The Kid From Bus Number Four

When I was a grade school kid, my parents didn’t go to church at all.  But my Mom did make sure that my brother & I went.  Every Sunday, a rickety, past it’s prime school bus would lumber up the hill to our house & pick the two of us up.

I didn’t think much of it at the time, I was just another loud kid on a bus full of louder kids.  But now I reflect and think of the service of the driver.  Bill Jones was his name.  Sunday after Sunday, this man would get up probably earlier than he did for work, bring the old bus back to life, and spend an hour or so driving around the city, filling his bus with kids.  There was a regular route; we were about halfway.  This is how I got to church  up through sixth grade.

The church had about five buses,  so my heroic Mr. Jones was not the only one doing this.  Here it was so important to him that I be shown that Jesus loves me, that he did this for years.  That bus couldn’t have been in the greatest shape.  I would imagine that a church wouldn’t have a lot of discretionary income for bus upkeep.   I can just picture the jumper cables being stretched across the parking lot on a cold Wisconsin January Sunday morning.

Can you imagine how old that must have gotten for the driver?  Being a self absorbed grade school smart-alek, I never even though what kind of sacrifice this guy was making.   I became a Christian at about eight years old, and I believe in a large part I owe it to Bill Jones, the bus driver.   Most folks would never consider a crazy ministry like the one he labored through, and I have seen the benefits throughout my entire life.

Thanks for the ride, Mr. Jones.

Advertisement

« Jake the Snake

He Ain’t Heavy, We’re All Brothers »