Mondays. . . . they’re just not my favorite day of the week. So not my favorite.
Mondays are like the loud noises that wake you up from a cozy nap. Mondays are like coming back to your previously scheduled life after a long vacation in which you’ve only done things you want to do, like read good books, drink good coffee, and see wonderful things. Mondays. . . . a little like seeing that ex with a new girlfriend or boyfriend.
I’m not Monday’s biggest fan.
But somehow, I woke up well rested this Monday. I got up. I did exercises. I ate. I read Scripture. I got ready. I packed my lunch. I got gas in the car. I headed out toward the interstate to go to work. I smiled to myself. Sang along to a good song on the radio. Smiled at the really cool Jeep that has no doors (I think it’s supposed to be like that) I see almost daily on my commute.
And then, it all fell apart.
I was trying to merge into the exit lane to get off at Broadway. The lady in the lane I wanted to merge into wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to the cars around her. And continued to drive at a speed that didn’t move her past me or cause her to fall back. That speed that keeps her car pretty much even with mine and makes exiting in a few minutes nearly impossible. So, I slowed down and managed to sneak my car in right behind her as we were exiting the interstate. And I griped about her and hoped she saw the ugly look on my face.
And then there was the fact that she STILL didn’t know I was behind her and was merging into the lane so slowly, then crawling up the ramp. I was following too closely and I was mad.
And then came that little voice. The one I sometimes want to silence, but not really.
The one that said, “It’s not all about you.”
Even traffic. It’s not all about me. It’s not all about my schedule. It’s not all about my rights.
It’s not all about me.
Even on a Monday.