The Slow Days

I started this morning with a prayer.

Not a big one. Not the kind you prepare for or write down or say in front of anyone. Just the kind that happens when you wake up with a day ahead of you that doesn't have a load attached to it and your brain doesn't quite know what to do with that.

Lord, thank You for this day. For the stillness. The rest. The room to breathe.

I've spent eleven years moving. That's the job. You're either rolling or you're planning your next roll. The truck doesn't sit and neither do you — not really. Even when the wheels aren't turning your mind is already on the next pickup, the next weather system, the next decision that needs to be made before you get there.

So a day with nowhere to be is a strange gift. And strange gifts take a minute to unwrap.

I asked for honesty today. Before the camera rolled, before the words came — let what gets created be honest. Let it serve someone out there on the road who needs to know they're not alone.

That's always the ask. Not for it to be perfect. Not for it to go viral or hit some number or land in front of the right algorithm. Just for it to be true enough to matter to someone who needs it.

I think that's what faith looks like in a truck cab on a Sunday in April. Not a cathedral. Not a choir. Just a woman and her dog and a prayer that fits in one breath before the work starts.

There's a theology I've come to slowly over the years and it's this — God is in the slow days just as much as the miles. Maybe more. The miles have momentum. They carry you whether you're present or not. But the slow days require something different. They ask you to just be here. To not fill the quiet with noise. To let the stillness be what it is instead of something to escape from.

I'm not always good at that. Eleven years of forward motion leaves a mark. Stillness can feel like falling behind even when there's nowhere to be.

But today I let it be what it was.

I made something. I fed the dog. I ate soup. I talked to a friend. I watched Honey sleep and remembered that presence doesn't have to be complicated.

The slow days are a gift. I'm still learning how to receive them.

One Safe Mile | onesafemile.com