Some days go as planned; most days don’t.
I start with my daily planner the night before, as the time management experts suggest. I write down my agenda, my roadmap for the next day. That way, I can rest better, knowing I’ve planned the next day.
But, before the next day dawns, God looks it over, and once again, laughs. “There David goes again, thinking he’s got it under control. Just watch this, ha-ha.” And all the junior angels, eager to earn their wings, roll around on the heavenly floor in one big, raucous roar.
Meanwhile, the next morning, I scratch my head, wondering what happened to my best-made plans.
My intention the other day was to get an early start, work on project “A,” then move on to project “B,” segueing into project “C.” At the day’s end, I would congratulate myself for being ahead of schedule. But, people don’t normally call ahead and tell me they are unexpectantly going to get seriously ill.
Plan “A” would have to wait until I drove a couple of hours to pray with a friend who was near death. I chatted with his family, listening to their pain as best I could. We talked about the good days gone past as he lay unconscious in the hospital bed. We shared memories, laughed, choked back tears. I prayed.
Driving back, I figured I could at least get started on plan “A,” maybe even finish and then tackle plan “B” later in the evening.
My wife had been keeping our four-year-old granddaughter. As I drove back into town, I called to see if I could stop by McDonald’s for them. When that sweet granddaughter of ours found out I was back in town, she put her foot down, literally. I could hear her on my wife’s cell phone, “I’ve been with you ALL day, Gigi. I never get to see PopPop. I want to go to McDonald’s with him.”
The child can be quite persuasive.
“It’s okay, as long as you don’t ALWAYS give in,” I repeated to myself on the way to pick her up.
“Can I have JUST one fry, pleeese?” She asked as we exited the drive-through.
She was working on those fries when we pulled into the driveway.
“PopPop, can we get in the pool for JUST a minute?”
“Just for a minute,” I conceded.
Plan “A” was quickly fading into another time zone altogether.
On our way to the pool, Emmie and I went to the garden, where I showed her ripe tomatoes, menacing weeds, and peppers that were just the right size for her to pick.
“Are you hot enough for the pool?” I asked as we walked away from the garden.
“Oh, yeah, we’re stanky.”
We jumped in together, and I held her when she came up out of the water, gasping for air. “PopPop,” she cried.
“Right here, I’ve got you,” I assured her, my hand holding her steady.
We had barely cooled off in the water when nine-year-old Eli showed up after school.
“How come Emmie got to swim with PopPop, and I didn’t?”
This child, too, can be quite persuasive.
In a matter of moments, he was in the pool, cooling off with us.
Later that night, exhausted, I fell back in bed, reflecting on my projects, all of which were still waiting.
Somewhere in the day, maybe while I was praying with my friend (now with the Lord in heaven) or perhaps when Emmie and I were picking peppers, or when all three of us—Emmie, Eli, and me—splashed in the pool, somewhere I released it, and decided to live in that one moment. If I’ve learned anything about time management, it’s that all I get is one moment at a time.
Each moment is my life.
Or as poet Emily Dickinson put it: “Forever is composed of nows.”
Jesus told us to live it one day at a time, not worrying about tomorrow, for each day has trouble “enough for today.”
Drifting off to sleep that night, I visualized the snapshots: standing next to my friend in the hospital bed, praying with his family; bending over, picking peppers with Emmie; watching my grandkids flay about in the water; holding Emmie when she’s fearful of the deep. Each picture is a moment, only experienced in its own “now.” So, the detours of that day were really “no trouble,” for plans A-C will be there tomorrow, with their temptation for worry.
But for this moment, all I have is this moment.
And what a difference that makes for tomorrow.