CREEDE HINSHAW: Flexing infrequently used spiritual muscles

I am moving more slowly these days, and it has nothing to do with my age. With the onset of Lent, the six-week penitential season preceding Easter, I have returned to my regular Lenten discipline of driving in the slow lane, a practice I began 25 Lents ago when, too faithless to go cold turkey, I limited my discipline to one main commuter artery.

Some people add disciplines for Lent: generosity, prayer, acts of kindness. Other people subtract things: alcohol, sugar, smartphone usage. I fall in the latter category, saying goodbye to lane changing and speed. And while driving more slowly, I also renounce the car radio, podcasts or Spotify. For six weeks I am driving slowly and silently.

My discipline this year began with a brutal start. Hopping into my car on the first day of Lent, I was pleased to see it was the top of the hour, meaning I would get to hear a 5-minute news update in its entirety. As I reached for the radio, I remembered my vow and drove silently down the highway, sulking all the way, only to come upon an enormous dump truck with the sign warning me, like the Israelites at Sinai, not to draw near. Up an incline I crept, wondering if I was going to survive my six-week discipline.

But now, a week into my new habits, I find myself in a very pleasant place. Unused spiritual muscles that were sore after initial use are now happily accustomed to this new routine.

Hands on the wheel at the 10 and 2 position, comfortably sitting in my cushioned seat, I fancy myself to be in a moving monastic cell of sorts. I don’t mean to compare myself to those men and women who practice silence and prayer on a 24-hour basis, but in my brief trips, miles disappearing leisurely, I am no longer tormented by which lane to occupy, whether to dare overtake the motorist ahead of me, whether to dart in and out of traffic and save 30 seconds.

One day, finding myself behind a pulpwood truck, logs bouncing and quivering, I decided to satisfy my curiosity and measure how much longer it would take me to arrive at my destination in the slow lane. Two ridiculously brief minutes is the most I could have saved.

What is the point of this exercise? I have found that the drive itself can be far more pleasant when I am not trying to squeeze out spare seconds. I can enjoy the scenery, although I still pay attention to the road. I can pray for people and situations. I can think. I can ponder. I can speculate.

I have made space for reverie; it has cost me nothing and given me much.

There is no downside to this discipline, other than beginning my trips a few minutes earlier to arrive on time. I make no promises, but this might be the year I extend this practice beyond Lent. I never thought I would contemplate such a thing.