Plans Unraveling

It’s funny how preconceived plans tend to unravel when real life hits. I’ve had predetermined plans about so many things, both large and small, and so many  of them have been changed, altered, or completely abandoned when reality arrived. God has a sense of humor, and I feel more thankful than ever that I was pushed as a young child to recite my dad’s mantra of Be Flexible, Be Patient over and over again 147 times a day like a robotic parrot. Somehow, at some point in my life, it became less of a meaningless, repetitive phrase that was forced upon me and more like a tightly gripped lifeline connected to my sanity. It has literally served as my inhale and exhale in moments in which the plans that I was *sure* would unfold in my life (ever so perfectly and effortlessly, I might add) were instead surrendered, all out of necessity, either willingly or kicking and screaming-ly. Among them were these:

  • I will homeschool all my children, right away, for their entire childhood
  • I will make my children eat fruits and vegetables at every meal (HA!)
  • I will do a Fun Project every day in the summer
  • I will make my children do thirty minutes of reading every day in the summer
  • I will write super meaningful blog posts documenting every event related to adoption, including bringing them home, finalization, and every trauma and celebration in between and after
  • I will never let my children have more than thirty minutes of screen time in a day
  • I will plan weekly fun “field trips” to entertain my children in the summer
  • I will purchase a family membership to the pool to ensure SO MUCH FUN for my children
  • I will join a gym to get into better shape as a Mama
  • I will make exciting and nutritious meal plans every week
  • I will be SuperMom, SuperWife, SuperMinistryLeader

Behold: all the plans. So well-intentioned. So noble. So well-thought out. Unfortunately, this naïve mama forgot to account for the unexpected while she was making all the plans. Like the fact that the adoption process can take away some of your choices about education, at least for awhile. Like adopting one child that hates to read (the thought physically hurts this die-hard reader), and another that doesn’t really need to try to conquer reading when we are still learning to pronounce the word “frog” in a way that doesn’t sound like a profanity . Like the fact that some special needs mean that fruits and vegetables are out of the question, and most days you are just happy that the kid ate goldfish, pizza, and gummy bears and hopefully got enough calories to survive. Like the reality that field trips to the zoo are awesome…unless sensory meltdowns (inevitably) ensue because you unwittingly go on the day when it’s free admission for the whole county and so of course the whole county DOES THE ZOO in loud, pushy, overstimulating and unsympathetic droves, and then nothing is awesome and  nobody has fun, not even the monkeys or the overfed giraffes. It is finding out that a summer spent at the pool is only fun if your children aren’t either (1) terrified to the point of catatonic paralysis by the thought of being in the water, or (2) ready to throw themselves with reckless abandon into the deep end the moment you let go of their hand, despite not knowing how to swim whatsoever.

The unexpected also includes getting pregnant two months before your long-awaited adopted children come home. It is unexpected when you find out you are one of those pregnant women who is ALWAYS nauseous and PERPETUALLY sleeping tired, so that when the kids arrive smack-dab in the middle of your first trimester, it’s pure survival mode and a whole lot of yes, you can have a sixth popsicle and sure, you can play your iPad for another hour because Mommy will puke if she moves and sorry, babe, but it’s cereal for dinner again and please pretend to be happy about it because otherwise I’ll have an emotional breakdown that I promise will rival our daughter’s zoo hysteria. The unexpected is finding that having time to blog is a big amusing joke and that there are some memories you’d sooner forget than document forever for all posterity to see.

But when you are learning to be flexible and sometimes patient (confession: this trait only shows its pretty face when I’ve had lots of coffee and Jesus time), you also learn that throwing out the preconceived plans is not always the worst thing. Sure, it can be painful for a bit, but there is also some serious relief and considerable freedom that accompany letting them go. And if you can learn to stop feeling the need to justify your changed plans to others AND to yourself, you might just realize that it’s okay to let yourself off the hook a bit and rest in that wonderful hammock of grace that was so lovingly stretched out for you by the One who actually knows all the plans. You will suddenly understand that the only thing worth planning on is to trust a Sovereign God who knows a lot more about your kids, their needs, you, and your needs than yours truly.

Letting go of all the other plans in favor of surrendering to His Ultimate Plan doesn’t mean the unexpected stops occurring. On the contrary, the unexpected is (forgive the bad pun) to be expected. But through the lens of grace and flexibility, the unexpected brings some pretty fantastic surprises. Like watching a little boy’s confidence shoot through the roof when he learns to ride a bike without training wheels in three days. Like seeing a little girl go from being mostly nonverbal to a happy little chatterbox in the span of a few months. Like finding out that public school teachers can be kind and loving and compassionate and invested in your child’s emotional well-being. Like learning that a projected lifelong heart condition has been healed (glory to God!) and no longer requires medication or treatment. Like finding out the baby who has been quite literally sucking the life out of you is a little brother for your son who so desperately wanted a boy. Like a hundred thousand laughs and happy tears and moments of sheer joy that you never knew you could experience this side of heaven. All things that were never written into all my carefully crafted plans.

But I wouldn’t change a single thing.