Littered throughout my neighborhood are stop signs. In fact, just about 100 feet north of my driveway is one, and a quarter of a mile south, another that I have traversed hundreds of times over the last 13 years.
While I understand that the octagonal sign says STOP, seldom do I feel compelled to do so. Most often I translate the command into a suggestion to simply slow down and check for inconvenient traffic. It’s embarrassing to admit, but completely true.
A rolling stop. A tap of the brakes. Velocity adjusted, but not eliminated.
Next Thursday is Thanksgiving. A STOP sign.
Across the traffic of life and living, an octagonal sign that suggests a change in speed. An intentional adjustment of velocity. The persistent decision throughout the holiday will be whether I come to a complete stop or merely tap my brakes.
Will I intentionally arrest my thoughts enough to fully and completely engage? Will the volume of cross traffic be irrelevant because I’m not looking for the perfect opportunity to merge.
I’ll be busy. A turkey to grill, a once a year meal to help prepare, grandchildren to tackle, a football to throw… but stopped. Not rolling through. Not momentarily available. No. A full stop. Perhaps even stopped long enough to shift gears. Park, not drive.
A plan for thanksgiving on Thanksgiving. A strategy for laughter and joy.
Vacant moments to be filled with immediate opportunity. Notifications off. Fully present. Agile. Nimble. Engaged. Because I’m not rolling back into traffic.
When I stop, I serve. When I serve, I honor those I love. And when I do that, I steward the love of Jesus in a way that brings him delight… even as it does the same for me.
Happy Thanksgiving. Full STOP.
Not rolling through. Not tapping my brakes. Stopped.
Nourishment for the soul. A feast without calories.
Busy, but stopped. Stopped, but moving in the right direction.
An act of worship. A demonstration of trust. A commitment to love.
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