Note: On Fridays, you can find me at Your Daily Tripod, owned by my friend TonyD. A longer version of the post below appears there.
Nothing, I could tell you, had worked out as planned. The dream of working for a major news service in New York, the weekend cottage on Cape Cod, filling it up with friends and family in the summer, solo walks on the beach in the 
winter.
Except that it did. The solo walks happen in quiet Arlington mornings instead of at Provincetown or Chatham, the friends and family come to the large apartment I share with my sister, and it turned out the stability of a government job suited the rest of my life better than the unpredictability of the news business.
Nothing, a woman said at a recent gathering, had worked out as planned. The house full of children, the extended family and friends wandering in and out.
Except that it did. A ragtag band of an adopted child’s friends, some with nowhere else to go, was forming a community and filling up that very house.
Nothing, a friend said in essence, was working out as planned. Eight more years of stirring ministry in a place that spoke to the heart, soul, and mind, snatched away, seemingly capriciously.
Except that it will.
And as a group of us prayed over him for healing and faith and confidence, the light silent sound was overwhelming. It tingled like electricity, steady, humming, stronger than any wind, earthquake, or fire. It was the Holy Spirit coursing through us, the Lord passing by, reminding us all that it always works out as planned and that in our souls, we know the reason we are here.
