I like yelling at cars. Something cathartic happens when I talk to vehicles and say things out loud like, "Sometime today" or "Would it have killed you to use a blinker?" Having a HOG in Houston hones these expression skills, not to mention honking my horn. The same is true when I drive four-wheeled vehicles. I like talking to other cars just as much on those occasions. But I need to calm down.
These things were on my mind yesterday as I pulled out of the Sonic parking lot on my way to pick up the kids from school. From the driver's seat of our little blue SUV, I glanced in my review mirror to see another vehicle pulling out at the same time. I paused since the other guy clearly had no intentions of yielding. As I made sure he was out of the way, the two of us made eye contact at which point he gave me a look like, "I get to go first!" I replied out loud, "Congratulations, pal, you won the parking lot race. One day you will have a story to tell your grandkids."
I need to calm down.
This morning, I think it may be a good idea to start Lent early, even though we still have 288 days until Ash Wednesday. What I want to give up, as well as what I want to take on, both have to do with trips to Sonic and daily encounters with bad drivers.
If you are wondering what I was doing at Sonic, it was something unusual. I was being thoughtful. That's what I want to take on for Lent: Thoughtfulness. It is not that I lack consideration for others. It just does not come naturally. When you grow up an only child with a survival instinct, you do not spend a great deal of time thinking about doing for others. That is something I have had to cultivate with great intent through my adult life.
So yesterday, it was not quite time to pick up the kids. I was close to the Sonic near their school. We all love cherry limeades with the little pebbles of Sonic ice. Mmm-mmm-good. Plus, their happy hour is from 2-4, half-priced drinks. I thought, "They would really like one for after school." Easy enough. Pull in, park, order, pay, get the drinks, avoid a fender-bender with earlier-mentioned nimrod, and go get the kids.
Easy-as-you-pleezee.
I pulled into the school driveway, drinks in tow. My girl got in first. She was about to be a party to my attempt at thoughtfulness.
"Hey, sweetheart," I said as I greeted her.
"Hey, daddy," she replied, at which point she pulled out a story she wrote about a panda.
After a little talking, I said, "Here is a cherry limeade." Her face dropped, not in disappointment, but in shock.
"Really? What for?"
"Just thought you'd like one."
"I would!"
Not a few minutes later, the boy hobbled up to the car on his crutches still fresh from last week's soccer injury.
"Hey, boy."
"Hey, dad. How's it going?"
"Great," I answered. "Want a cherry limeade?"
Same response as a few minutes ago. Initial shock, followed by elation. And all was right with the world.
Yesterday I realized that Lent may be too far away to start practicing these dispositions, to cultivate thoughtfulness, and to give up talking to cars. In fact, the kinds of things I do and do not do during Lent are probably things I need to focus on year-round.
This morning, a dumptruck just ahead of me floated back and forth between two lanes, one of which I was in. We bikers tend to notice such bad driving habits. The downside, however, of being so keenly aware is that it makes you more critical. At least it does for me.
While I was growing up, I had to take care of myself on multiple occasions. I cooked scrambled eggs for myself at night when I was ten, earned my own spending money at thirteen, and supported myself through college. The downside, however, of every-man-for-himself-survival-of-the-fittest existence is that it makes you less thoughtful of others. At least it did for me.
I share this with you today, O faithful bloggerland listener, as part inspirational story, part accountability confessional. Perhaps this is my warm up for Lent nine months early. Replace critical with thoughtful.
Some people, by the way, don't like it when I talk this way. They think the preacher is supposed to be as pure as the non-peed-upon snow. But I am convinced that all of us in the church need to tell more stories about the ways God works on our hearts and habits, including those times when we realize what we need to throw away, and what we need to keep.
And quite frankly, these attempts of your's and mine have everything to do with gratitude for what God is making all of us who long to take on the image and likeness of Christ, a gospel that looks and sounds like Anne Lamott's clever saying, "God accepts us just the way we are, and loves us too much to let us stay that way." Hopefully, by much prayer and patience, those of us who live lives in Jesus can be living proof that you can teach an old hog new tricks.
