I’m at the Transit Center, ready to board the No. 24 Donald, which will pull out of Bay L in about two minutes. 

Ahead of me, looking a little disheveled, is a young woman. It’s a warm summer night. It’s the last run of the day. And she is barefoot.

The driver says to her, “Ma’am, you can’t ride the bus barefoot.”

Uh-oh. We’ve got a problem. The young woman is barefoot, it’s the last bus tonight, and I can’t abide her not being allowed to board.

She wants to get to where she’s going as much as I want to get to where I’m going.

I know that I can’t give her my boots. Then I’d be barefoot.

But wait! I can give her my socks!

So I ask the driver, “Do socks count?”

She looks at me a little startled. “I guess,” she says.

“Hold on,” I tell her. And to the young woman I say: “Follow me.”

We fly off the bus. I dive for the metal bench near the door of the bus, pull off one boot, pull off the sock, back on with the boot. Off with the other boot, off with the sock, on with the boot.

“Sister,” I say to the young woman, “would you like a pair of socks?” I hope that my dangling them in the warm evening breeze will air them out a bit.

She looks stunned. Then she sits down, bends over, pulls on one sock, then the other. We reboard.

It’s odd, I think, seeing my boot socks on someone else’s feet.

I smile. 

It’s the smile of one who is free to be free.

Sock Sister pays her fare. She takes a seat. And the driver looks at me, a little astonished at what has just happened. I show her my pass. 

We take off. I sit across the aisle from Sock Sister, and back a row. 

This was not an exchange I envisioned when I got out of bed this morning.

We chug up the steep climb on Donald Street. I ring the bell for the stop at 40th, put on my backpack, and rise to deboard.

Sock Sister sees me stir, and turns to catch my eye.

“Thank you,” she says, “and God bless you.”

I can tell by the look in her eyes that she wants me to receive this gift of blessing.

“God bless you,” I say with a gentle wave.

There is vulnerability in riding public transit. There is vulnerability in encountering people I do not know, people who may not look like me, or dress like me, or live the way I do. 

So what?

The real vulnerability is in daring to let the Lord be Lord. To let him lead the way. To let him journey with me, and to experience the thrill of journeying with him.