Thursday thoughts & things: July 28
Thoughts on a car crash and community and things to read, listen to and remember.
A lot happens in the strange, elongated moment between the time you think a car might crash into you and the second that it does.
You notice how cold and gray the January day is. You see the other driver, drifting from the side street at a two-way stop sign. He’s checking for traffic the other way. Surely he’s going to look back this way. You swerve when you realize he didn’t. You feel a momentary relief when you think you made it past.
Then, a jarring crunch when his car hits yours, stopping both in their tracks.
No one is injured, but everything changes.
For the first time in decades, I am without a car of my own until the body shop muddles through the backlog of other cars awaiting repairs. By the time it’s all over, I will likely have been carless for four months.
Inconvenient? Absolutely. I can’t hop in the car to make a quick run to the grocery store if I realize I am missing an ingredient at dinner. I can’t drive to one of the nearby state parks or trails for a hike or off-road bike ride. There are events and activities that I am declining because I don’t have my own way to get there and don’t want to bother anyone for a ride.
Ironically, the inconvenience is absolutely life-giving.
In the absence of instant access to a machine that can get me across town in minutes and across the state in a few hours, I’m slowing down to a pace closer to the one we humans were always intended to take.
While walking to work, I’ve noticed spring awakening in the tiny, purple crocuses popping up in the cracks of the sidewalk and in the buds barely popping out from trees. I look down into the cool waters of the world-class trout stream that runs through our town. I hear the church bells chiming out the time, and take in the sights of the winter farmer’s market on the town square.
Even if I ride my bike, I’m going slow enough to notice the buildings and the subtle changes that start happening as warmer weather approaches. I can wave at the crossing guard on the corner while he waits for school children to come along. I feel the chill of the morning, and can’t believe how much warmer it is when I ride home in the evening.
Instead of multiple trips to the grocery store because I’m terrible at planning and the store is on the way home from work, I’m making lists and buying as much as I can when I join someone else on their trip to the store.
And those events? I could have - and probably should have - said no to them in the first place but the convenience of the car never prompted me to question whether or not I truly, truly had time for them.
What I’ve learned in being forcibly released from my steel and glass cage is that so much of the inherent busyness and constant hustle that leaves me aching for true rest comes from choosing convenience over making difficult choices. Piece by piece I build the heavy yoke I carry while reading - but tacitly ignoring - Jesus’ invitation to come to him and accept his light and easy yoke and the rest for my soul that comes with it.
For me, it took losing easy access to transportation to even begin to count the ways I have missed the beauty, carried too much and exhausted myself by continuing to carry on a packed schedule. What will it take for you? How can you step back from the busyness and reach out a hand to take the yoke Jesus offers?
A note: This essay originally appeared in mid-April in the Black Barn Collective, an online community where art and faith, cultivated in community, take root, flourish, and grow. If you’re a writer or artist looking for a community, I can’t recommend the Barn enough. The crash happened in January and, due to supply chain issues among other things, I finally had the car back on July 1.
A thing to read …
Fredrik Backman became one of my favorite writers from the first page of the first book I read (Beartown, naturally). In Anxious People, we get a collection of quirky people who start out at an apartment viewing and end up entwined in a bank robbery investigation. As usual, Backman is brilliant at creating characters in this closed-room mystery that will keep you entertained. I listened to the audiobook, but highly recommend reading it instead as it can get a little tricky if you zone out for a few seconds while listening.
A thing to listen to … Caamp’s Lavender Days
One day last summer, Caamp’s song, By and By, came up as a recommendation on Spotify. This summer, I’m loving their new release. It’s folksy sound is a perfect accompaniment to chilling out on the deck or background music while you’re working.
A thing to remember …
You tore down the veil between us and the Holy of Holies, Keep our hands from rehanging that curtain.
- Sarah Bessey in A Rhythm of Prayer: A Collection of Meditations for Renewal.