“Daggone it,” I thought. Here I was on a lifetime adventure and the clouds blocked my view. 

I was flying from Rome to Munich as my 2019 dream vacation ended and I was headed home to the United States. In anticipation of a bird’s eye view of the Alps I even paid extra for a window seat. The day was clear and beautiful as I continued to scan the horizon for a glimpse of what I hoped to see. Just as we reached the base of the mountain range, thick clouds elbowed their way into the landscape and blocked the view below. 

Clouds hold no nationality. I can see those at home. Just as I began to turn away in disappointment something caught my eye. The white mountain peaks had been there. They were so tall that they poked their way through the clouds. I just didn’t recognize them because they weren’t the stony rock mountains I was expecting. Even in July they were covered with so much snow that the craggy white mountain tops blended with the cloud cover and appeared like ice floats on an arctic sea.

I don’t know what my expectations were. Perhaps I thought there would be some big hills with a little snow on top of them. What I saw was so majestic it literally took my breath away. The snow caps sparkled above the brilliantly white clouds, and it was difficult to get my mind around what I was seeing. It was hard to accept it for the beautiful gift it was. My mind wrestled to file this incredible view into a familiar context but there was none. This was completely new.  

Soon we landed and I mulled over what I had just seen.  I almost missed an indescribably beautiful view because I didn’t understand the possibilities beyond my own limited experience with real mountains. I was expecting something like the background of the movie “The Sound of Music.” What I got was so much more.

That flight came to mind as I watched my handyman wrestling to assemble a disappointingly flimsy storage shed that looked so much better online but came with half of its parts missing. Once again, I questioned how many times my expectation has been out of sync with reality. How many times was I disappointed over an unfulfilled expectation and then got mad when it didn’t go as I planned? Too many.

Those moments can be tough, but it can go the other way as well. Sometimes expectations are met beyond measure. 

I saw this over and over again with my husband James’ illness. 

I was a critical care hospital chaplain. I worked with hospice patients and organ donor families. I taught the stages of grief to patients and family. Yet this was different. This was personal. I thought I had a handle on things but somehow just as I thought we’d reached a plateau, more bad news arrived at the doorstep. 

Finally, it was when I got myself and my expectations out of the way that I experienced how God and the universe can work if we just let it.

We were moving to my home area because we needed help as James’ condition continued to deteriorate. I was a board-certified chaplain with over 20 years of experience so it came as a surprise when I couldn’t find a job where we needed to be. One hospital even flew me in for an interview and even though the position didn’t feel like a good fit, I was surprised when I didn’t even receive a job offer.

We were at a crossroad. James was about to try another approach in his care, and we needed to either push ahead and make the move or stay put.

One morning on my drive to the hospital I was stewing over possible outcomes. Feeling a little desperate I said out loud, “Lord, I’m happiest when I’m serving you!” I was alone in the car so if anybody heard it had to be somebody on the other side of the veil that separates our world and the much larger world of spirit. The response I heard with my heart was, “Think outside the box.”

As I entered the office, I was surprised to see the liaison for LOPA (Louisiana Organ Procurement Agency) visiting my director. I recognized her from organ donor cases I had worked on over the years.

A lightbulb went off in my head.  “Think outside the box.” While she met with my director, I turned on my computer and searched for “organ donation” and my new location. Immediately a job opening appeared. It had been open for a while. Was this what I was looking for?

There would be no move without a job but this certainly wasn’t the one I had in mind.

The LOPA rep left, and I followed her down the hall. She smiled when she saw me, and I shared with her my dilemma. She said, “Of course, I would recommend you for the job. You’ve worked with us before.” 

I made the call to Kentucky Organ Donation Affiliates (KODA) and I was just the type of candidate they were looking for to support the families of organ donors. A phone call and then a quick trip home for an in-person interview, and the job was mine. 

That was only the beginning. It was like the first domino hitting the next one in line. The progression began and as it did, each piece of the puzzle fell into place.  

• My mother offered us her little rental house so we had a place to stay.
• We listed our house and it sold.
• An army of friends appeared and helped with the major downsize required in moving from a four-bedroom house to two-bedroom house.
• My brother-in-law packed and drove the moving truck.

The next step was James’ care. Deciding the who, what, when, and where of moving a terminally ill cancer patient was daunting. We were moving home, though, so we had resources.

• Family stood ready to help.
• My mother’s tenants had already given notice, so the rental house was available.
• The job’s schedule was perfect for balancing James’ care while maintaining full-time employment.

A lung cancer survivor friend who was active in cancer support groups suggested Dr. K, an oncologist specializing in lung issues. I called the cancer center with my heart pounding in my throat. I explained our situation. 

“Is it possible to get an appointment with Dr. K?” 

The question hung in the air like one of those slow-motion movies where the ball is tossed and slowly, slowly the tension is released when waiting hands first touch the ball.

“No problem,” The oncologist’s office replied. “That is called ‘transfer of care.’”

I gave a deep sigh of relief. Tears of joy danced around the edges of my eyes. 

But there was so much more. I continued to trust the process that was in motion. Over time, I realized that much like my expectations of my mountain view, my aim was way too low. 

Remarkably, James’ Mississippi college roommate now lived where we were moving. As we drove back to New Orleans from the job interview, I suggested that he call his friend to tell him that we would be there soon. I drove while James called. He shared the news and then asked how his wife Linda was doing. 

“Oh, she retired from teaching.  She now works at the Cancer Center. AND she shares an office with Dr. K’s cancer navigator.”

As in, Dr. K our new oncologist. 

I almost drove off the road in shock. Then I laughed with joy. God was there already. Once again God provided the answer for a question that we didn’t even know we had. 

“Let go and let God.”

How many times have we heard that one?

I know I’ve heard it plenty of times, but this is what my experience has shown me.

It’s true.