Convictions and race car driving

I value speed.  Being able to do things quickly is important to me, whether it is running, swimming (I won), reading, thinking, or eating dinner, it doesn't matter - I love fast.  When I see people do things quickly (and right and well), I have a burst of joy and pride that aims in their direction.  

See how quickly my little genius is advancing through algebra?  Yay!  

Wow, look at how fast that guy is running.  Impressive!  

Did that guy just calculate a crazy multiplication problem in his head in like five seconds?  Yessss.  Awesome.  Oooh!

green stripe in hair is real

Conversely, the opposite of fast makes me feel...frustrated, impatient, and bonkers.  Is this lady purposely walking this slow in front of me to annoy me?  (And by walking, I mean waddling slowly like a drunk penguin.)  I am so glad she is taking up the entire aisle, too.  Wow.  I think she is!  I think she literally is thinking, "I am going to drive this girl nuts right now.  This is so funny.  Ha ha ha ha ha ha (evil sounding laughs, of course)!"  God, help me with patience - right now!  (Free irony.)

But no where else does it come down to rubber meets road in the speedy department like it does with driving (um, literally?).  I LOVE driving fast.  When I was in high school, I determined with my Dad that after I graduated, we would go down to Indiana and take a weekend course on how to become race car drivers (that was before Danica Patrick was on the scene).  My Dad was all over this, but unfortunately, after the cost of the insurance and other expenses, we decided it was a bit too pricey.  No problem!  I decided to drive my awesome 1994 red Ford Tempo as if it were a racecar anyway.  Awesome.  (I only got in one accident, in case you are currently tsk-tsking me.  Yes, I totaled a car, but that was because of flooded lanes and hydroplaning into walls, which obviously was not my fault.)  

fast and cute = win

Since everything in life is a race (clearly...I hope you haven't glossed over this in your own life), I have always enjoyed passing people on the expressway and getting new low times for getting to places (I reset a timer in my car to check if I can beat my old times) since it means I am winning.  (Do not ask, "Winning what?"  That is besides the point.  I am winning life.)  

Until about a week ago.  What a stupid day it was!  I was reading an article from someone I respect a great deal about obeying the law and not speeding and how if you are going to be obedient to God in everything that it also includes subjecting yourself to the (horrible) speed limit.  

WHY DID I KEEP READING?!

It was like, well, maybe if you obey God in even these menial bits of life, perhaps there will be other little blessings as a result - like perhaps maybe you will have less red lights, or have a shorter wait in line at Meijer.   Now I don't know about that, and I really don't want to obey God for the benefit of a possibly shorter line at the grocery store, but the whole driving the speed limit as a way to being obedient to God stuck in my head like an arrow to the heart.  

I have been trying to do so.  Let me tell you, it is SO HORRIBLE.  People are speeding past me on the expressway!  I feel like a dufis lame-o nooney head!  Oh, why can't the speed limit be 80 mph?!  Actually, no.  That's not even it.  I don't care what the speed limit is - I just want to be faster than EVERYONE ELSE.  And it is really hard to do that when I have this internal regulator switched on.  Listening to loud music isn't the same when you're driving slow, either.  So much trauma!  

Last week, my little was in the backseat and said,  "Mom.  Why are you driving so slow?!"  I explained my situation.  "Ugh," he said, "I wish I were driving with Dad now!  He even drives faster than this!"  (Up until this time the hubby was somewhat famous in the fam for driving like, let's say, an old grandpa - words of child, not my words.)  Double arrow to the heart.

I suppose that this too shall bring out a more disciplined aspect, even though going through it is pure torture.  

So if you see me on the road, honk and wave as you fly past.  

Peace, love, and granny driving, 
Ms. Daisy