I was supposed to be on a plane today.
I knew what I was going to wear, what was going in my carryon, how I was going to breeze through the TSA pre-check line, how I’d figure out the car rental process at the California airport. I was looking forward to dinner with a woman who reached out a few months ago to encourage me after she read my book. I was going to spend an entire day teaching a group of women about everyday faithfulness. Then I’d enjoy some uninterrupted movie-watching on the long flight back to Missouri.
Instead, I’m home with my kids for the 12th day in a row where the days stretch out long and void of other people beyond screens. We’re learning how to be home without leaving, without other people, and without soothing our losses with fifteen hours of screen time each day. Some days are better than others.
I had so much planned this spring. It was going to be my busiest season of travel. I have a book launching in June; my publisher has already sent samplers ahead to all my now-canceled events. I’d budgeted and set aside future funds for things my family really needs this year. Instead of flying to California, I’m canceling the last of this spring’s flights, and my calendar is filled with scratched out plans.
How wrecked are your plans? Your budget? Your planned accomplishments? Your say-so over how your life would look this year?
I’ve seen a lot of people quote James in regard to this virus and our wrecked schedules. And they’re right to.
When we wake up in the morning to unwrap the contents of the day, we have little control over what we find. We say we’ll do this or go there or accomplish that, but our emptied calendars bear witness to what we keep forgetting: God is sovereign and we are not.
“You do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, ‘If the Lord wills, we will love and do this or that.’ As it is, you boast in your arrogance. All such boasting is evil” (James 5:14-16).
We didn’t have evil intentions when we planned our spring, when we marked dates on the calendar, when we made arrangements. But, if we found confidence or certainty in what we planned, we’ve “boasted in arrogance.”
Pride says that if we’ve planned it, all is well.
Humility says, “Lord, if you will or if you don’t, all is well.”
When the plans are pulled out from under us, where is our contentment? If it hinges on specific circumstances, we won’t find it. But if contentment is anchored in our unchanging, constant, sovereign Lord, we’ll never lose it. Control does not equal contentment. Contentment is not control.
While I’m grieving the loss of normalcy like everyone else, I’ve also had to reckon with the shattering of my illusion of control. Because that’s all it ever was: an illusion.
And in the end, it was for my good and God’s glory that everything was cancelled. I can’t see the why yet, but I know it must be true because He doesn’t waste anything.
Instead of boarding a plane, I’m likely sitting outside on the patio beneath the tulip trees watching my kids play. There’s probably a book in my lap. I’ll bake bread and fold laundry. I’ll write with a divided and distracted mind. I’ll go to bed thankful that I’m not sick but wrestle with sleeplessness anyway. My family will continue to adjust to our new normal like everyone else. We’ll ride our bikes, eat all our meals together, listen to a story read aloud before bed. We’ll yell at each other and then try again to be kind. We’ll all need a moment’s peace in a room alone. We’ll pray and read our Bible, laugh at the creative ways the kids tackle boredom. We’ll FaceTime the grandparents and have Zoom calls with our church family. We’ll wave at our neighbors across the street and holler across the distance to see how they’re faring. We’ll pray for an end to this terribly tragic situation the entire world is grappling with. We’ll miss everyone everyday, but we’ll know that God’s goodness transcends all our uncertainties, loneliness, and canceled plans because no matter what, He is always, always good.
We say we’ll do this or go there or accomplish that, but our emptied calendars bear witness to what we keep forgetting: God is sovereign and we are not. Share on X
Glenna Marshall is married to her pastor, William, and lives in rural Southeast Missouri where she tries and fails to keep up with her two energetic sons. She is the author of The Promise is His Presence (P&R) and Everyday Faithfulness (Crossway), and Memorizing Scripture (Moody). Connect with her on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.