When I was a young girl, I had plans for what my future would be.
I had plans to live in an exotic place. Of course, as a youngster, exotic meant the campground at Shakamak State Park or the drainage ditch behind my cousin's house in Eau Gallie, Fla. So, when I found myself living in a parsonage in the middle of rattlesnake-infested prairies and hundreds of prairie dog towns littered with blowing sage brush, it wasn't what I had planned.
I had plans to marry a dark, rakishingly handsome man, very Rhett Butlerish. So, when I found myself married to a sandy-haired man of average height, it wasn't what I had planned.
I had plans for children, too. There would be four: first a boy in the spitting image of his father, then a girl with blond hair and curls, followed closely by a set of fraternal twins, a boy and a girl who would dazzled everyone with their dimples and freckles. So, when the girl came first, complete with mousy brown hair the exact shade as my own, followed four years later with a blond-haired boy who kept us so busy we had no desire to try for more, it wasn't what I had planned.
As a planner, I find comfort in the words of Jeremiah 29:11: "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future." It gives us great comfort to know that God has planned for us the same things we have planned for ourselves: prosperity, safety, security.
But that's just one sentence in the middle of a paragraph. If we put that sentence into context, the meaning becomes quite a bit different.