Writers 
By 6:30 a.m., the bus was already full.
I stood beside it with my bag on my shoulder, watching people squeeze through the door.
“Last seat!” the driver shouted. I looked inside. There was one seat left at the very back so I climbed in.
That morning, I was travelling for something I had prayed about for months. Everything depended on that day.
The money had been borrowed. The clothes had been carefully ironed the night before. The documents were arranged in a brown envelope.
Even my mother had called before I left. “Don't worry,” she said. “God has gone ahead of you.”
I smiled when I heard it. I believed her. At least, I thought I did.
Three hours into the journey, the bus stopped in the middle of nowhere. The driver got down.
People started asking questions. Then he came back and announced that the vehicle had developed a serious fault. Nobody spoke for a few seconds. Then everybody started complaining.
One said he had an appointment. Another said he had a flight to catch. A lady with an interview appointment spoke up. A man was going for grooms men duties for his friend.
Everybody had somewhere to be and so I checked the time. My appointment was getting closer. I called the number on my document and there was no answer.
I called again and no one answered.
My heart started beating faster. I stepped outside the bus to take a look and the road stretched in both directions. There were no taxis, buses or even motorcycles.
I remember looking at the sky and thinking,
“God, seriously?” I had done everything right. I had prayed, prepared, left early.
So why was everything suddenly going wrong?
I sat on a roadside stone and opened my bag. My brown envelope was still there. The documents were still there. But for the first time, they didn't make me feel hopeful. They made me feel foolish.
What if I missed the appointment?
What if all the money we had spent was wasted?
What if this was simply another door that wasn't going to open?
I didn't have answers. So I prayed again.
This time, I wasn't confident. I wasn't quoting scriptures or declaring anything.
I just whispered, “God, I don't know what You're doing. But I still trust You.”
I sat there for another few minutes.
Then an old man who had been travelling with us walked over.
“You are going somewhere important?” he asked.
I nodded. “Very important.”
He smiled.
“My daughter is going that direction. Wait for her.”
I almost laughed. It sounded too convenient.
But I had nowhere else to go. About twenty minutes later, a small car appeared in the distance.
The man's daughter was driving. There was one empty seat.
Mine.
I got in.
She drove me almost directly to the place I was going. I arrived with only seven minutes to spare.
Seven.
I ran inside. I made it.
Months later, I still remembered that day.
Not because everything went perfectly. It didn't.
The bus broke down. My calls went unanswered.
I panicked. I almost gave up.
But somewhere between the breakdown and the destination, I learned something.
Sometimes faith looks beautiful when everything is working.
It is easy to say, “God will make a way,” when you can already see the road.
The real test is when you are sitting beside a broken-down bus with no idea how you will continue.
When the plan fails.
When the door seems closed.
When the clock is moving and you have no solution.
That was the day I understood that trusting God doesn't mean knowing how He will do it.
It means believing that you don't have to know.
Because sometimes the road you planned to take will break down completely.
And somehow, there will still be another way.
You just have to keep going long enough to find it.