The Thing We Can’t Afford to Hate

I hated riding the bus when I was a kid.

It wasn’t just that I barfed one of the many times I got carsick – it was being crowded in there with a bunch of sweaty kids, riding for 45 minutes, and hearing the elderly bus driver scream, “Jennicka!!” at this little girl who was always causing trouble.

After I bought my Toyota Corolla in tenth grade, I promised myself I would never ride a bus again.  And now, at age 36, I ride the bus to work every day in Washington, DC.

Like the bus riding days of old, I have gotten carsick, my total commute is about 45 minutes, I frequently get pushed up against sweaty strangers, and I have heard more than one bus driver yell at trouble-making passengers.  And because I don’t have an alternative, I have chosen to be content – until yesterday.

Haters Gonna Hate

It was raining steadily, and when I got to the bus stop, I discovered that the next bus was coming in ten minutes.  This has been happening far too much lately.  As my fellow bus riders know, a late bus is a full bus.  And a full bus is probably going to leave you behind unless you elbow your way past elderly women and small children.

I did manage to force my way onto the bus and get all mashed up with a bunch of strangers.  Then we waited, and waited, and waited as the driver hollered and said she refused to go until everyone got behind the yellow line at the front.

When the bus finally pulled away, it sounded like it had been outfitted with the engine from an old John Deere tractor. And finally, two long and slow miles later, we finally chug-a-chug-chugged to my stop.  I stepped onto the sidewalk, looked back at the steamy bus of grossness and murmured, “I hate riding the bus.”  And as soon as I said it, I took it back.

My Only Alternative

I cannot afford to hate that bus.  I plan to live in the DC area and keep my current job for a while, and if I choose to hate my commute, then I’m going to be hating ten to eleven hours of my workweek for the next few years.

No.  I won’t do it.  It’s not worth it.  I can’t poison my life like that.

I have had good conversations with old ladies on my bus.  I have gotten a free ride from the driver.  I have read books I wouldn’t have otherwise had time to read; and I have gotten uninterrupted prayer time.  The bus can be cramped and crowded and slow and stinky; but it is a sanctuary God has given me right now, and that’s the way I’m going to see it, because life is too short to be hating big chunks of it.

I don’t know what your “bus” is – maybe it’s cleaning bedpans at work or helping your ungrateful kid with her homework or doing three more loads of laundry, but it’s your life.  It’s the one God gave you, and if He expects us to “make the most of every opportunity” we’ve been given (Ephesians 5:16), then I’m sure He intended for us to do that in the midst of the boredom, the annoyance, and the tedium.  Let’s find God in those times and see just how beautiful He can make even the most aggravating circumstances.

Let’s learn to love the imperfect bus we’re on.

If you’d like an email with a weekly recap of what I’ve written, click here.  You can also keep up with my latest articles (and more) on Facebook or Twitter.


  1. Graeme Phillips

    Wise words for people on my side of the Atlantic: – grumbling about public transport is a national pastime.


  2. Carole Moore

    This “elderly lady” needed to hear this today, Joshua! Thank you. It would be nice to have one of those bus conversations with you. Not sure when I last saw you. Even though I’ve met your lovely wife only once and have never seen your precious girls other than through pictures on FB, your posts, pictures and comments have made me feel that I know them well. I’m so proud that you’re a great dad and a loving husband! Why am I not surprised? Thank you for sharing some of your beautiful memories with so many of us. I love you!


    1. Thanks so much for those kind words, Ms. Carole. I’m so glad to be an encouragement to a lady who has been such an encouragement to me!


Comments are closed.