I use to be a planner. Then I moved overseas. Then I had a child. Then I even grew to dislike plans altogether. They let me down.
But there's still a part of me that sees the allure of honing in on a goal, mapping out the necessary steps while savoring the juices of sweet control and prim organization.
And yet it seems that this is an inevitable pattern:
I look around at my messy mommy-art life and scream, "Ahhh! I don't have a plan! I don't know what I'm doing!" Stress and wonder set in. But I plant my feet, and resolutely rise up to aires of adulthood. I pray and talk. I finally decide on something. And rejoice, "I've got a plan, onward!" My bravado propels me forward with fresh excitement as I begin to implement The Plan. And as I mark off my initial steps, my toe gets jammed in a door I was confidently walking through. The Plan crumbles. In dismay I scream, "I don't have a plan! I don't know what I'm doing!" as I hop on one foot and nurse my wounds.
It feels like I'm at square one. But I'm not. Experience baby, it may be two steps forward and one step back but it's still progress. Both the path and the plan are a work in progress.
Wait. How did I miss this?
I've learned the lesson that there is no formula before. I learned it in parenting, when I tried techniques from a book... to the point of tears; I learned it in faith when I see others' various walks to the feet of Christ. I even re-learn it every time I create--going with the flow churns out the bold work I appreciate.
Whenever you mix something with an organic, unpredictable beast such as... oh I don't know... LIFE, you just can't predict and plan it to a pulp.
Maybe my plans are not flexible enough, maybe I've been putting too much weight on my plans.
We plan, the Lord directs. (That's my paraphrase of Proverbs 16:9)
And ain't that an awesome plane?! YES.