Day 170

Ecclesiastes 3–5 | 2 Corinthians 9

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There are days when nothing goes as planned.

And there are days when everything goes wrong at once—just to make sure you’re paying attention.

Yesterday and today were that kind of day.

It started yesterday morning with a phone call from one of my star employees. A guy I’ve mentored and championed. He was calling to let me know he’d accepted another job. I wasn’t surprised. The acquisition gutted our team and everyone’s leaving. I’m proud of him. Still, it stung. Because it means more work for me until my own forced exit in six short weeks.

After a mid-morning meeting, I opened the back door to find flecks of orange and blue plastic scattered across the yard like party confetti. Sadie, apparently, had decided the orange egg mold from my griddle and the lid to the chlorine dispenser were no longer necessary household items. She looked quite pleased with herself. And honestly? I was a little impressed too—retrieving that lid mid-swim took commitment I didn’t realize she had.

Later that day, my middle finger—the one I just had surgery on—started to swell. A lot. Painful, red, angry.

Then Talacey came home from work and left the car running while she changed clothes inside. A smart move—keep the A/C running because it’s nearly 100 degrees outside. Except we drove all the way to church for college ministry and realized too late: the key fob was in the pants she’d changed out of. Back home I went, racing to get it so we wouldn’t be stranded.

This morning, my finger looked far worse. More painful, brighter red, much angrier. So swollen now I thought it might burst.

The therapist took one look and said, “Call your surgeon. Now.” I sent him pictures (click here to see one of them). He sent antibiotics to the pharmacy—stat.

Meanwhile, the insurance company decided 8 therapy sessions should be enough, despite the surgeon’s prescription for 20. So I called. Waited. Explained. Only to be told they couldn’t tell me what more they needed. Because apparently, I don’t qualify for details about my own hand.

An hour later, I went to pick up the antibiotic. Not ready. “Come back in 30 minutes.”

So I went home and grabbed Talacey’s car—which had a screw in the tire—and drove it to the tire shop.

While waiting at the tire shop, the vet called: “It’s time to spay Sadie. That’ll be $800.” Because of course it is.

Speaking of heat, the A/C in my truck has been blowing warm air. So Jason came over tonight to recharge the refrigerant in it—because when things break at my house, Jason usually shows up.

He connects it all, checks the gauges, flips the switch, and—you guessed it—the refrigerant’s fine. Which means the compressor isn’t. Because of course it isn’t.

I wish I were exaggerating.

But I’m not.

And as I sat down to write today, I just laughed. Not because it’s funny—though it is when I consider the absurdity—but because I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.

A Time for Everything

Solomon wasn’t lying when he said there’s a season for everything.

“A time to be born, and a time to die…

a time to heal…

a time to laugh…

a time to weep…

a time to keep, and a time to cast away…” (Ecclesiastes 3:2–6)

Sometimes those seasons feel like slow transitions.

Other times they’re all packed into the same 36 hours.

And yet, Solomon makes this stunning statement in 3:11:

“He has made everything beautiful in its time.”

Not convenient.

Not painless.

But beautiful.

Which means: even today.

Even when your finger’s infected.

Even when the vet prices your puppy like she’s a Maserati.

Even when life feels like it was written by a sitcom writer with a cruel sense of humor.

He hasn’t left the building. He hasn’t lost control. And He hasn’t let you go.

There’s a time for everything.

But there’s never a time He isn’t working.

What You Do With the Time You’re Given

In 2 Corinthians 9, Paul isn’t talking about time. He’s talking about generosity.

But the principle still holds.

He tells them to give—not under compulsion, but with joy.

Because God loves a cheerful giver.

And “God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that… you may abound in every good work.” (9:8)

And that’s the question that hit me in the middle of all the chaos:

Will I let the interruptions become excuses?

Or invitations?

To be generous with grace.

To be cheerful when I feel cheated.

To laugh when everything goes wrong—and trust that it’s not wasted.

Because I don’t want to just survive my days.

I want to honor God with them.

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Lord, thank You for the gift of time—even when it doesn’t feel like a gift. Thank You for being sovereign over delays, over infections, over insurance companies, and even over tire screws and vet bills. Use these moments not to undo me, but to refine me. Help me trust that You’re making something beautiful, even when everything feels broken. Amen.