As far back as I can remember, I have been a planner. I want to be as prepared as possible for what is coming, and most of the time, I am extremely bothered if the reality doesn't line up with my expectations, regardless of how unrealistic that plan may be.
The first time I visited New York City, I was enchanted. It was so vastly different from the Southern towns I called home, but I felt as though I belonged there. The sounds of the city sang me to sleep and the sea of faces seemed strangely familiar. I longed to be one of them. College would be the first chance for that dream to become reality, so NYU became my goal. My plan. And I gripped that plan like a priceless heirloom. It somehow became a part of my identity. When God's plan turned out to be different from mine, I had no idea how to respond. I ran into my closet and cried... literally. My plan was pried from my fingers, and I wasn't sure how to mourn the loss I so strongly felt.
I thought I learned an important lesson during that season. I realized His promises are true. His plans are good and for my good. He was not surprised by anything that happened. His plan prevails.
I guess I didn't learn it as I thought. I still struggle each time things don't go according to my plan. When my expectations are not met. When my dream comes crashing down. When there is an uninvited interruption. I find myself questioning time and time again whether He truly knows what is best for me. How could this be right?
The majority of the events that have affected me and my family this year were not a part of my plan. Even my oh-so-wonderful plan to show you around my little apartment was interrupted by life. And by death. But I was reminded of a precious glimpse of providence and His plan as I reflected this week.
At the beginning of each new year, our pastor shares with the church a word that God has given him, and challenges each of us to seek the Lord for our own word. Quite honestly, the word I heard in January let me down and did not make any sense. And it was only two letters. Seriously. At least give me a couple syllables. As much as I tried to talk Him into a better word, I kept coming back to UP. It's a word you learn in 1st grade, and in my mind perfectly unacceptable for what I had sought. I finally gave in to my word for the year, but was too embarrassed to mention it to many people.
The first glimpse that this was the right word came soon after. In the midst of a scary diagnosis and surgeries and appointments, the I so desperately needed the reminder to turn my gaze up to the Healer. To the Redeemer. To the Savior. A few months later, the word became more literal as I moved north to Tennessee. I clung to it again when my precious grandfather went to be with Jesus. My eyes were set heavenward. On eternity. Up.
I have been so comforted that He knew in January what this year would look like. He has always known the plans He has for me to bring me a hope and future.
