God took away my speedometer the other day. I was rounding a curve when the needle began buzzing and bouncing around like a kid who's eaten an entire chocolate cake all by himself. It was the first time I've gone from 40 to 120 mph without having had a second cup of coffee.

My immediate solution: Choose a driver who looks conscientious and keep apace of him or her. The problem with that approach, I quickly learned, is the lack of drivers who look conscientious — or, at least, like they were paying full attention to their driving.

And imagine my frustration when, a little further on, there were no other cars on the road. There I was, thinking I was flying along when up from behind me came a whirring pack of cars whose drivers left me in the dust in no time flat. I found that, at certain points, if I was savvy enough, I could gun it and coast along in a fast driver's tailwind.

Thinking back, I'm intrigued by the fact that this incident occurred just as Lent is approaching. This is the time, I've decided, to delve into the gadgets and gizmos of what makes me tick and evaluate where I am in my spiritual formation.

I often find myself attempting to manage my spiritual life in much the same way that I attempted to drive with a faulty speedometer. When I see people way ahead of me in spiritual formation, I try to race ahead to catch up with them, placing more and more demands on myself and hoping that I'll get caught up in their momentum. In the end, I have to slam on the brakes because the Heavenly Father sends a traffic jam to warn me that I'm moving too fast.

On the other hand, there are times when I'm drifting totally on my own. I think I'm developing at a good pace when suddenly I get sideswiped by someone who's really clipping along. I realize I've been putzing along without really getting anywhere.

At other times, I find myself trying to merge into the spirituality of those who tend to cluster together, pumping the brakes so as not to take on too much. This only makes me miserable because I feel stifled and tethered. Regardless of the speed, if it's someone else's, then it's not right for me.

In order to find my personal pace, I have to put aside my laziness, desires and fears and pay careful attention to the gauges that God has placed before me in my life.

He is the ultimate speedometer. With gentle signals, he lovingly controls my speed through the sacraments, the Scriptures, the spiritual advisers and the saintly examples he has provided me. He speeds me up through the apostolates that call upon me to meet the needs of others. He scoops me up in the tail winds of world events. He hums me along via my connections with my husband, my children, my work and the thousands of little occurrences that happen throughout each day. He slows me down in the depth and quietude of my heart. And he brings me to an idle when my soul cries out for peace and nourishment.

As I receive ashes on Ash Wednesday and begin my long journey through the 40 days of Lent, I realize that I'm actually grateful that my speedometer went on the blink — even though it cost me a bundle to replace it. The day it went on the fritz was a sharp reminder that, right now, my focus needs to be on my internal spiritual speedometer and not on the progress of the rest of the vehicles on the road.

By maintaining the speed that the Heavenly Father has designated for me, I will indeed become a useful vehicle for him on the highway of his divine plan.

Marge Fenelon writes from Cudahy, Wisconsin.