Bus #649

Rome’s major means of transportation the bus. The metro doesn’t get you where you want to go, taxis are hard to come by and driving is insane. So that’s what we used for three days, the bus, to get us where we wanted to go, cheaply, most easily and still in one piece upon our arrival. Our relationship with the ATAC bus lines, however, got off on the wrong foot. We were informed to take bus #649, so when it came careening around the corner, we sprinted to the stop and hopped aboard. Forty five minutes later we realized maybe, just maybe, we had taken the bus the wrong direction. No fear, what goes up, must come down and we knew that eventually (even if we ended up touring the city a couple of times) we would hit our stop and jump off. So the street sign labeled “Bari/Como” finally came and we heaved ourselves off and into the hotel. We thought, perhaps, that we had already mastered the system, that we would just simply be more careful in the future, noting the direction before taking the plunge. We even explored other routes, we dabelled with the #81, the #64 and even the express: #40. That, however, was when things started to go south. It was late, we had enjoyed a wonderful (albeit rainy) day out, seeing the sites of Ancient Rome, the Roman Forum and the Colosseum, and we decided it was time get back to the Hotel Regina Margherita. Seeing as we had pretty much mastered the bus routes, we thought we would venture out and climbed aboard the express bus, #40. Aided yet again by Rick Steves, we ‘knew’ that bus #40 would be following a very familiar route, that of #64, and we were pretty impressed with our public transportation savvy decision. The bus seemed to be zipping along, stopping quickly, finding its way through busy streets faster and buzzing down abandoned alleyways to make shortcuts and make our lives a little easier. We were both feeling good, our stop just a few short minutes away, when things took an unexpected turn. The bus driver, in perfect Italian, I’m sure, gracefully informed us with a jab of his thumb that we were to exit at this point. Show’s over, tour’s done, time to get off. Unfortunately for us, this was not exactly our stop, nor did it appear for the next several minutes, that this was a stop involved in any bus itinerary that evening. As the responsible man, I took control and scampered aimlessly across a few busy streets to peer into the misty darkness for a sign of life…a bus, a metro, a taxi, anything at all. I came back to the stop, defeated and depressed, with no option but to wait it out, seeking that illusive bus #40. A few minutes later, our worries were calmed and we shook out our umbrella and hopped onto the bus, our savior in such a time of need. We sighed, relieved that our adventures were over and we were so close to home. One more stop, at Termini Station and we would catch our familiar friend, the #649. Unfortunately, #649 didn’t know we were going to be needing a ride that minute, or even that night, it seemed. After 45, yes 45, painful and bone chilling minutes at Termini, #649 finally decided to show. A few stops later, we had actually arrived at our hotel, worn out, wet and perhaps a little bitter at the bus, but happy to have put an end to our public transit woes…until the morning. We were to leave at 10:50 from Termini Station, Rome to go to Venice Santa Lucia station. Planning ahead and leaving plenty of time for any mishaps, we stepped out to the bus stop at 9:45. By 10:05 I was thinking of other plans, by 10:15 we were getting a little nervous, by 10:30 we had given up hope that we were going to catch that 10:50 at all. And that’s how our relationship ended with bus #649, on a low note, for sure. We got to Termini 8 minutes before boarding for the 10:50 and had no chance. Two hours later we boarded, happy to be away from buses and back to the familiar comfort of a train.

Amidst all these calamities, I did not have the patience to think of a ‘lessson to be learned,’ I was too busy wishing bad things to happen to bus #649 for that. But as I looked back again, I realized something. During the longest wait of the day, the grueling 45 minutes at Termini, Whitney said something interesting. She said the only thing that kept her waiting here, in the cold and in the rain, was the hope that the next sound of a diesel engine across the cobblestones was going to be her bus, her #649, coming to take her home. She said there was no way she would sit out here and wait had she known the wait would be so brutal, but since she didn’t, she (somewhat) calmly and (mostly) patiently waited for her ride.

I thought of how much that relates to the way my spirit is with God. Why can't I just wait, hoping, even knowing, that soon God will send something around the corner, my very own bus #649? Why can't I wait for his plan, for his dreams in his time? Instead, I make my own plans. I walk, I take a taxi, I take bus #40 and end up in a dark alleyway late at night with very few options but to run away. I want to be like that, waiting in the rain, in the wind, in the cold, with an expectant patience for God to reveal his plan for me.

As many of you know, this trip is a whole lot more than a glorified 6 months of sightseeing. Its a time to wait and listen and see the route our lives are going to take next. I hope I can do it. I hope I don't take the taxi or walk or choose some other way, but instead, wait for God to lead and then follow as best I can.