One minute too late. I watched the bus roaring away, atypically on time.
Where could I have gained that missing minute? Not talking so long with the receptionist? Running down the street? J-walking? Not stopping to greet the kebab owner? Dashing out of the phone repair shop without the normal pleasantries when I found out the owner spoke English? I had known my time was limited, but…
But as the bus roared away, suddenly I was excited. Right there, surrounded by empty benches, I felt a thrill go through me.
I had missed the bus by a hair. Maybe God had orchestrated this for a reason. What else could He have in mind?
I looked around me, expecting to see that one person that God would nudge me to talk to. But there was no one. Slowly, I meandered out of the station, determined to put myself in the way of what God was up to.
I ended up sitting at an outdoor table of a café, sipping a drink and watching the world pass by. A world that took no notice that I was waiting to be used by God.
When the hour was up, I made my way back to the bus station and endured an uneventful ride home. I stared out the window. “God, why did you let me miss the bus? Why didn’t you send anyone for me to talk to? God, did you really redeem that time or not?”
How will I ever know? But does it even matter? God may have been up to something. Or maybe all He was up to was showing me that He doesn’t need to give me an account of what He’s up to.