I drove myself to the airport in a downpour early this morning before boarding a flight to Chicago, en route to Denver. At times, the rain fell so hard I couldn’t see a bit of the road. Having taken a much longer time to get where I was going than I planned, I arrived with just enough time to late check my bag, head through security and walk into the line to board.

The rain was still pouring down and the sky was dark. The pilot mentioned some weather on the way, so I just assumed it would be a fairly bumpy, gray trip over the lake.

Back on the ground in Chicago this morning.

Not so when we got above the clouds. From the air, the puffy white thunderheads below us glistened in daylight as the sun came up; the sky was striped with pink and orange and blue.

In that moment, I was reminded so clearly that our perspective is directly related to our vantage point, and our vantage point doesn’t always offer the full picture. Having the full picture is awfully rare, and probably for good reason. If only it weren’t so hard to remember there’s always more to what’s happening than what meets the eye.

I’ve shared here that our baby is currently breech, and while I’m doing what I’m able to change that, I know I can’t control what actually happens within my belly. Knowing that baby is breech, it’s easy to focus on the possibilities looming rather than the bright ones that are equally as possible. Thinking about options for a breech delivery where we live feels a bit like driving through that downpour this morning. My hands are on the wheel, but I can’t see what’s in front of me. And what I’m able to do is pray and keep asking for safety and a clear path to the result I’m hoping for…but it’s not mine to decide.

It’s far harder in moments, when I’m working through pain or feeling baby in the wrong direction and wishing things were different, to consider that there is beauty above the clouds. I can’t see the whole picture, and I’m not supposed to. But I can trust that there is more to this part of the journey than what meets the eye.

For all I know, there is a bright, bright spot in this story–one above the clouds that’s better than what I’ve imagined. My baby knows what it needs, and my body knows what to do, so I need to trust that my picture from the outside is limited compared to what’s happening on the inside.

My perspective is colored by what I think I want, what I’ve imagined, and how I think the circumstances should go. And yet I’ve had to learn the lesson over and over again that my thoughts and plans are not always what’s best for me. God knows far, far better, and He can answer any prayers I offer up. When He doesn’t, it’s because His plan is higher than mine. It’s better than what I can see at ground level, and beyond that, it’s the kind of beautiful that just might take my breath away.

praying for change, but also for the wisdom to find peace at any altitude,

mm