Why did the turtle cross the road? On our long group run this morning, a turtle about the size of the dinner plate crossed the path ahead of us. After the prerequisite jokes about whether we could outrace the turtle or not, the creature responded to the sound and fury of all those running shoes and tucked into its shell. Our family does “turtle rescues.” When we spot a turtle trying to cross a highway, if it’s safe to do so, we stop and carry it across. We started doing this shortly after adopting a pet turtle many years ago.
As we passed the turtle, I told the woman running alongside me about our pet turtle, who recently made the move to a turtle refuge—yes, a turtle refuge. And then amazingly I heard myself say it, “She was sweet.” Sweet? Our turtle, Speedy, was anything but sweet. From the first day we had her in our home we learned that Speedy was a turtle with attitude. Any time we tried to handle her, she would rear up and hiss at us with all her turtle might. Sweet? Hardly.
Maybe that’s the way forgiveness happens. It progresses slowly. Sometimes it needs help. Sometimes it chooses to tuck in and wait until it seems safe to try again. A few months without that smelly, grumpy turtle in our house and I can remember her as “sweet.” Time passes and events and words that once caused pain become less significant. I’m glad I joined this running journey. But my constant lament has been that I’m slow. I wish I ran more quickly. But maybe there’s an unclaimed power in a slow pace. Maybe more time on the trail is all I need.
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