My Word for 2020: Cooperate

Its that time of year when we balance looking back with looking ahead. We look back at the regrets and mistakes of the past year and vow not to repeat them. We look back at the joys and blessings and try to figure out how to keep them.

We map a New Year filled with all the good and none and of the bad; make our plans and resolutions, all the while declining to acknowledge that we aren’t really in control.

Remember Woody Allen’s saying, “If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans”?  I don’t envision Him sitting up in heaven blatantly thwarting my dreams for a perfect life. I do see Him smiling and asking, “Why do you insist on going your own way? Why don’t you listen to My voice and let Me help you?”

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A Tale of Two Miracles

My daughter, Jordan, recently ran her first half marathon. As with her sister before her, I planned to cheer from various vantage points along the course.

“See you at five miles, ten and the finish line!” I called, dropping her off as close to the starting point as I could. The early morning air was chilly and brisk, full of excitement as other runners were dropped off and other families wished them good luck.

Only after she got out of the car did I realize two important problems. The first was that many streets were closed that morning to accommodate the runners. The second was that I do not know Richmond at all. My GPS did not acknowledge the closed roads, and the detour signs were inconsistent. I gave up the plan to cheer at the 5th and 10th mile markers and decided instead to head out of the downtown area to a park the course passed through. I figured at least there would be parking at a park and said a quick prayer for God to help me find my way.

Unfortunately, all the roads that accessed the park were closed, and there was no easy go-around. I drove around aimlessly for a while, in and out of charming neighborhoods, where people were still asleep or at least warm inside enjoying their coffee. I pulled in front of a little bungalow, just as a couple and their dog came out. I rolled down the window and asked if they knew where the marathon route was.

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On Being Fickle

It is 92 degrees on this second to last day of September. Thunder rolls in the distance, while heat lightening dances overhead. The air is so humid that the dog and I are sweating and panting after the first few steps of our walk.

“Where are the cool, crisp days of autumn?” I lament.

Then I recall how just a few days ago at work I shivered in my white coat despite three layers underneath, and secretly prayed the office air conditioner would break. That day I longed to feel warm.

And in just a few months, when I go out for a walk in the snow, today’s weather will come to mind. I’ll wish for my sweaty T-shirt and shorts instead of my heavy boots and stuffy parka.

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