Of course, fasting is not much in vogue nowadays, and neither are church traditions–especially in the church of my upbringing where that curious brand of believer is now known as Evangelical. I’ve written about that before, and won’t bore you with the biblical rationale for abandoning church tradition in favor of the traditions of popular culture. (Actually, there isn’t any, but that’s another story for another time.)

In any case, expressing solidarity with Jesus and mainstream Christian friends, I decided I would do some voluntary fasting of my own during Lent. I wasn’t brave enough to give up my coffee habit. I don’t want to get too fanatical, mind you. Besides, I’ve done that in the past, so I’ve already done my Christian duty of addiction management.

I determined to go another direction: I decided to give up speed. No, not that speed. I’m not a drug addict (well, other than that coffee thing). But I do like to drive fast (I prefer to think of it as efficient), and I thought it would be a good idea to drive the real speed limit for a change.

I don’t know if it qualifies as fasting or not–it probably doesn’t–but it is a habit that I thought would be good to break. Besides, with a son who just got his driving permit, I thought it would set a good example.

Believe it or not, I actually practiced this discipline several years ago. Once I got used to it, I found it to be a refreshing experience.

For example, I was much more relaxed on the road. It seemed to overflow to other areas of my life. I discovered that hurriedness is a habit that simply reflects a fundamental lack of trust in God’s good care. It was as if I needed to rush to prove I was important. Slowing down on the road, in a small way, gave me moments of freedom from that compulsion.

Surprisingly, driving the speed limit also helped free me from that nasty habit of tardiness. There was no hope of “making up time” on the road (which is an illusion anyway). I had to be realistic about my schedule, and discovered that driving slower actually saved me time.

Slowing down, I learned, was a great stress‑reducer. No more craning the neck to see if the next lane was moving faster. Gone were nervous looks for lurking police cars. Goodbye to the stress of leap‑frogging from empty space to empty space.

All‑in‑all, shutting down my speed addiction was a pretty painless exercise with rather pleasing outcomes. I decided I’d try it again. Perhaps I’d gain the same benefits and garner a pretty good story in the meantime.

As I said earlier, I planned to tell you about my spiritual exercise and its benefits in this article. The problem is, I can’t do it. I didn’t even last a day before giving up and reverting to my old ways. Even though it is Lent, I’m still the same maniac on the road that I was a few weeks ago.

I don’t know if I’m weaker now, or if the traffic’s worse, or if I’m just more bullheaded. All I know is I can’t do it. I’m driving just as fast as I always did.

I just hope I don’t get a ticket.

“Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize,” (1 Corinthians 9:24).