“Momma, what we gonna do?” my 3-year-old boy asks when I pick up from school, before he goes to bed, and when he wakes up. He’s the carefree, fearless second-born child and this need-for-a-plan mentality from him surprises me. His 6-year-old sister has been asking for a plan for as long as I can remember. He’s probably learning it from her. But, still, it surprises me he cares. And it surprises me even more he remembers.
So I tell him, “You’re going to take a nap when we get home.”
Almost immediately, he asks again. “Then what we gonna do?”
Annoyed by the repetitiveness, I list things in order.
He wants to know more, even though he has no concept of time and defines days by bedtimes. Knowing this is one of those times when answering his questions typically breeds more questions, I just stop after the naptime and dinnertime plan. I may throw in if he needs a bath or if somebody is coming over that day.
But that’s it. Too big of a picture is too much for his busy, messy 3-year-old life.
As soon as I consider myself annoyed, I realize that’s ridiculous. I do the exact same thing with God. I may be 11 times my boy’s age, but I still lead a busy, messy life.
I find myself asking God what’s next. More than once a day. Sometimes more than once an hour. I can’t fathom the whole entire picture of what he has in store for me, yet I want to know. I want to make a plan. I want to see a timeline. I want to figure it out.
God tells me to wait. He reveals a little when my friend needs to me to watch her kids because her babysitter is sick. He shows me a little more when I drop off something at another friend’s house and leave my minivan running in the driveway but end up staying 40 minutes because we wanted to catch up. He gives me insight to my purpose when I am inspired to write and give of my time to a small, private Christian school I believe in.
And, yet, still, I ask, “God, what’s going to happen next? And when are you going …” It could be anything. When are we going to meet the birthmom for the third adoption process we hope to experience? When will my boy decide the potty isn’t scary? When will I finally realize talking louder and harsher when we’re trying to get out the door on time in the morning isn’t going to speed up anyone?
See, here’s the thing: I believe God’s in control. I don’t doubt he’s working.
I just try to take it all back when I crave a plan. Yes, I want a plan for the day, and the week. But what I really want is to see the plan for my life. Instead, the creator of the universe reveals it to me in moments. These moments make the journey. Perhaps that’s really the plan.
By Kristin Taylor, 152 Insights to My Soul