The driver of the mini bus got out.

The passengers remained in the bus until they realized that their young driver was not coming back.

He had arrived at his destination but they were still some distance from theirs.

One of them got into the driver’s seat, did a three point turn and set off in the direction from which they had come hoping to find a sign that would point them towards home.

No such luck.  The further they went the sparser the countryside.

Eventually they came upon a small holding.

The farmer was pleased to see them but he was of little help.  Even the map he produced for them only served to highlight how far they were from where they wanted to be.  Worse still there appeared to be no direct route out of the dead end that they found themselves in.

Someone spotted a super elevated motorway at some distance and an A road running parallel and below it.  It became clear that this was the way they needed to go.  But the few dirt tracks out of the small holding all led away from the roaring traffic in the distance.

They seemed trapped with nowhere to go despite their protestations and desires.

Is the mini bus that I dreamed of the church to which we belong?  Notice that it’s a mini bus not a 52-seater coach.  Each passenger is located in their own seat.  People of, in the main now, mature years, with an enthusiastic young driver heading towards a destination he may be happy with but not so the passengers.  Eventually he gets out and leaves them to it.  Then they grow restless, agitated, knowing that they should be on the move and heading home even if they can’t quite work out the route.  The signs to encourage and help them seem no longer in evidence and they arrive in a wilderness while the world, on its super elevated path, rushes by, heading to goodness knows where.