The Speed Limit

"The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance." - 2 Peter 3:9 (ESV)

One of the quickest ways to witness the depths of human impatience is surprisingly simple: drive the speed limit.

Seriously. Try it.

Not ten miles over because “that’s what everyone does.” Not five over because you don’t want to hold anyone up. I mean actually driving the speed limit. You would think you had personally insulted someone’s grandmother. It has become one of my favorite ways to “people watch” as I glide down the highway.

Without fail, someone ends up glued to my bumper as if my little SUV possesses the supernatural ability to prevent them from fulfilling their God-given destiny. Others throw their hands in the air in dramatic frustration before flying around me at the first opportunity. Every now and then I imagine rolling down my window and saying, “Friend...I’m literally obeying the law.” Somehow I don’t think that would improve the situation.

The funniest part is how often we’ll end up sitting side by side at the same red light two miles later - All that weaving. All that accelerating. All that frustration. Just to stare at the same glowing red circle.

If I’m honest, I don’t really mind it anymore. In fact, I’ve come to enjoy driving slowly. Some of my favorite evenings are spent with the windows down, music low enough that I can actually hear myself think, and my dog, Toast, with his nose hanging out the window as though the scent of freshly cut grass and the wind in his eyebrows are the greatest gifts God has ever given. There is something deeply restorative about refusing to rush when nothing actually requires rushing.

Over the past several months, I’ve even found my irritation being replaced by prayer. When someone rides my bumper or aggressively passes me, I’ve started quietly praying, “Lord, help them get where they’re going safely. Whatever they’re carrying today, would You meet them there? And if they’re anything like me, would You teach them the beauty of slowing down every once in a while?”

I don’t know if the Lord answers those prayers by changing them. I do know He’s been answering them by changing me.

Friends, this isn’t really about traffic…It’s about our hearts.

We are people who have become profoundly uncomfortable with limits.

We live in a culture that celebrates efficiency, optimization, and instant gratification, so anything that slows us down feels like an interruption to the life we think we’re entitled to.

We don't like speed limits because they tell us we cannot go as fast as we'd like. We don't like long lines because they force us to wait. We don't like delayed flights, unanswered prayers, slow healing, or seasons that seem to stretch on longer than we'd planned. Slow Wi-Fi feels like persecution. Heaven forbid the person in front of us at Chick-fil-A needs a minute to decide between nuggets and a sandwich. How dare they make you wait at the drive through!!!

The interesting thing is that speed limits aren't arbitrary. They aren't just random numbers someone pulled out of thin air. They're established by people who have studied the road—its curves, its visibility, its traffic patterns, and the places where accidents happen most often. The limit isn't meant to rob us of freedom; it's meant to help us arrive safely. We may not always understand why it's set where it is, but our understanding isn't what gives it authority.

Yet Scripture tells a very different story about the God we worship.

Peter reminds us that “with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day” (2 Peter 3:8). In the very next verse he explains that what often feels like God’s delay is actually His patience. What we interpret as slowness, God calls mercy.

Isn’t that fascinating? The very characteristic of God that often frustrates us is one of the reasons we’re saved.

The Bible is full of stories that unfold far more slowly than anyone involved would have preferred. Abraham waited decades for the son God promised. Joseph spent years in slavery and prison before stepping into the position God had prepared for him. David was anointed king long before he ever wore the crown. Even Jesus, the eternal Son of God, spent roughly thirty years in relative obscurity before beginning three years of public ministry.

If anyone had the right to ask, “Lord, couldn’t we speed this up a little?” it was probably them.

But God never seems anxious about His own timeline.

I wonder how much of our spiritual frustration comes from assuming that maturity should happen as quickly as Amazon Prime shipping (Praise the Lord for this service, amen?).

We want instant healing, immediate clarity, overnight transformation, and five-step plans for discovering God’s will. We pray on Monday and subtly (or not so subtly) expect Tuesday to look different.

Meanwhile, the fruit of the Spirit grows. It doesn’t download. Growth takes time.

But from the very beginning of Scripture, humanity has struggled with limits.

The first temptation in Genesis wasn’t simply about eating forbidden fruit. It was about trusting God’s boundaries. The serpent’s question—”Did God actually say...?” (Genesis 3:1)—was an invitation to believe that God’s limits were restrictive rather than protective, that life would somehow be fuller if Adam and Eve determined the boundaries for themselves.

Not much has changed. Just as we assume the engineer who set the speed limit doesn't know what he's talking about, Adam and Eve were tempted to believe God had established a boundary that was unnecessarily restrictive rather than lovingly protective.

We still resist the limits God gives us. Sometimes they look like moral boundaries. Sometimes they look like seasons of waiting. Sometimes they look like a speed limit on a two-lane road.

Whatever the form, our hearts often respond the same way: Surely I know a better way.

That’s what makes something as ordinary as driving so revealing. Behind the wheel, we often become the truest version of ourselves. The inconveniences we normally conceal suddenly spill out. We assume our destination is more important than everyone else’s. We expect people to move aside for our plans. We convince ourselves that shaving a minute or two off the drive somehow justifies irritation, impatience, or even anger.

Yet Paul writes, “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves” (Philippians 2:3).

It’s remarkable how difficult that command can become when someone is driving exactly the speed limit. The road has a funny way of exposing whether I actually believe other people are more important than my own convenience.

I’ve also been struck by how differently God relates to time than I do.

Peter writes, “With the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day. The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise...but is patient toward you” (2 Peter 3:8-9).

Think about that.

The very thing we often interpret as slowness is one of God’s greatest expressions of mercy.

God is never rushed. Never frantic. Never reacting because He’s fallen behind schedule. He has never once looked at history and thought, I’m running late.

I, on the other hand, can become impatient because someone in front of me is costing me forty-five seconds.

Perhaps that’s because my understanding of time is so often rooted in control rather than trust.

I say I trust God’s sovereignty, yet I become agitated the moment someone disrupts my timeline. I say I believe every one of my days has been ordained by Him (Psalm 139:16), yet I act as though every delay is a threat rather than something my Father has already accounted for.

James writes, “Let steadfastness have its full effect” (James 1:4).

Let it.

As though patience is accomplishing something in us that cannot be accomplished any other way. As though God is doing something in the waiting that would be lost if we hurried past it.

Maybe that’s why the fruit of the Spirit includes patience, gentleness, self-control, and peace (Galatians 5:22-23), but never efficiency.

Our culture rewards productivity. The Spirit produces Christlikeness.

Those are not always the same thing!!

So now, when someone races around me only for us to end up at the same red light a mile later, I still smile. I still pray they arrive safely. But I’ve also started asking the Lord a different question.

“What does my response to this reveal about my own heart?”

Because if Jesus is right that “out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks” (Matthew 12:34), then perhaps our driving reveals something too.

Maybe the person in front of me isn’t actually the obstacle. Maybe they’re the mirror. And maybe the greater question isn’t whether I drive five miles an hour over the speed limit or exactly at it.

Perhaps the greater question is this:

When God places a limit in front of me—whether it’s a speed limit, a season of waiting, an unanswered prayer, or a closed door—do I trust that His boundaries are an expression of His wisdom and goodness? Or do I quietly believe my way would have been better?

That’s a much more uncomfortable question than anything happening on the highway. And maybe that’s exactly why the Lord keeps teaching me about Himself there.

So perhaps the next time you find yourself behind someone driving the speed limit, before you grip the steering wheel a little tighter or glance impatiently at the clock, ask yourself a different question:

“Where am I hurrying to?”

Not just physically. Spiritually. Emotionally. Relationally. Why are we so afraid of moving slowly? (Reality check, 55 mph is not slow).

The truth is, many of us have become so accustomed to rushing that we no longer know how to be still (guilty!). We hurry through conversations. We hurry through meals. We hurry through vacations trying to squeeze in one more activity. We hurry our children, our spouses, our weekends, and sometimes even our time with God. We open our Bibles with one eye on the clock, checking a box instead of lingering with the One who gave us His Word.

Yet David writes, “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10). Stillness isn’t just about sitting quietly for a few minutes. It’s an invitation to surrender our illusion that everything depends on us. It’s a reminder that God has never once needed us to rush in order to accomplish His purposes.

Jesus Himself said, “Abide in me, and I in you” (John 15:4).

Notice He didn’t say, Sprint.

He said, Abide.

Abiding requires remaining. Dwelling. Lingering. Staying.

Those aren’t words our culture celebrates. And if we’re honest, they’re not words we naturally gravitate toward either.

I’ve found that some of my sweetest moments with the Lord happen on those speed limit drives with the windows down. Toast has his nose in the breeze, completely captivated by every scent as though it’s the first time he’s experienced fresh air. Meanwhile, I’m tempted to think about tomorrow’s to-do list, the text I need to send, the errands I haven’t finished, the next thing waiting for my attention.

It’s amazing how difficult it can be simply to receive the moment God has already given me.

Maybe you’ve felt that too. Maybe you’ve noticed how quickly your mind races ahead to what’s next while God is inviting you to be present to what’s right in front of you.

I’m not suggesting we all drive ten miles under the speed limit or pretend deadlines don’t exist. Scripture doesn’t call us to laziness; it calls us to faithfulness. There are responsibilities to meet, work to do, and people depending on us. But there is a profound difference between diligence and hurry.

Hurry whispers that everything depends on you. Faithfulness remembers that everything ultimately depends on God.

One leaves us anxious - The other leaves us abiding.

So this week, I want to challenge you to choose one ordinary moment and refuse to rush through it.

Drive home with the radio off. Take the long way if you have time. Choose the longer line in the grocery store. Sit on your porch for ten minutes without reaching for your phone. Read one chapter of Scripture slowly instead of three chapters hurriedly. Pray without immediately asking God for the next thing. Look at the sunset. Notice the people around you. Listen more than you speak.

And as you do, ask the Lord to show you where hurry has quietly become the rhythm of your heart.

Not because slowing down earns His approval. But because the God who is always with you is worth not rushing past.

Perhaps you’ll discover what I’m still learning on those evening drives with Toast:

God rarely seems to shout above the noise of our hurried lives.

More often, He meets us in the unhurried places where we finally have the time to listen.

bytaylormcgee