We landed in Chicago the day after Christmas. It was snowing. Hard. As a Southern California girl, I have an abstract relationship with winter. In theory, winter exists where I live. In reality, I have no idea what cold feels like.
I found out pretty quickly. We exited the airport and the cold hit me like a slap in the face. It jolted me out of the long daze of hunkered-down survival that I'd been living in since the twins were born. I found myself shivering in the very present moment.
This was the first time in almost 5 years that my husband and I have been alone for more than two days. I didn't quite know what to do with such an amazing stretch of uninterrupted hours.
"So, what's the plan?" I asked my husband as we rode a cab into the city.
"There is no plan," he answered. "The only plan is love."
I admit to thinking: That's a stupid plan.
I like concrete answers, detailed maps, priorities, charts, Plan A followed by a fail-safe Plan B. For better or worse, I take a sort of piggy pleasure in checking off to-do lists. Getting things done.
But sometimes, you have to throw away the plan. Even if that seems like the scariest thing you could ever do.
Ditching the plan and escaping from our lives was like being catapulted into a different universe, plunked down in the middle of a snowy, cold otherworld and given one instruction: LOVE EACH OTHER.
I wish I could say that we fell straight into romantic embraces–but the truth is that it took a full 36 hours for us to unwind. We'd just survived the hardest two years of our lives. We were battle-weary, exhausted, stretched to the very limit. We were overdue for rest.
But finding our way to that place of rest meant first dealing with what Matt called a "backlog of arguments." We talked and talked, hashing through years' worth of problems and issues.
And then we prayed. Somehow–and I don't think I'll ever really understand it–but praying together heals us.
After that, it was the trip of our dreams. We spent hours meandering through the Art Institute, talking about life and faith, how far we've come, where we're going, laughing, joking, walking hand-in-hand through the falling snow.
That's when I understood what he meant: There is no plan. The only plan is love.
It's why I'm not making any formal resolutions this year. This year I'm not making any rigid plans. Yeah, I have a few goals and a handful of dreams. But above all else, I'm following Matt's advice.
The only plan is love. Love is my only resolution.
