I used to spend two hours a day in that traffic.
I was working downtown Minneapolis and commuting from my hometown of White Bear Lake. I had just gotten back from a year long backpacking trip doing mission work around the world.
Sleeping on cement floors, eating simple meals and loving people deeply. Living an unplugged life, where success was defined by surviving salmonella, avoiding malaria and loving each person I encountered fully.
A far cry from my easy American life back home, I was loving on those with much different lives than what I had left behind.
Sitting in that traffic on my way to my corporate career, I began to realize that maybe those living in the bush of Mozambique weren’t the least of these. Maybe the least were those rushing towards towers downtown.
I would call my mom, “what am I doing with my life!” Take me back to the cement floors.
I ended up surviving that commute. I learned a lot. I reconnected with my mom through long conversations. I spent time with my siblings and friends. I met my fabulous husband.
Now I live in Montana, where the population of the entire state is less than the Twin Cities.
Where people are often defined by the things they love to do outside more than what they do for their job.
I know Montana has its own problems, as do all communities, all countries, all humans—but for now I sure do appreciate it when, “the traffic was so bad today,” means you got stuck at an extra light.