How to Manage Waylaid Plans

The plan was for a self-imposed, six-week writing retreat at a log cabin surrounded by 2,400 acres. Part of the strategy included tractor-driving lessons to make it easier for me to haul a load of firewood to the back porch.

I crushed the tractor-driving lessons. (It helped, of course, that the machine was the cutest little tractor you’ve ever seen, and practically drove itself.)

But heading back to the cabin, careful to walk like a penguin, I slipped and fell on thick ice.

Not one for doing things halfway, I broke my wrist, cracked a bone in my hand, and managed to crush one of my arm bones into itself.

“We’ve got to get in there and clean up the mess,” said the ortho surgeon, which required eleven screws to hold the T-shaped plate in place.

So, to appease family members who were concerned about me being at a remote cabin—alone, one-handed, trying to keep the fire crackling—I temporarily stayed in Boise.

I tend to think things don’t happen randomly. But on purpose. And with purpose.

And while I’ll never fully know the reason for all that occurs, I trust in a big God who does—who fully knows, fully sees, and fully loves.

And so I made the best of the time, typing with one hand—painfully slow—and hanging out with extended family.

One of life’s guarantees is that we’ll suffer broken bones, broken dreams, broken promises, and broken hearts.

We’ll lose our cell phones, and lose our health, and lose our loved ones to drugs, to war, to Alzheimer’s.

We’ll endure rejection, abuse, bullying, hunger, deep disappointment, detours.

But in all this, we have the choice to focus on the pain, the sorrow, the inconveniences.

Or we can focus on what makes our life full and brimming, even in a broken world: People who love us. People to love. Our stories that are constantly unfolding. A sense of belonging. Random acts of kindness that come our way. And kindness we get to extend to others.

Author Ann Voskamp sat next to an Orthodox Hassidic rabbi on a long flight. In the middle of their conversation, the rabbi turned to Ann and said:

“Every morning that the sun rises and you get to rise? That’s God saying He believes in you, that He believes in the story He’s writing through you. He believes in you as a gift the world needs.”

This notion is mind-bending to me.

Not just the thought of another day in which the sun rises—priceless gift. And not just one more day in which we can propel ourselves out of bed on our own steam—also a priceless gift.

But another day for God to add to the story He’s writing for our remaining days on earth, the best-selling Author who believes we are a gift the world needs, who believes we have something of value to offer.

And so … when the best-laid plans are detoured, we can grumble over the inconvenience. When we experience setbacks in our finances, in our relationships, in our careers, we can whine about those hard places. When we lose something of immeasurable value, we can grieve forever.

Or ... we can pay attention to the gift of each new sunrise, which represents one more day of life. And we can ask God to cause our days to unfold exactly as he has planned—for our good, and for the good of others.

This thought from an author unknown:

“Appreciate where you are in your journey, even if it’s not where you want to be. Every season serves a purpose.”

Has something happened to you that you didn't want to happen, but you are absolutely certain there was purpose in it? I’d love to hear about it.