Yesterday’s gray skies give way to a sea of fluffy cotton balls.
Soybeans toss and churn.
Cattails surrounding “Lake Abby” sway in the breeze.
Hummingbirds continue to feed and fight outside the window, and I watch tiny green feathers ruffle.
A Monarch flutters high while red and yellow leaves fall low, and a chickadee digs for the last morsels in browned and bowed sunflower heads.
I stare at my to-do list.
Bills to pay, slacks to hem, hair to cut, laundry to wash, photos to print, one-sheet to prepare (or not), a chapter to polish (or not), guest posts to finish, Bible study lessons to prepare, two books to complete and review by the end of the month, car tags to renew and apply by Monday, suitcases to empty and repack, grandgirls to catch as they climb and teeter on chairs, soccer practice duty, two birthdays and a company picnic this weekend, and notes to remember what I’ve forgotten.
Teeth to brush, legs to shave, nails to file, food to eat.
And I’m really thinking of another express trip north?
I leave Wednesday for the ACFW Conference in St. Louis–scheduled before my daughter registered for school and needed grandgirl help, before Dennis had an important work schedule change, and before my mom fell.
Had I known what the future held, I probably would not have signed up.
Leaving on a jet plane Wed. Waving white flag. Some things will just not get done. So. Be. It.
I posted that status on Facebook this morning.
“He’ll make sure the things He wants done are done–rest in that!” Karin commented. And messaged me that she was praying me through it all, that “He already knows the plan.”
I’ll come back from the conference the following Sunday, and then fly to Laity Lodge that Thursday for the writers’ retreat. I didn’t win, but in a turn of events, I’m going anyway. I’m black and blue from pinching myself.
Can I squeeze another trip home between the conferences?
I shared a little of my dilemma with Lyla.
“He’s had it all from the beginning,” she said. “Sometimes, I see Him like Hannibal from the A-Team, leaning back with a big ol’ cigar hanging out of his mouth in the middle of total chaos and smiling while he says “I love it when a plan comes together.”
Hannibal. AKA George Peppard. My mother went to school with him. She didn’t hang with him, but she knew him to say hi.
So I’m resting in the plan.
The one that’s coming together.
And what I get done of my plans gets done, and what doesn’t–doesn’t.
So. Be. It.
Mortals make elaborate plans, but God has the last word.
~Proverbs 16:1 (Message)