Slow down, you move too fast. Got to make the morning last.

I recently got my car engine fixed to the tune of $500. For the last month I’ve been driving in a car that didn’t accelerate. Literally. Pedal to the metal—nothing. It took me a good 30 seconds to go from 5 to 50mph, which on paper sounds pretty good. Not so much. The sad part is, not being able to drive fast made me realize how hurried people are. While merging onto the highway, oversized SUVs and semi trucks left me in the dust like nobody’s business. As a result of my sluggish pace, I was often plagued with honks and dirty looks. One time I even got honked at for letting a pedestrian cross the street while I was making a right turn. Geesh.

I couldn’t help but think, what’s the rush? Sure, I’ve been late to work before and in a hurry to get where I’m going. But lately I’ve been wondering why we tear around like crazy as if we never have enough time to do anything, go anywhere, talk to anyone. Consequently, I’ve decided to make a more conscious effort to slow down in all areas of my life. Easier said than done, but I think it’s worth the effort.

Brings to mind a childhood song I remember singing with my mom:

Have patience, have patience, don’t be in such a hurry
When you get impatient, you only start to worry
Remember, remember, that God is patient too
And think of all the times when others had to wait on you.

Slow down, take a deep breath, and be well. Grace and peace, Carolyn

The Wheels on the Bus Go...

I love riding the bus. When I was in school I regularly took public transportation, but since moving to the boonies have gotten into the habit of driving everywhere. There’s something rawly authentic about the bus. It’s a reminder of the harsh realities facing people daily right here in Minneapolis and surrounding suburbs. Sure, you occasionally get stuck sitting by someone who reeks of smoke or talks your ear off, but that’s a small price to pay for experiencing genuine kindness from strangers.

This morning I turned around to exit from the double 16 at Moos Tower. An older Asian man pointed to the back door, as if he was concerned I was lost. When I pushed the door for it to open—it doesn’t move automatically—he made a pushing motion, as if saying ‘PUSH HARD!!’ It may sound corny, but I felt so loved and cared for by this man who didn’t utter a single word.

On the way home, an older bearded man plopped down in the seat across from me with his cane and backpack. “Hello”, he says, “How are you? Think you could move your stuff?” I moved my Chinese take-out as he plunked his stinky bare feet on the seat next to me. “What do you do?” I explained that I was a nurse and worked at HCMC. “I have Aspergers and have a hard time concentrating and want to get a PCA. Do you do homecare?” Laughing inside, I explained that I don’t but there are many people that do. His openness and friendliness, contrary to his proclaimed diagnosis, left me smiling as I exited the train saying “Have a good evening”.

Maybe if we all rode the bus once in awhile, we’d be kinder, more patient people.

Be well. Grace and Peace, Carolyn