Being a planner is my nature. Things go much more smoothly when I’ve got a plan. It’s never fun to start a meal and realize you don’t have half your ingredients because you didn’t plan well. Especially when my children were small, it helped the day run well if I looked ahead and had things prepared for the day. As a young mom, I was forced to become an organized planner. But I’m realizing that this new life we’ve entered means letting go of my planner to some extent. I’m learning to live with an open hand.
It had been a few decades, at least three, since I’d seen it. When my mom placed the small binder in my hands, I didn’t even recognize it at first. How could I have forgotten about something that was so significant? This little black binder, filled with: colorful pages, handwritten notes, Scriptures, praises, worship, instruction, yearnings and dreams, and had started me on a journey of growth that has been rich.
When she put the stubby three-ring binder in my hands, I didn’t recognize it at first. I was at my mom’s house helping her look through her closets and pick out clothes for our big trip (see this post). She handed me the small black binder and said she’d come across it some time ago and kept forgetting to mention it, thought I might want it. At first I didn’t even recognize it, but as soon as I started turning pages, the rush of memory brought everything back.