I’m a planner — through and through. There is a certain degree of comfort I derive from planning things and executing on the plan. It’s why I was so good at producing conferences and festivals, because I could spend an entire year or more planning one event that takes place in two days and then it’s done. There was the sense of satisfaction I garnered from watching thousands of people show up and have an enjoyable and enriching experience with and event I played an instrumental role in. It was the joy of accomplishment.
Before I go to bed at night I set out two coffee presses, one with Yerba Mate for Maria and one for me with half-caf. I fill the water kettle and orient mugs and implements so when I get up I can just turn the burner on, wait for the water to get hot, and brew. It’s a planning ritual I do every evening.
Heating our home with wood provides an opportunity for all sorts of planning. I have to think about how much firewood we have and what type. Is it dry enough. I need various thicknesses of wood and kindling to start the fire. In the spring and fall we only burn a fire in the morning to take the chill out of the house, which means I take time in the evening to shovel out the ash from the woodstove and build a new fire for the morning. I build it in such a way so that all I have to do is provide a small spark from a lighter and the structure will do the rest.
When we moved recently there was tons of planning. Working on our cabin I have to think about the order in which things need to happen. And on and on the planning goes.
But . . .
There is a saying that if you want to make God laugh, tell her your plans. The reason is that we can never match God’s infinite wisdom. Which means we can plan all we want. Plans are good. Plans are helpful. But if we hold too rigidly to the outcome we may never discover what the possibilities are.
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