One day in a parking lot

I remember one day in particular. I had taken Cam and Elle to the gym with me. I signed them out of the daycare, and we walked into the parking lot. I remember it was cold and we had our coats on, so it was within maybe weeks of Elle's accident. I asked her to hold my hand and recited what I had often told her, "Hold my hand because you're not tall enough for drivers to see you and they could run over you, and you would have to go to the hospital and you might die."

Looking back, I'm surprised that I was so graphic with her—it's not like me. I've made our kids aware of dangers but have been careful not to cause them to be fearful. I had crossed that line several times with her in this case. For the first time, she asked me,

"What would you do?"

I remember her looking up at me, waiting for my answer. I didn't know what to say.

"I would be so, so, so, so sad." I shook my head, "I can't even think about it."


This foreshadowing of what was soon to come to pass makes me wonder... did she know?

... did she know on some level?

Did I know on some level?


My dad didn't think he'd live past age 50. He often said that when he died, he wanted it to be of a massive heart attack. In his 50's he told us what he wanted engraved on his headstone, the word "Perspective." And we, his family, didn't think it was particularly strange that he talked this way about his death.

Without signs or symptoms, he died at age 56 of a massive heart attack in a grocery store.

I think about these correlations and wonder if somehow we recognized these events would unfold as part of God's plan for our lives.

Having an in-tact plan is important to me. Because my plan has died. And there's no going back. I need to have confidence that the "new" plan was always the plan. That it's the best plan. That my plan was always inferior, short-sighted, and inadequate. With that confidence, I can hope to adjust.