Some mornings it seems like every single slow driver in Waco is between me and where I want to go. I'm headed to work, boxed in on all sides by vehicles that are perfectly content cruising five to ten miles below the speed limit. Seriously in my way, and with no intention of getting out of it. Especially lately, since Keith and I found out we are moving across the country in ninety days.
It feels like someone put my life in fast forward and then hit the pause button on everyone else. You know that scene in all the romance movies where the lovers are in slow motion and everything around them is blurring and whizzing by, like time has stopped just for them on their own little euphoric island? They still have that scene in most romance movies, right? I mean, I think they do. Romance movies aren't really my cup of tea these days so forgive me if I'm out of touch. Anyway, it's like that scene in romance movies, only in reverse. The rest of the world is crawling blissfully along around me, and Keith and I are in frantic, hysteric, faster-than-light speed mode. Just a series of twitches and whirls and spastic motion. Even my heart rate feels perpetually elevated, my breathing a little faster, a little more shallow.
On mornings like these- the mornings of the past few days, and of the weeks and months ahead- I know I need a little extra measure of grace. Need to stop, just deliberately stop, and be still and be quiet and breathe in deeply. A flood of oxygen gulped in. Pressed all the way down to the tips of my toes. Pushed out slowly, gloriously, through the top of my head. I need to close my eyes and let the wonderment wash over me. Ponder the magnitude of this great adventure we're about to embark on. Feel the gratitude for these long-awaited answers to our fervently whispered prayers.
Pause. Deep breath. Grace, grace, grace. And then a big smile, and keep running along.
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