Bob Parsons is an old friend from IU days. He and Helen were in the same graduating class, so you know he’s old. He and I started to Perkins School of Theology at SMU together. He even lived with us for a month in our house at Rankin Community Center before he was able to find a room closer to campus. After a distinguished pastoral career in TX, he retired to the Austin area, where he drives a school bus, of all things.
Driving a school bus is not for the faint-hearted, and certainly not for an old man. [He certainly doesn’t need the money. After all, he’s a wealthy retired preacher.] He does it as a ministry. He knows that the primary reason old people exist is to “let the little children come unto me.”
Driving a whole bunch of them to Jesus in a bus is an efficient way of letting them come.
I don’t mean that he preaches to them, in words. He just makes sure that each one of his little charges has at least one person each day who is kind to them, who pays total attention to them, who listens to them, who protects them.
Here is his reflection on the first day of school this year:
“Kindergartners on their first day to ride a school bus. Some enter with a whimper, some openly cry, some sit silently and tremble. Some are brave, some are rowdy. A beautiful five year old Indian boy sits behind me and softly chants a Hindu mantra. I silently join in “Amen, Amen, Amen.”
I’m often ashamed of my fellow old people. It seems the only thing we’re interested in is senior discounts and “get the government out of our lives, but don’t cut Medicare or Social Security.” In other words, we’re just mean and selfish. But I’m very proud when I think about Bob Parsons on that school bus each day, and I join in: Amen, Amen, Amen.
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