One  of my first memories was as a pre-schooler before there was pre-school. I took a stack of hardcover books from the upstairs shelf and waited outside for a school bus that had no plan to pick me up. It wasn’t time, I wasn’t old enough. And I was devastated.

Years later I was in high school, a candidate for the National Honor Society. It was the first round of eligibility and I knew it was a long-shot. Still, I dressed better than normal in case my name was called. It wasn’t, and one girl whose name was called couldn’t resist pointing out how I was all dressed up with nowhere to go. Although I was inducted the following fall, it was hard to come to terms that spring that it wasn’t my time.

Then, as a young adult, a chorus of voices sang the same song regarding my future. There was a young man that everyone thought would make a great spouse because we had Christ in common. I was new enough in faith I wasn’t sure up from down, so I went along with the chorus. As you can guess, that relationship and our future was a figment of imagination. Marriage? It wasn’t time, and I’m so glad. Because the man God chose for me was worth waiting for.

With all those waits, you’d think I’d be okay when I face another delay.

Yet, here I am.  The first hour after school let out for the summer I broke my wrist. The right one I use to write. I wore a splint to my elbow, three casts, a velcro brace, and therapy to learn the bone started to heal in the wrong direction. Now there are bones stacked on each other, and that means surgery. I thought my healing would be done by now, and instead, I’m starting all over. It clearly isn’t time for me to move on.

That means my writing takes a hit. My plans were to be done editing my first contemporary romance and be moving forward. It isn’t time. At this time I’m able to write a little bit, and critique the submissions I receive from the groups I’m in. I can whine about how it isn’t fair, and I confess, I have, but what good does it do?

I believe everything has purpose, and my God doesn’t make mistakes. He has reasons for giving me this schedule, situations, and setbacks. I remember being frustrated because my toddler and I were late for a meeting and I had to pull over and fix his car seat. We were already late, but I knew I had to fix it. Turns out, the very time I pulled over a deer ran out in front of highway traffic I would have been in the middle of. Instead of being in the accident, I just missed it.

God knows what He’s doing.

When it isn’t my time, it’s still God’s.

And I’m okay with that.

How about you? How do you handle delays? Are you experiencing anything that you realize isn’t time yet?

Clock image by photobucket