What to Expect when You're Not Expecting . . . That

This morning, my work monitor started acting up.  Suddenly, the screen went dark and I got an error message having to do with the resolution, which I had not changed.  This happened twice, so I called tech support, and a guy came over and looked at it.  Of course, while he was in the office, the problem fixed itself, so it's kinda like taking the car in for a knock, and the knock doesn't happen while it's in the shop.  

While I was waiting to have it looked at, I had to figure out what I could work on that didn't require my monitor.  For the record, there were two free computers in my outer office, as well as my laptop, so it wasn't like I would completely run out of things to do.  But I had planned to get certain things done first, and had to adjust the sequence of things in order to stay at my own desk.

Thankfully, it was only out for about ten minutes, and I was able to resume what I'd intended to do, but in the interim, I was able to clear a pile from my desk that would have sat there until later in the day.  Not what I wanted to get done, but I definitely felt a sense of satisfaction having a small task completed and off the desk, one more thing to check off the to-do list.  

Isn't that the way it often works?  We have these great plans:  a family vacation, decluttering the closet, hosting a party, remodeling the kitchen.  And then something happens to throw a wrench in the works.  The car breaks down just before vacation time; a soccer game is rescheduled to the Saturday of the closet project; the guest of honor comes down with the flu; an unexpected expense scotches the kitchen remodel.  While we plan, God laughs, right?  I think that's a pretty dim view of God, laughing at our heartache, but I do understand the sentiment.  "The best laid plans of mice and men . . ." (we don't even have to finish the quote).  That's a common theme in media because it's a universal truth.  We're better off telling stories of the times things did go to plan, just to save time.

Rather than focus on the circumstance that required our change in plans, let's focus on the new plans we were forced to develop.  That "stay-cation" cost a lot less money, forced the family to be creative in their time together, and involved time playing games instead of sitting in the car with everyone on devices with earbuds in.  The soccer game offered a fun day with the family, in the fresh air and sunshine, and the closet got done on a cold and rainy day.  Rescheduling the party meant the "birthday boy's" best friend would now be able to attend.  And the reason we don't tell the smaller number of stories about things that did work out as planned is because that would be boring.  It's the unexpected that makes it a story worth telling.  

I'm reminded of the M. Night Shyamalan film The Sixth Sense.  The little boy, Cole (who "sees dead people"), is in the hospital, and his therapist, Malcolm Crowe is at his bedside, and offers to tell him a bedtime story.  Malcolm starts with "Once upon a time there was a prince, who was being driven around . . . He drove around for a long, long time . . . Driving and driving . . . It was a long trip . . . He fell asleep . . . When he woke up, they were still driving . . . The long drive went on . . ."  At this point, Cole interrupts him:  "Dr. Crowe, you haven't told bedtime stories before . . . you have to add some twists and stuff."  It's those twists that make good stories, because they make good memories.  

I don't remember the drive from Central Illinois to Atlanta (GA, not IL) for a friend's wedding in 2002 (?), but I do remember that we were almost late because we forgot Atlanta was in Eastern time zone, and hit the road an hour later than we should have; and then got lost in Atlanta because they do not mark their highways well; and that we walked in while the bride was standing with her dad at the back of the church, ready to process.  I'm sure the reception was lovely, but because it went off without a hitch (at least from our perspective), I don't remember a thing about it.  We tell stories to this day about four measly hours.  There's some residual frustration, especially if we find ourselves having to travel through Atlanta again, but it's mostly humor, since it all turned out ok.  

I had a whole bunch of plans for this year--losing 80 pounds, getting 1/8 of a Starry Night cross stitch project done, reading at least a book a month by a female theologian, exercising every day, decluttering my house, etc.  And I'm experiencing various levels of success in those plans.  But I'm finding that the things that "derail" those plans--unexpected shopping excursions with my daughters, errands that take longer than they should, last-minute things to do with family or friends we don't see often, binge watching The Waltons (sorry, not sorry)--while they set back the time-frame I made to succeed in my goals, are bringing me unexpected joy.  I could write in my journal that I read 40 pages of Barbara Brown Taylor's latest book, or that I saw my teenager smile while we had lunch at her favorite restaurant.  I could tell the story that nobody wants to hear about how many stitches I completed this week, or the crazy route I had to take through Nashville because the president was visiting.  Those plans are important to me, and I really do hope to see them through, but those side trips will be the memories I will hold and the stories I will tell.  

When your plans fall through, and they will, try to change your disappointment to optimism.  What can I do that I wouldn't have been able to do if I had done that thing?  Did I really need to do that thing at all?  Have I just been given the gift of opportunity or free time?  Obviously, there are certain things like surgery that will have to be rescheduled.  But if we can see these cancellations in a positive light, stress becomes breath, inconvenience becomes freedom, a to-do list becomes space in our day.  And who couldn't use a little more of that?