As I laid flat on my back in my neighbor’s front yard, here were the thoughts running around my head:
“Wow. They have excellent sod. I should ask them what kind of grass they have.”
“I wonder when Greg will make it here with the car. This is getting a little embarrasing. There really is no good way to pass out inconspicuously, is there? Hello, passerby, I am totally fine. No need to call an ambulance, just the run of the mill panic attack. Nothing to see here.”
“I’m really glad this tree is here so I can at least be in the shade.”
“But, crap. This was not in the plan.”
Oh, the plan. That beautifully crafted thing that is always running around my already full head. Once upon a time, I was paid the not so big bucks to always have a plan. And then a back up plan if Plan A went south…and then another one in my back pocket, just in case zombies really are a thing and they decide to attack. (Hint: this plan involved a lot of running for the hills and learning how to live off the land.)
Plans were my way of life. And they made me a very prepared, organized and reliable person. And for the jobs I have had throughout the years, they made me a valuable asset. But in my own personal life, specifically in this particular season of my life, they have made me come undone. I’m in a season of anticipation and uncertainty. When I peak over the horizon of my life, I see a whole lot. I see a lot of change. I see a lot of adventure. I see a lot of heartache and celebration. But I don’t do well with anticipation. I need to know NOW what is going to happen. And if I can’t know now, then you better believe that I am planning out each possible scenario down to its bitter end so that I can take the edge off of that uncertainty.
As I talked with my counselor this week about what had happened that caused me to realize I needed to take a quick nap in my neighbor’s yard, I unwrapped for her all of the contingency plans I have bouncing around in my head. I told her about all of the balls I have flying around right now and how I realized, laying in my neighbor’s yard, that while all of those balls were still flying perfectly where they were meant to, something had gone awry. Because I was stuck flat on my back in my neighbor’s front yard. My body had done a hard reset on my mind. It had control, alt, deleted my brain into submission by absolutely refusing to go another step until I let the balls drop and the plans disappear.
My body was telling me that it was time to let go and it was time to practice a little faith and trust. Because I follow Jesus, I know that I should trust Him. I know He cares for me, I know He knows the plans that He has made for me…that, by the way, are eons better than all of mine. And I know that He loves me even when I am flat on my back across the street. And I claim to trust Him. I claim to believe that everything will work out in the end. But, my trust is continent upon my contingency plans. As long as I have a plan for everything that He could throw at me, I trust Him. Here’s a whopper for you: That is not trust.
Trust is letting go of the contingency plans. And it’s letting the balls drop and realizing that life will still go on. Trust is facing the uncertainty and the unknown and climbing over the next hill anyways. Trust is charging into a battle that you feel can’t possibly be won, but you charge on because you love your general just that much. Trust is backing down the gremlins in your mind with the Truth that you can’t deny. Trust is laying flat on your back in a stranger’s yard and saying, “Alright. My way isn’t working. What do You got?”