Still on Plan A

I sit here without a teacup in the presence of an overly-steeped pot of lavender earl grey tea. How odd? Why didn’t I gather up a teacup when I brought the tray with the pot and the plate with the cheese omelet accompanied by that deliciously tangy glass of freshly-squeezed Minneola juice (oooooh so tart and good!)? Where is my head this day?

I just came in from a walk around the gardens. A fresh breeze has sent the recent hot summer-like days into retreat and we enjoy fresh, cool, and breezy – just how I like my springtime in the mountains; though last night Rachel took her first swim of the season, declaring “Summer is here!” Yesterday I got caught up in the heat of the moment (*snicker*) and bought two of the most deliciously-scented candles named “a walk on the beach” (all coconutty, sea-salty, warm-sandy smelling) – instantly transporting me back to the time Gary and I visited Hawaii and also recalling that first trip away from the kids when we went to San Diego . . . I pause . . . I wipe a tear . . . a few months after Andrew’s passing

My memory bank kicks in and I recall why I find it so hard to concentrate on things like teacups and steeping tea today – nearly five years ago (four years, eleven months almost to the day) Andrew went home to be with His Savior and Lord, leaving a gap in my life and heart that I still cannot comprehend; just this week I learned my dear friend’s son took measures to meet His Savior quite abruptly leaving her life in shambles; and I just finished reading an update on Baby Stellan that has MckMamma all awash in tears over a failed surgery.

Lord, it hurts to live around here sometimes! I can’t see for the fog in my mind and the jumble of feelings clogged up in my heart. Oh, my heart still beats, I still breath, I still know my name and my place and all the rest . . . but I fail to see how all of this works together for good . . .

Then I recall a sweet bit of wisdom gleaned from MckMamma’s latest blog post:

Yet what brings me great comfort, even now, is that none of this surprises God. The fact that this morning has not gone well, by our earthly hopes and standards, does not mean that God is wringing His hands. This did not come out of the blue for Him. As my friend Ann likes to say, God is not on Plan B. This is still Plan A.

Indeed.

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways,"
declares the LORD.

"As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts."

Isaiah 55:8-9

And so, I press forward in that knowledge, tear stained face and all.


I comment upon her blog:

My Sweet, Sweet girl,

My prayers gush out for you. I have stood in your stead, though not with a heart problem, but with a son and another problem entirely. Still . . . I know of what you feel, speak, and what deeper things cry out only to the Comforter. Yes . . . Plan A . . . always. I sit here writing and preparing for a speaking engagement at church I have entitled "Simply Joy" wherein I will share my quest to remain in Him for the joy I so desperately need to go on each day. In the midst of this preparation I am praying and checking your twitter or is it twitterings? (I never even heard of twitter before you flittered into my life with your darling son and BIG love for God -- I know your God and I can assure you HE IS BIG . . . keep hanging on!) On top of all of these prayers for you I just found out that one of my oldest and dearest friends just lost her 16-year-old son to suicide. No note, no hint, just gone. How is that fair? How is Stellan’s SVT fair? How is the loss of my son nearly 5 years ago fair? I rail, I sob, I ask . . . nay plead -- HE holds me close and floods me with joy and peace that defies understanding. A newly blooming rose, a dogwood flush in pink, the first calla lily, a newly sprung lily of the valley -- they all cry out in praises to a God that sticks to Plan A because IT IS GOOD. I have not always the ability to see the good, and so I call out for peace and joy to sustain me in my blindness. He delivers . . . according to Plan A . . . as He always does.

Be blessed today my sweet, sweet MckMamma. I am praying without ceasing . . . without understanding . . . but not without joy and HOPE . . . always with HOPE.

Dear God, send comfort in the name of your precious son. Amen.

* * *

There it is. I am not expected to know it all or approve it all. I am simply expected to live under His wing. I have enough memories crammed into my rapidly-beating heart to KNOW WITHOUT DOUBT that my God has never failed me. And so I reach out and grasp the wisp of joy found in a newly pinked poet’s jasmine bud which sends forth not a jot of fragrance yet, but my memory clicks back to heady redolence of summers past. I purposely planted this delicate beauty beside my patio door so that the house would be flooded with its sweetness every time the door opened. There is no sweetness today, but I know it will return JUST LIKE ALWAYS. The memory brings me joy and satisfaction to carry on.

And so I do . . .

with that joy I cannot explain . . .
or comprehend . . .
or manufacture on my own . . .

Still I enjoy it just the same,
Realizing it’s all a part of God’s Plan A.




Then he said unto them,
Go your way, eat the fat, and drink the sweet,
And send portions unto them for whom nothing is prepared:
For this day is holy unto our LORD:
Neither be ye sorry;
For the joy of the LORD is your strength.
Nehemiah 8:10