Tip of My Iceberg

I’ve morning eyes. Besides being nearsighted, I choose not to wear my contacts, don’t put my glasses on, and would rather squint than open eyes wide enough to see clearly. This early.

I get up early and get a lot done–but much of it doesn’t require seeing clearly. I hold my Bible close to my face. I exercise to sound. I squint when needed.

Clear focus not required.

I jumped into the shower to get ready for work. It was one of those days–wash my hair and shave my legs. I was yawning, got soap in my eyes. What little I could see was now blurry and filmy.

I grabbed a new razor and went to work. In between the blur, I managed to do the deed. Surprised I didn’t cut myself–I do when I’m this fuzzy. Finished up, dropping the razor at the end. Rinsed and done.

Picked up the razor from the shower floor.

Noticed the blade guard was still on.

I’d shaved my legs without a blade. No wonder I didn’t cut myself.

I’m not the first woman who’s done this. I won’t be the last. This was, however, my first time.

I took all that time to methodically shave what never was shaved–for nothing. Leg hair remained on my legs instead of streaming down the drain.

Do I take the time to do it right? Time I didn’t have? Or do I wear jeans.

Jeans it was.

It’s annoying when things don’t turn out the way I planned. Isn’t that what planning’s about? Implementation and execution? What good is it if I can’t make it work?

There’s the rub. I can’t make it work.

Plans are great. Deciding how to do things is a way to move toward efficiency and effectiveness. It identifies the goal and methodically moves in that direction.

Plans don’t happen in a vacuum. They exist in a world full of fault and messiness. What we hope to do is often challenged by what is going on around us.

The messiness keeps the blade of intent from cutting true.

Life is a petrie dish of plans going awry. My best efforts can be sidetracked by sickness, undone by the unexpected and unplanned for, misdirected by the mundane.

The saying, “The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry” is a take on a line from a poem by the Scottish poet, Robert Burns. The poem, “To a Mouse”, is an apology to the rodent for having upturned its nest while plowing. The mouse had built his home where it believed it was safe.

He never saw that plow coming.

Mine was an incidental plan. It wasn’t a big deal–unless I wanted to wear shorts. Having the plan put on hold by my mundane mistake annoyed the socks off me.

Jesus understands that I like the plan. I like to know what to expect and when.

But I’m not in control.

So He invites me to rest in Him. Lean into His love and strength when my plans blow to smithereens. Rest knowing He has the big picture–and me–well in hand.

Even if I have to do it in jeans.