Call me nerdy, but I just love a good schedule. Give me some stickers, colored pens, and a blank calendar, and I’m a kid at Christmas. There is so much calm in the regular rhythm of planning—a chance to exert order and beauty and life over the chaos of time that doesn’t yet exist, an opportunity to mold the moments that make up whole seasons with purpose. Looking forward in anticipation is my jam.
Then there are the days that call for looking back. Because hindsight is 20/20, this practice provides perspective so I don’t rush from one experience to the next in an unending string of random events. When I sit down and quiet myself, God shows me what He’s been up to in the middle of, in the white space around, and in the interruptions to my beloved plans.
Cartography doesn’t exactly have the sexiest ring to it when it comes to vocations, but if you think about how crazy mapping out uncharted territory must be, the job smacks of adventure. A lake bends just here; and mountains sweep along to this side, extending to the forest. Because of cartographers and their pioneering work, explorers who come after them have an easier go of navigating the terrain.
Becoming a CF mama* has made me wish someone could hand me a map marked out with the landscape I’ll be expected to traverse. Knowing precisely where the quicksand of despair, the cliffs of exhaustion, and the high hills of holy hope are located would definitely make things easier, but this life doesn’t come with a map.
The little one struggled to form the name of his diagnosis. He watched his mama say them one more time, those two immensely difficult words for a four-year-old mouth to wrap itself around: cystic fibrosis. Suddenly, his eyes lit up with dawning recognition. “Oh! Sixty-five roses!” As pride swelled in his tiny chest for conquering yet another obstacle in his daily adventure, he couldn’t have known he’d just coined a phrase.
Half a century later, you can still find #65roses accompanying posts about this life-altering disease.