When you’re going 55 miles per hour or even 70? When I was in Amish country a couple of weeks ago, my friend Julie, her daughter, Alex, and I took a buggy ride. It was rather pleasant. It was a beautiful day. Still in the morning, it wasn’t yet too hot. As we were clip-clopping down the highway, Julie noticed how we could really see the things along the road–a fruit stand, beautiful daisies, a farmer plowing a field behind horse and plow. If we’d been in a car, traveling at a high speed, all would have been a blur. Or we might have seen one thing and missed the others.
We felt the swoosh of air as a truck passed us and reminded us of how in our non-Amish world we’re always in a hurry. How many times do I say, “Hurry, kids! Get in the car. We’re going to be late!” We race here and there and everywhere. We race to church. We race to leave and get to the restaurant before anyone else can. We race through our lives. Are we seeing and yet not really seeing?
No, I don’t really want to ride in a buggy and give up my car. I value my air-conditionin and the heated seats and that it can take me from Dallas to Memphis in a day. But I want to take the time to notice the fruit stand and stop and buy some fresh strawberries that actually taste like strawberries. I want to notice the flowers, the petals, the white petals and yellow and black center, rather than see a blur. I want to notice the farmer, and if he’s a neighbor wave hello or stop and chat.
So maybe we should take a horse-drawn buggy tour of our lives. And I want to enjoy every minute of this life, noticing every detail.