I Take the Bus

I take the bus. It's not a first time experience. I took the bus a lot in Bolivia. That was a novel experience...until it became normal. Normal to swivel sideways and slide my body into the scant space left on the step inside and have my back exposed to the elements because the door wouldn't close. Normal to have a seat inside but find a campesino's butt in my face and his wife's child on my lap. It was normal to not have a seat and to bend my knees or my neck in order to accomodate the short ceiling created for Asians but shipped second-hand to South America. Normal to strike up conversations with complete strangers and purchase from the merchants vending their pop, peanuts, sugar cane, bolo, and even lunch in a bag outside my window. It was normal for someone to light up a smoke in the bus or cart their small livestock into the aisle. When it was time to get off, I would yell, "Stop, please" and the driver would let me exit anywhere at anytime. All this was my bus experience once upon a lifetime in Bolivia.

These days, I board the bus for a mere 10 minutes to get to the downtown. Instead of yelling, "Stop, please!", I pull a wire and a ding lets the driver know that I need to get off at the next regulated stop. I flash my student card and go anywhere for free but not at anytime. Only at set times and with less times and less buses on holidays. On some buses, there is an automated, androgynous voice that informs me, "Next stop, SPUD-ina" (Spadina) or "Next stop, Hahn" (that merely sounds like someone exhaling). People rarely say anything to another person and almost everyone has their eyes trained to little screens with their fingers flying to send flurries of texts about topics that nobody should care about. In fact, the scope of the personal bubble spans so that some people prefer to sit their rears on the steel separation of the seats rather than have their arm touch the arm of someone else. It is a surreal and strange sensation that settles upon me as I sway my way back and forth from home, Monday to Friday every week.

Several weeks ago, after observing my fellow passengers in the terminal and on the bus, I started to think that it was all just a petri-dish of the kind of people that I will be working with as a social worker. On one of my first trips, a large young lady with really bad acne sat beside me and then turned her head to stare at me, unflinchingly, for the entire journey. Another time, a man across from me was eating those little bags of chips that you only find at Halloween. With his head tilted backward, he kept pulling the small sacs out of his bag, one after another, tearing them open, and dumping the contents into his open mouth. There are also the mumblers, the fighters, and those who should rent a room instead of take the bus.

I could continue to view these people as fields for social work, but I've come to realize that when I look at them, I am looking at me. I'm not observing specimens through a narrow, microscopic lens but rather I am seeing my reflection in a mirror. I have the same urges to stare at others or eat an entire bag of chips by myself. At home, I mutter to myself constantly and even though I don't fight or make out with others, it's not like I don't want to.

I take the bus. It's not the same as taking the bus in Bolivia, but the novelty and surrealism has turned into a solidarity with strangers that makes me see myself for who I really am. A lot like you.

The Absence Effect

What effect does absence have on our relationships? Is it ruinous or does it enhance them? There's the familiar saying, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder" and although I retch at its triteness, I do believe that being absent from someone increases our affection for that person.

I enjoy the presence of someone so much more than being away from him or her, but without absence, would it be as sweet? Extended absence has had a negative effect on some of my past relationships. It made me or the other person forget one another as we called or emailed each other with less and less frequency. Perhaps the nature of these experiences hinges on the heart. A heart that is secure and grounded in the assurance of another person's commitment and love can endure time apart; the body may be absent but the heart remains intimately present.

During those absences, I became nostalgic about these people and I missed them. My memory of him or her became inflated and the person became someone more grandiose and wonderful than what he or she really was; my affection increased for them because they were no longer present in my day to day life. My heart bloomed with wistfulness in such a way that the next time I saw the person, I felt somewhat let-down; reminded of the fact that he or she was merely human like me and not the unduly esteemed version in my head. Henri Nouwen describes these encounters by writing: "(It's) as if we sensed that we were more for each other than we could express." In other words, separation can create a hyper-sense of closeness and longing that cannot be conveyed in togetherness. There are amazing times when deep reaches out to deep and actually meet but it doesn't happen with every encounter.

This absence/presence dynamic that we experience with other people comes with the realization that no person can meet our needs and fill our hearts perfectly. In fact, we should never expect a friend, sibling, parent, or spouse to occupy this role. It's not a possible or fair expectation. The longing we experience for others in their absence isn't always satisfied in their presence because it was created to carry us to our Creator. We crave community and a sense of belonging but find ourselves half-starved until we discover intimacy with God.

To be with God in his glorious presence is better than life. It is life. Paul says in Philippians 1:21, "For me to live is Christ but to die is gain." Jesus told us that it was better that he leave us because he was going to send us his Spirit instead (John 16:7). Even our own departures from God's presence eventual propel us back into his arms because nothing compares to him once we know him. Jesus is completely present with us but absent at the same time. Until he returns, we wait in eager expectation and our affection for him should swell with every day that we seize. With his return, there will be no let-down or sense of disillusionment. For those who call on his name, he will be the joy of our desiring and deep will meet deep and be satisfied. To be absent from this body is to be present with the Lord; absence makes the heart grow fonder but presence is always sweeter.