This slightly ruffled young bird felt like the perfect visual summary of the week. Carefully laid plans, a sudden change in direction, and the quiet realization that sometimes the bravest thing to do is perch, breathe, and wait. Not soaring. Not thriving. Just showing up — feathers and all.
When Life Hits Pause: Learning to Soften Into Unexpected Delays
I had planned everything.
The surgery date was set.
The details were mapped.
The mental goodbyes to pain and limitation had already been spoken.
In my mind, I was already on the other side —
walking more freely,
moving forward,
finally beginning again.
And then, two days before surgery, life tapped me on the shoulder.
Actually… it didn’t tap.
It cleared its throat.
A routine dental appointment turned into the discovery of a dead tooth.
Which turned into the words “You’ll need a root canal.”
Which then became, “Before we even think about knee surgery, we need to clear infection.”
Apparently, my mouth and my knee hadn’t compared calendars.
I remember staring at the dentist, thinking:
Of all the weeks. Really. This one?
It wasn’t dramatic.
Just deflating.
That quiet kind of disappointment that comes when you’ve already done the emotional work of preparing —
only to be told, not yet.
It wasn’t dramatic.
Just deflating.
That quiet kind of disappointment that comes when you’ve already done the emotional work of preparing —
only to be told, not yet.
Learning to Sit with My Inner Perfectionist
And I should probably admit something here.
I am, and always have been, a perfectionist.
I like clean plans.
Clear timelines.
Progress that behaves itself.
So when everything came to an abrupt halt — not gradually, not politely, but suddenly — my inner perfectionist did not rise to the occasion with grace.
She sulked.
She crossed her arms.
She was, frankly, a little grumpy. 😠
There was a definite moment of thinking,
I did everything right. I prepared. I was ready. Surely that should count for something.
Apparently, life was unimpressed.
And maybe — this is the part I’m learning — that grumpiness wasn’t failure.
It was grief.
Grief over losing control.
Grief over a carefully imagined outcome.
Grief over having to soften again when I’d already braced myself to be strong.
So yes, I was grumpy.
Not dramatically so — just the quiet, simmering kind that sighs a lot and stares out windows.
But even that, I’m learning, gets to be part of the process.
Learning When Planning Stops Working
I’ve always believed that careful planning was a form of faith.
If I stayed disciplined, organized, and thoughtful enough,
life would surely cooperate.
But I’m learning — slowly, humbly —
that planning is not the same as control.
Bodies interrupt.
Healing has its own order.
And sometimes the most loving thing life does is rearrange the sequence.
“The heart of man plans his way,
but the Lord establishes his steps.”
— Proverbs 16:9
That doesn’t make the waiting easier.
But it does remind me that delays aren’t always detours.
Sometimes they are protection.
Learning the Difference Between Peace and Softening
For a long time, I thought peace meant settling down.
Getting back on track.
Re-establishing momentum.
Fixing what had gone off script.
But lately, I’m learning something gentler.
Peace isn’t always calm.
Sometimes peace is softening.
Softening the grip.
Softening the timeline.
Softening the belief that I need to understand everything right now.
Softening doesn’t mean giving up.
It means staying present without self-correction.
“Be still, and know that I am God.”
— Psalm 46:10
Stillness isn’t inactivity.
It’s trust without a deadline.
Learning to Pause Without Panic
After the plans halted, there wasn’t panic or tears.
There was heaviness.
That subtle exhaustion that comes from having to gather yourself again —
when you thought you were finally ready to move forward.
And in that space, I noticed something surprising.
My body wasn’t asking me to push harder.
It was asking me to listen.
So now, when the weight of uncertainty presses on my chest,
I pause and remind myself of three very small truths:
- I am here.
- I am breathing.
- This moment is not asking me to solve my entire life.
That’s it.
Not a strategy.
Not a breakthrough.
Just enough grounding to let my shoulders drop.
Learning to Float Instead of Fighting the Waves
Life doesn’t move in straight lines.
It moves in rhythms.
Ebbs and flows.
Steps forward, pauses back.
Moments of clarity followed by waiting rooms.
Peace doesn’t come from stopping the waves.
It comes from learning how to float.
“Blessed are the gentle, for they shall inherit the earth.”
— Matthew 5:5
Gentleness is not weakness.
It’s adaptability.
It’s staying open when life insists on rearranging the order.
Learning to Ask a Kinder Question
Instead of asking,
What should I have done differently?
I’m learning to ask:
What is this day asking of me?
Some days ask for effort.
Some ask for patience.
Some ask for disappointment held gently.
And some days ask only for presence.
“Therefore do not worry about tomorrow,
for tomorrow will worry about itself.”
— Matthew 6:34
Today doesn’t need fixing.
It needs meeting.
Learning to Laugh a Little While Waiting
There is still humor here —
even in the delays.
There’s something quietly absurd about preparing for major surgery
only to be sidelined by a rebellious tooth.
Life has a way of reminding us that we are not fully in charge —
and sometimes it does so with impeccable timing.
I’m learning to smile at that now.
To say, Alright. I see you.
And to wait — not with clenched fists, but with open hands.
Held, Even Here
You are learning.
Learning patience.
Learning trust.
Learning how to soften without losing hope.
May you meet this season with kindness toward yourself.
May you trust that even now, you are being guided — not delayed.
And may you discover that sometimes,
learning to wait is also learning to live.
With love and gentle grace,
Renée
