Not My Plan

whiteboardI love planning.

For Lent a few years ago, I felt convicted to give up my whiteboard. I realized I was consulting it more than God when deciding what to do in my day. I had “Shower” on there at one point. I’m not even kidding. I’ve been freed of my whiteboard ever since.

But I still look to my plans to give me security in uncertain times.

A friend asked me what’s next in life for me. When I replied with a five-year plan, she smiled. Maybe she could tell it’s a recent invention to buffer against the unknown. Halfway through reciting my tentative future to someone else, I realized he could’ve given me great advice if I would ask and listen. Sometimes, I rely on my plans rather than allowing God and God’s people to care for me.

Sometimes my plans prevent me from caring for others. My Dad and I have been training for a half-marathon together. One day, he got home late and it looked like we’d have to cut our run short to avoid running in the dark. I was angry for most of the run. Then I realized I was valuing my running schedule over my relationship with my dad.

So, I decided to let go of my running schedule for a few days and spend more time praying. Part of the time, I rambled about my feelings. Part of the time I sang Psalms about God’s character. I also closed my eyes and traced my finger through a mini-labyrinth I’d made.

My labyrinth artwork

My mini-labyrinth

When I first walked a labyrinth a couple years ago, I would think I was walking toward the center, and then I would hit a barrier and have to go way back out to the edges again. But in labyrinths, unlike mazes, there are no dead ends. There is only one way: the path is made by walking. Every disappointment actually pointed me closer to my goal. I compared this experience to times in my life when God didn’t give me what I asked for, because God could see the birds’ eye view. With time, I too saw that God gave me something better.

After my recent prayers, I didn’t notice much change in the areas I’d rambled to God about. But, out of the blue, someone called me back who I had been waiting to hear from for months. I was upset about a work meeting, but it ended up resolving big questions I’d had. I also randomly discovered a friend was moving to my city. The product of my prayers was not the results I’d selfishly hoped for. Instead, my prayer produced an awareness of God doing his own thing. It awakened a new Psalm in my own heart.

I sang this song in journal entry I’d written just before college: “All of my plans, all of my dreams, I lay them down before your feet. Because you are the one, only one who dared to give it all away for me.” The song suggests that Jesus gave it all – even his plans – for our relationship with God.

I don’t mean that the crucifixion was a surprise for him. He knew what he came to earth to do. But at the last moments, he prayed, “Daddy, Father, everything is possible for you. Take this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will.” He asked if there was any other way to deal with the world’s sin and glorify the Father. But he didn’t push for it. His soul was overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death and his body sweated drops of blood. But his spirit was willing. He accepted that even if there was a Plan B, he would let the Father do the best way. God submitted to God.

When Jesus surrendered to the Father, an angel came to strengthen him. It comforts me to know that when we give everything to God, God gives us strength to carry us through. When I’m overwhelmed by my responsibilities at work, I have a playlist called “Rescue Me.” Combined, the songs say: Ni Mungu, Sio Mimi, atendaye kazi (God, not me, does the work)… I can’t go on without you… Peke yangu sitaweza (on my own I won’t make it)… Please be my strength.

I want to learn what it really looks like to rely on God’s strength. Jesus’ story suggests it has something to do with prayer. So here’s a start: God, I’ve told you what I want. But your plans are better. Please do what you want in my life, even when I ask for something else. Make me weak and pliable so your strength can shape and use me. Your will be done.


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