Plans. I write down in dark, black ink plans over a bright, pink planner to map out my week like its my own. The true thing is that life often comes and wrecks our perfectly laid out plans. Our stories often twist and turn in directions we hoped we never had to go, down roads that we never chose to walk.
“Maybe grieving over plans is part of the plans to change us.” -Ann Voskamp
I look out my window to the changing colors of a Virginia autumn. Beauty in the changing, Beauty in the falling. Beauty even in the dying.
Warm water rushes over my tired hands. The tiniest gift given, the crack in the ceiling of sorrow.
I’ll make this plan. I’ll unclench my hands from holding on to the gift that wasn’t given and open them wide for the gifts on their way. And maybe I’ll stop worrying about my future and receive the daily bread.
I put on comfy wool socks to cover my cold feet. God is providing.
That was always the plan.