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By: Brenda Wilkerson

“Hey, ma’am?” Hearing a soft voice behind me, I responded to the handsome new rider while keeping my eyes on the rainy street ahead of me. “Yes, sir?”

“Do you have a nice house?” My heart skipped a beat knowing I had to walk softly around this particular subject. You see, he and his sister had just moved in to what was known as a very disheveled, low-income set of small condominiums.

My mind raced as I realized that his careful question was pleading for some sort of validation. I glanced up into the large review mirror to meet the eyes who pulled that question out of his little raw soul. Those brown eyes were soft but intense looking for answers from questions presented to him by his peers.

I opened my mouth to speak, and it was like the Heavenly Father reached through my words to embrace this young man’s heart sitting behind me.

“Do you have a warm bed?”… “Yes ma’am.”

“Do you have food on the table each day?”… “Yes ma’am.”

“Do you have people there who love you?”… “Yes ma’am.”

I paused. “Then you have a lovely home!”

It was like his heart finally drew in a deep breath. I could feel the temporary relief. Seemingly satisfied, he sat back in his seat and stared out the window as the raindrops slid down like tears falling from a shattered heart. The rest of the ride was uneventful until we stopped in front of his house. As I flipped the switch that opens the big double doors, he and several others filed off at this stop. Before I could close the doors and release the brake, he turned, looked me dead in the eyes, and without hesitation said, “I love you.”

My heart ached and burst all at the same time. “Buddy, I love you too!” The bus doors closed and the brake was released. He continued to stand in that very spot for what seemed like a small eternity. My foot pressed the gas and we accelerated toward the next stop of the afternoon journey. Slowly he turned and headed for his door. His house. His home.

May God comfort and bless your heart today like no one else can, little sir.

Until the morning . . .

By: Brenda Wilkerson