In a small town with 7,500 people, I found myself in a long traffic flow and couldn't give in. In either lane.

Finally, I easily entered the old Tastee Freeze parking lot, pulled out my sewing machine from the back seat, and walked across the road to The Common Thread where I threw it there to repair it.

"What's the matter?" I exclaimed.

I stared at the congestion of more than a hundred cars. "No one rides the school bus now?"

Taking the school bus for 10 years is one of the most meaningful experiences in my life. On the first day of the first grade, when my mother went to report to me, I begged her to let me ride the bus instead of riding with her. Every day, since I was a toddler, I just sat on the front steps and watched it pass by our house, dreaming that those doors would open for me. 

Oh, the lessons I learned from that gentle yellow bus-such as being prepared and punctually disciplined. The school bus did not wait for anyone. The mother did not coax, threaten or beg. When it drove off the highway and followed our road, I knew to be prepared and wait.

I missed the bus only once in 10 years. One minute early, I was one minute late. When the driver looked around for a reliable me, when I heard it was slow, my hand was on the front door handle. When I watched its taillight cross the bridge, my heart sank. I missed the bus.

Literally and figuratively, I will never do this again.

The friendship of those school bus eras instilled confidence. Vicki, who is two years older than her, is one of the most popular girls in the school. She will help me reserve a seat next to her every morning and afternoon. Sometimes she wears her cheerleading uniform, which makes me feel more special.

The school bus introduced me to the rushing season. In the mild spring, while I was waiting in the mailbox, the birds sang a serenade for me, and autumn brought colorful oranges and reds to entertain me. It has become my favorite season, and those have become the colors I wear and decorate.

The cold Appalachian morning made me tremble in pain, and the storm forced me to hide under the front porch, and then ran, holding a book tightly in my hand, and when I saw the headlights turning around the corner, I tried my best. All you can.

Later, I realized that this is a metaphor for life: the storm is sometimes violent, the birds sometimes rejoice, and sometimes they are beautiful.

My brother-in-law Rodney drove a school bus. Every afternoon, his youngest son waited excitedly for Rodney to return from his route in front of the house. Rodney would stop, open the door, greet his beloved passenger, and ride 20 yards to the bus parking spot. What a wonderful memory.

A colleague of Rodney has a 9-year-old passenger who is a typical childish trouble. The first child went to school in the morning and the last child left work in the afternoon. Jimmy spent every ride in the haze of fists and blood. No amount of disciplinary action or going to the principal's office can stop him.

In a fierce rear-car battle, the driver parked the car on the side of the road.

"Jimmy, come here!" he roared. The little boy lowered his head and sneaked to the front.

"This battle will stop. Today." The driver began to walk towards Jesus in earnest. Suddenly, Jimmy raised his head suddenly and his eyes widened. He was very depressed.

"But, Mr. Jackson, you don't understand!!!" he shouted. He beat his chest frantically. "One day, I will win!"

That special school bus lesson accompanied me on the journey of life.

It is very helpful to me.

Ronda Rich is the best-selling author of "Southern Women's Understanding of Faith". Visit www.rondarich.com to sign up for her free newsletter.