It was Sunday morning, and I was feeling smug. Of course I didn’t know it. I don’t think we ever do. I think “smug” is such a patently unattractive thing to be, that, unless we’re guzzling down gallon-sized doses of self-deception, it’s hard to stay it for very long.
For me, smug disguises itself as all kinds of things. I’ve been smugly heroic, smugly aggrieved, and a smug stalwart against catastrophic moral turpitude. I’ve been smugly smarter than everyone else (on the planet) a number of times, not to mention smugly more perceptive. But Sunday? Well. Sunday, I was, of all things, smugly humble.
Why, I’d just posted my Every Day A Feast: Preamble. Surely the Sarah who was overly (perhaps obsessively) concerned about time and being on time and how much time to do we have and what time is it, for God’s sake! had yielded to a softer, more contemplative, more Zen version of herself. This new Sarah would be remembered as a quiet, self-effacing soul who never bothered about little things like “time.”
Yes, I was running a bit late for church, but far be it from me to let that ruin the beauty of the snow along the road. Ah — yes — the snow…
There was quite a lot of it, wasn’t there? Perhaps I shouldn’t have taken this back road to the interstate after all. Perhaps I was being too cautious. I could probably hit the gas a little. I hit the gas a little.
Ahead of me a woman in a gray minivan coming the opposite direction listed into my lane, then back into hers. Then, as if in slow motion, the car spun in two wide circles before lodging itself in a ditch. I gently eased onto the brake and watched the two cars behind her pull off to help.
Well. No matter. I would go slowly and enjoy the snow. And then hit the freaking gas as soon as I got on the interstate and go 80, ok maybe 85, down to church and make it almost on time. Slightly-Less-Than-Zen Sarah glanced a little anxiously at the Apple Maps ETA, which was now reading 10:22.
The on-ramp, when I got there, was curiously covered in ice. As was the interstate. The salt trucks and plows were doing their best but this was…this was 35 solid miles of ice. No I would not turn off the music. I was going to enjoy this drive, damnit. And not be concerned about the gps, damnit, that was now telling me I’d be a full ten, no nine, no ten (!) minutes late to church. The music was giving me a headache. I thought, if did not exactly say, unkind things about the driver of the semi ahead of me.
I think I would have been ok if it hadn’t been for the detour. But, man, this detour! I’m sorry! I was less than two miles away. Less than two miles! You’re going to tell me the road is closed?! That I have to cut down what street? I can’t…I couldn’t take it. By the time building was in sight, I was a full fifteen minutes late. The street was totally empty of cars. Just me and a single traffic light blinking to red.
That was it. I’d had it. “FOR GOD’S SAKE LET ME GO TO CHURCH!” I screamed. And then, feeling more than a little foolish (though not yet totally noting the irony) I thought about just turning around and driving home.
But I didn’t. I went in. They were reading the gospel; the sermon was about to start. And somehow the sermon had been made for me. It’s words touched the very fearful places I had not known how to sooth; it’s offered hope was precisely the hope I needed that very day
And later, my smug humility was transformed into the real thing; my foolish failings were polished and given back to me as a gentle reminder that I am only human and like all humans, still sometimes cry over spilled milk. The whole morning a gift; every day a feast.
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