So, I’m sitting in the Chick-Fil-A parking lot, enjoying chicken minis, hash browns, and coffee. An unexpected contribution to my hips and thighs. My plan was to start the day with a tablespoon of peanut butter spread across a slice of wheat bread, chased down by a cup of grapefruit juice.
God’s plan was different—and much tastier, as it so often is.
This all started at the kitchen table. I was reading e-mail and gathering the gumption to make “breakfast” when I thought I heard a knock. Did that sound come from upstairs? Then I heard it again, but more persistent, demanding—rap, rap-rap-rap-rap! Lone Ranger peeked through the foyer entryway and came running, “It’s the police!”
I trooped to the front door, wondering about unpaid tickets, mistaken identity, and ending up on the evening news: “Woman in silky black hair cap and pin curls arrested today for…” But it wasn’t anything like that. Instead, the officer asked for my address and informed me there was a gas leak in the neighborhood (Is that what I smell?) and we all had to evacuate. Immediately.
No time for peanut butter, a comb, or my phone. I did yank Hubby from the shower, the little people out of the study, and my handy dandy Macbook off the kitchen table.
I didn’t expect to go to Chick-Fil-A this morning, or fill up the truck at Costco, or pick up bagels at Panera, killing time until we could safely return home. But it seems like God had intended for Hubby to wear his bright orange t-shirt with the John 3:16 scripture on the back that attracted the Messianic Jew in the parking lot who invited us to visit Israel and attend his Sabbath service. Maybe.
Or He was telling us we all need to rise and shine a little earlier and get our hineys dressed more quickly so we can greet the unexpected and welcome the various and sundry. Perhaps.
God could’ve been saying, “Don’t ignore the knocks at the front door as you so often do when you’re not expecting a package or a visitor. You never know who or what it could be that needs your complete, immediate attention.” Hmmm.
Or simply, “Girl, fix your doorbell.” Could be.
Any, all, or none of those. I may never know.
I do know the excitement lifted the fog of worry and fear I’d been slogging through the past couple of weeks. Is this the kick in the pants I needed to write something, anything down? I wonder.
I know we offered Him praise and thanksgiving for saving us from dangers seen and unseen and providing unexpected chicken minis, parfaits, chicken biscuits, hash browns, and coffee.
I know that He controls my life, every twist and turn. Plain and simple.
Whatever the case, I just know that these days, God has been making it clear to me that His ways and means aren’t mine. Yes, He says they’re higher, and I’ll have to take His Word for it. (Isaiah 55:8, 9) Higher doesn’t mean above troubled waters, pain, or sadness. It means my feet and pants legs are going to get soaking wet as He takes me through the trouble to higher ground. And when I travel on His road I have to leave behind my map and every other distraction. I just have time and strength to pack the essentials of trust, obedience, mourning, thanksgiving, and joy. He’ll bring the weightier, more valuable gifts of grace and mercy.
God has big plans for me. I don’t know what they are, and frankly, I’m quaking in my tall boots. But I know His plans are good. They are full of hope. And my future is bright. (Jeremiah 29:11)
And if my unexpected Chick-Fil-A trip is any indication, they’re mighty tasty.
Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me. Revelation 3:20