I am not one of life’s planners. I’m not a binder and highlighter person, or a lover of the diary reminder.
That’s not to suggest I’m a happy-go-lucky, devil-may-care, seizer-of-the-day. I’m just not good at planning.
Many years ago, I went to a wedding.
My friends David and Emma were getting married and I was due to be playing a spot of Vivaldi on the trumpet at the end of the service. Now, this was a joy and a privilege but I find playing the trumpet in public stressful. Extremely stressful. I was therefore stressed. Furthermore, the wedding was faraway in Dorset.
This, then, was a day in need of a plan.
So, I planned.
I practised the music. I worked out the route. To allow maximal time to rehearse before the service, I elected to drive down in full wedding rig: tie, tails, shiny shoes, the lot. And, in order to minimise unnecessary creasing (I sound like Alan Partridge) I decided to wait until the last minute to put on my immaculately-pressed wedding trousers, stepping into them literally moments before setting off.
At which point, I felt something move and realised, to my horror, that I was not the only occupant of the trousers.
I was, in fact, cohabiting with a wasp. And the wasp was not inclined to share. So, the wasp stung me in the most immediately accessible place. And with that, my plans for stress-free wedding travel fell about my ears just as my trousers fell back around my ankles.
Even when we are meticulous and our plans are good, right down to the trousers, there might still be a wasp.
Christians believe, nonetheless, that ‘all things work together for good’, that God has things in hand, even when we do not.
I’m sometimes tempted, then, to give up on planning altogether and just see what happens.
Inconveniently, though, if all things work together, one of them has to be me; which means I have to take some responsibility. Even I need a plan.
Happily, I reckon it’s worth it.
Because, on that long-ago summer’s day, I got to David and Emma’s wedding. I played the Vivaldi. I enjoyed the party. The rest of the plan fell into place.
And yes, things were a little tender on the drive down.
But the wasp in the trousers is never the end of the story.