Plan ... to Laugh at Yourself

(And Sometimes Pivot)

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On a Sunday morning in February about twenty-five minutes before we needed to leave for church, I went for a jog. With my cow. For half a mile. In boots.

This was not a wholly-unplanned venture (though in retrospect, I wish I hadn’t worn the boots). After trying and failing to get my cow successfully bred via artificial insemination, I had turned to a very old-fashioned method to solve my problem — ask for help from a neighbor.

The plan was simple. I was to walk my cow to my neighbor’s barn, have her spend the night with one of his smaller bulls, and retrieve her the next day for a fraction of what it costs to order AI supplies and line up a vet to use them.

Lyric was ready for a date and seemed excited by her unexpected field trip. I had planned to walk her to my neighbor’s place, but she insisted on trotting. And when a 650lb animal sets the pace, you either keep up or give up. Jason was kind enough to drive the minivan behind us to give a little vehicular protection and moral support. (Little did I know he was documenting the adventure from his driver’s seat.)

My scarf fell off as we rounded the bends and curves of our little back road, but we managed to make it to the stop sign bordering the trickiest part of our journey — crossing the busy street. Right before I crossed, however, I noticed my neighbor’s white truck heading our way. He rolled down his window, said he was leaving, and it wouldn’t be a fit for my cow to come over.

This wasn’t the plan we’d discussed the day before, and I felt both disappointed and irritated — and justified in feeling so.

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After a year of failed AI attempts and the loss of two calf pregnancies, I’d really been hoping we’d be able to make this arrangement with my neighbor’s bull work and finally get my mini-jersey in proper milk production. But now, when I was a mere 60 feet from the barn in question with my cow panting by my side (though it may have just been me panting), my neighbor had changed his mind.

My plans needed to shift, and I felt miffed.

I don’t mind shifting my plans when I’m the one deciding to do the shifting. But it’s harder for me to shift graciously when someone else is choosing the gears. It feels a little like getting shoved.

With nothing else to do, I turned around and trotted back to our house with mini-cow in tow. Then I needed to rush to freshen up as I hadn’t planned on sweating prior to Sunday School. Shocker of shockers, we were late to church.

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Sometimes, I have a feeling God finds my plans amusing. After all, I have very little control over what happens in this life and cannot perfectly predict particulars in the near future — not even the weather. Lest I forget this, homesteading has provided ample opportunities to make plans (“We’re growing this in the garden this year!”), but learn to hold them loosely (“And the bugs just ate it all.”). Whether it’s livestock not multiplying the way they’re supposed to, sick animals dying despite my best efforts at rehabilitation, or even the shifting opinions of my neighbors, there is nothing in this good-but-broken creation which can offer the same security as a good-and-proven Creator.

This is not to say all planning is futile. Plans are tools of dominion-taking. We may not be God, but we are His children and have been called to take care of His creation and use our talents for good. To create beauty and order out of brambles and chaos. Whether it looks like painting a portrait, planting a garden, or balancing a budget, we all bear the creative imprint of our Creator. Plans can help us organize our time and resources to help fulfill our callings. I would never have completed my education, my novels, the dishes, or any homesteading projects without some sort of plan of action.

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But when plans cross the wiggly line from “the preferred” to “the pan-ultimate,” we are in idol territory. Plans cannot be a rock-solid basis for our security. We are simply unable to plan for every life situation. Nor can we always carry out our plans because they often involve factors beyond our control.

When fulfilling my own plans becomes more important to me than connecting with God or following His plans for me, I am off-balance. Missing the mark. In a word — sinning. And to treat my plans as if they are all divinely inspired is to at best beg for disappointment and at worst to create idols and forget my true identity as I am not God.

Only God is all-knowing and all-powerful and all-perfection. His plans are always good and always come to pass. It’s okay if my plans fail sometimes — and to feel that loss genuinely — as long as I can talk to God honestly about it and refuse to allow bitterness to fester.

Take the last failed breeding attempt in my mini-cow saga. What does God say about my failed plan? Am I desiring something I shouldn’t? No, God designed cows to give milk, and having a calf is the way to get there. Is there some lesson I’m supposed to learn about patience or perseverance or the brokenness of the world or trusting God when I don’t understand? Possibly. Is it wrong for me to keep trying to get this cow in milk? I doubt it, but there are a few things about God’s general plan for my life which I don’t doubt.

For starters, Scripture makes it pretty clear God’s plan for His followers involves forgiving others. You know that pesky part of the Lord’s prayer which says, “forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors”? That’s much easier to recite when one has no immediate debtors. Thankfully, God does not leave us alone to follow His plans in our own efforts. He gives us His Spirit, His word, His church, and yes, even uncomfortable opportunities to grow in sanctification (such as forgiving the man who left me at a stop sign with my mini cow on a Sunday morning).

(As an aside, he did kindly call me later to explain why he didn’t feel comfortable with our arrangement and even gave me a possible lead for a solution — for which I was grateful.)

As spring approaches, I find I’m in super-planning mode as I assess new goals for the homestead, the garden, my schedule, and my writing. My eldest son is trying to decide which college to attend. My husband and youngest son are planning a hiking trip with friends. And yesterday, my youngest daughter informed me she intends to do an art project a day once summer arrives.

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Plans are exciting and motivating. But bottom line, only God knows what’s really going on and what will happen next. So I find it best to talk to Him about my plans — even when it comes to my desires for my mini-cow. Not only does this provide interesting conversation for Him, I’m sure, but it also helps me to hold my plans in their proper place. If nothing else, they provide an opportunity for me to laugh at myself later.

Not a bad plan.

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