“I’ll catch the 9:50.” I was perusing the schedule for bus route number 1, the “red” route that would take me to downtown Ames, Iowa. I needed to stop in the Iowa State bookstore and pick up a few souvenirs for friends before going downtown to visit the shop where I had seen a gift I also needed to take back to Georgia. It was my last day in Ames and I had to make sure to be back at my inn by 1:00 so I could take the shuttle to Des Moines for the flight home.

I greeted the driver with the most sincere “Good morning” that I had in me and took the first seat behind him, one of those in which the riders face one another. This is usually a situation that calls for a quick glance across at ones fellow riders and then the practiced indifference that looks past them and out the window. Not on this day.

My initial glance across caught sight of a woman who, instinctively, made my heart feel pity. This initial heartache was followed by a more in­depth look at her. She seemed to have a pained expression on her face, a cane was leaning against her seat. It was red and looked to be aluminum, and I thought for a moment that perhaps it was one of those “feeler” canes that I had seen the wounded veterans training with as they tried to learn to cope with eyesight that was no longer their privilege.

As my eyes moved back to her face and away from that red stick I noticed that the expression on this lady’s face was not pained anymore. I watched as she seemed to be speaking. Over the noise of the bus I could hardly hear her. As we stopped at red lights or picked up passengers I could make out some of what she was saying. At first I assumed that she was not totally in her right mind and was rambling on to no one in particular. This assumption caused me to look past her and out the window for fear that she would engage me as her sounding board and then I’d be a little uncomfortable. However, it became clear to me that she had no interest in speaking to me. She was telling the driver that she had been invited to a wedding and filling in details that I could not hear.

By this time, I had begun to notice that this angel was smiling as she talked. For the rest of the ride that smile stayed on her face. “What did you do to your chin , John?” “I cut it shaving”. “I’ve had a beard for two years and the skin isn’t used to it”. “Oh! Well you…” and the bus pulled away from the light. All I could do was watch her as she finished the thought. I had noticed the full­sized bandage on the bottom of his chin when I boarded.

I pulled the cord to have the bus stop. I was happy to see that my favorite passenger started to get her things together to exit with me at the same place. It was the City Hall stop, and transfers could be made to other routes there. As she rose ahead of me I could see that her legs were twisted in the way that Palsy so cruelly disfigures people. She stepped out into the misty rain. She crossed in front of the bus as it waited for her. Apparently John was familiar with the struggle that this dear lady faces every day.

“Father, I have no problems. I have no problems. Please forgive me for bringing my petty ‘needs’ to you, and especially, for ever complaining or being ill­-tempered.” I can’t remember how I prayed for my little angel with the red cane, but I know I did, and I meant it with all I had in me.

I walked about ten steps and turned around. She was in the middle of the street, but it was clear and she seemed safe. I walked another few seconds and stopped to see her again, standing on her crooked legs in that purple jacket and its hood now over her head. She was looking my way, looking for her bus to come out of the rain. I couldn’t see her face, but I supposed that she was still smiling.

My heart melted at the beautiful human being with whom I had shared a bus ride. Thank you,Lord, for letting me be on the 9:50 this morning. Please take care of Grace, and please let me see her again in your Kingdom. I know she will be there, with legs as strong as her spirit.