I’ve never used the phrase spiritual formation.  I’m not even clear on what it means. It feels like something reserved for people who journal with fountain pens and drink herbal tea. Meanwhile, I’m over here being spiritually “formed” by a roundabout that refuses to let me be the person I want to be.  But if formation is the slow, ordinary shaping of the heart, then mine seems to happen in the least spiritual place imaginable: the morning commute.

Most people talk about spiritual formation as if it happens in quiet places, in prayer, in stillness, in moments of intentional reflection. Mine seems to happen while I’m gripping the steering wheel, muttering at strangers, and trying not to lose my salvation before I’ve even reached the office.  If God shapes us in the ordinary, then apparently He’s chosen the roundabout as my personal workshop.

This past week became its own little parables:

• Monday’s outburst.
• Tuesday’s shame.
• Wednesday’s silence.
• Thursday’s softened vocabulary.
• Friday’s unexpected character development.

A whole spiritual arc, all before 9am.

This series is not about traffic.

It’s about transformation.

It’s about the gap between the person I want to be and the person who yells “moron” before I can stop myself.

It’s about the shame that arrives slowly, the victories that whisper, and the grace that sits quietly in the passenger seat.

It’s about Paul’s words in Romans 7,  the tug‑of‑war inside us, and how they somehow make perfect sense in the middle of rush hour.

It’s about the God who doesn’t wait for me at the end of the week with a report card, but meets me in the car, in the chaos, in the moments I wish I could rewind.

These are mini-stories of my commute.

But really, it’s mini stories of formation, slow, ordinary, unglamorous, and full of grace.

Welcome to Grace in the Merge Lane.

[MONDAY]

The Good, the Bad, and the unGodly #¡@ck•$$

There’s a version of me who wakes up determined to be calm, gracious, unbothered. And then there’s the version of me who meets the morning commuter at 8:17am and instantly forgets every fruit of the Spirit I’ve ever prayed for.

I don’t plan it. I don’t want it. But the words fly out of my mouth before I can catch them.

Paul would understand. “For the good that I would I do not: but the evil which I would not, that I do.” – Romans 7:19, KJV

Every morning, I tell myself I’ll handle that junction better. I’ll breathe. I’ll stay centred. I’ll remember that everyone is just trying to get somewhere. And then someone cuts in, again, and suddenly “moron” is airborne, followed by its cousins “idiot” and “stupid,” and on Monday… well, Monday earned its own punctuation, ¡@ck•$$.

There’s the me who wants to be patient. And the me who reacts before I can think.

Paul calls it two laws at work within him. I call it the inside lane vs. the outside lane.

Same tension. Different battlefield.

This roundabout is my thorn, predictable, unavoidable, daily. It exposes me every time.

And after the outburst comes the inward collapse. Not shame, just that sinking feeling of, “I thought I was past this.” I’m not angry at the commuters. I’m disappointed in myself.

But here’s the strange mercy: God meets me in the car. Not after I’ve calmed down. Not once I’ve repented properly. Right there, in the mess, in the muttering, in the moment I wish I could rewind.

Grace doesn’t wait for the polished version of me. It sits in the passenger seat.

And maybe that’s enough for a Monday.

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“Tomorrow’s instalment shifts the tone, a moment that humbled me in a way I didn’t see coming.”