little bit.
I slid into the aisle, five seats made up the very back of the bus, next to an older gentleman who scoffed at me. My left foot got wedged into a bucket that was lying in the floor of the bus and my knees were jammed into the bars giving the seat in front of me a skeleton.
My spirit sunk further.
I took in a deep breath from the breeze flowing through the window. Right before the older man slid the window shut.
You guessed it; there went my spirit further into the pit of meeping.
About that time, a sixth person crammed into the row of five seats pushing my foot further into the bucket and my shoulder room dwindled into the older man’s opposition. My dream of having a silent, thoughtful and worshipful bus ride was turning into a nightmare.
I watched as a young Maasi girl climbed the stairs to the bus. In my mind, I knew where she was going to be headed. As she walked to the back of the bus, the people to my right and left were already making room across our five seats for a seventh passenger. I was planning on how I was going to express my Braveheart speech of not surrendering our freedom of the little room we had left in Kiswahili. Epic fail..
My knee jammed further into the metal bar in front of me. My attitude migrated further south. I looked at the beautifully colored blankets that the Maasai girl wore and the extremely gauged holes in her ears. She looked to be in her young twenties. She hesitantly looked back at me and faked a smile. In the few words that I knew I asked her how she was doing. She smiled back and turned to talk to the guy sitting on her other side.
Not thinking anything of it, I went iPod engaged and began to listen to some worship music in hopes of getting into a better mood.
After about half an hour, the Maasai girl tapped me on the shoulder. I opened my eyes and looked at her. She was holding to ends of a seat belt and had a puzzled look on her face. She proceeded to give me the in-flight presentation of how to work a seat belt. I started laughing because of how excited she was to be on the bus. Not that I ever found out, but I am certain that it was the first time she had experienced a bus ride or any kind of transportation for that.
Things that usually got me frustrated started to make me laugh. We would get thrown up in the air from a pothole or speed bump every few minutes and she would brace herself and giggle like a little kid. To my surprise, the bus ride was becoming enjoyable. With every giggle, I started to notice more little things about the ride. The scenery was some of the most beautiful I had seen on a bus ride, the heat reminded me of home, the crammed backseat became more of a memory and less of a burden and I found myself thanking God for the little things.
I will always think of the smile of the Maasai girl on that bus ride and will be indebted to her for making me find joy in the things I forgot were joyful.
I feel as though I miss a lot of the little things because I forget to look for them. We have started using a saying that one of the friends we met in Uganda shared with us. It is, “Find your berry!” The berry is the moment of impact in your day. Sometimes it takes place in the small things in your day.
Have you found your berry today?
