Attentive to the detour

As the new year began and on my first day for RM, I woke up and looked out of the window to see a glistening scene of two inches of snow covering the garden.

I had planned to make use of my New Year’s swim membership (yes, I fell into that trap!) and head to the pool to get a few lengths in. I scraped the car windscreen whilst the engine was warming up and then set off down the road. 

I made it a whole mile to the next village. With the roads covered in ice, I stylishly skidded around two corners at the impressive speed of 10 mph, then turned around and headed home – thankful that Norfolk is mercifully flat.

I was annoyed that despite my effort and commitment, I couldn’t do what I had planned. I checked the pool timetable for later in the day and the weather forecast, wondering if I could go later. It didn’t look hopeful unless I wanted to join in with a U3A swim session.

In that moment, as the sun started to come up, I looked outside and thought maybe I should get out in the snow before it melts or turns icy. Still not fully awake, I pulled out my winter running gear from the depths of a cupboard, put on my trail running shoes, and headed out the door.

Within a hundred yards I was on tracks and trails, with fresh snow crunching under my feet. I was so caught up in the beauty around me that I had to stop to take it in and get a few photos. The moon was still visible in the west as the sun appeared on the eastern horizon. There was a quietness and stillness as the snow muffled the usual sound of vehicles on local roads. As I continued, animal tracks criss-crossed the footpaths, some I could identify and others I could not. Occasionally, snow was blown off the hedgerows into my face by the cold wind coming off the Wash.

I was absolutely caught up in wonder at the beauty of creation and all I was experiencing, sensing a closeness with God and responding in worship. I arrived home and breathed deeply, filled with joy and thanks. My plans had been changed - and for the better.

As I reflected on my change of plans, I was drawn to Jesus’ many encounters where his plans changed. One of these is the story of Jairus’ daughter, which involved Jesus changing his plans twice (I’ll summarise it here, but you can read the whole story in Mark 5:21-43). Jesus had crossed the lake of Gennesaret and was approached by a synagogue leader called Jairus, asking Jesus to heal his dying daughter. Jesus went with him, changing his original plan, and on the way a woman who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years touched his cloak in faith for healing. Jesus was sensitive enough to recognise what had happened and took time aside to seek her out - his second change of plans.

At the end of their interaction, someone from Jairus’ house bluntly delivered the news that his daughter was dead and said, “Why bother the teacher anymore?” But thankfully the story doesn’t end there, and when Jesus arrived, he raised the little girl up.

There are so many things we could explore in this story, but I am in wonder at Jesus and his ability to hold his plans lightly, with a sensitivity to know what his Father and the Spirit are doing. As a result, we read about lives changed.

As I continue into this new year, I am reminded that my carefully made plans are best held with open hands. What began as frustration became an unexpected gift because I was willing - however reluctantly - to let go and respond to what was unfolding instead. Like Jesus, I want to grow in attentiveness: to notice interruptions, to listen for God’s quiet nudges, and to trust that the Father’s love and purpose are often found off my intended route. Perhaps the question for me, and for all of us, is not only how tightly we can organise our days, but how willing we are to be led. Sometimes the snow-covered path we didn’t plan to take is the very place where God wants us to be. 

Sam Abramian

Director: East of England