This time last year, Brad and I had just barely arrived for our several-week stint in Scotland, a gift we were able to experience during his sabbatical. Looking back, it’s so hard to believe a year has already passed; but we remain grateful for the many fond memories we were able to gather then and continue to hold onto now.

One part of the trip I don’t really have much memory of…is planning it. And if you know me, you know that is not typical. I am usually very much a planner, but during the months, weeks, and days leading up to this trip, Brad pretty much planned it all. Our roles were very much reversed. All I did was pack my bags and hop on the plane. And, surprisingly, I was okay with that.

Here’s why: while some might call it a “hands-off” approach, I experienced it as hands-wide-open. I sensed an invitation from God to be open to surprise along the way—open to receiving the unexpected. And let me tell you, the trip far exceeded that expectation.

I was surprised in many deep, meaningful ways. But also in lots of fun, lighthearted ways.

For instance, we took a weekend trip to St. Andrews, where Brad spent his junior year of college. Brad was excited to visit his old stomping grounds and show me around, but as someone who has an interest in the British royal family, I was excited to visit the town where William and Kate {the current Prince and Princess of Wales} fell in love during their university days. I hoped to visit all their significant spots while we were there. Luckily, Brad knows me well and considered this in his planning, so we spent a couple hours one afternoon doing just that.

We strolled through the courtyard of the dorm where they first met. We had coffee at the cafe they were known to frequent together. And we found the flat where they once lived with friends. It was all so much fun. As the afternoon slowly turned into evening, I knew I still wanted to try to find a particular pub they often went to as students, but I figured that could wait until after dinner. So, we went back to our hotel room to regroup, and I looked up the pub.

The good news was, it looked like the pub wasn’t far from our hotel. The bad news was, it also looked like it had permanently closed. Still, I thought it might be fun to at least walk by the building at some point; after all, it was nearby. Or so I thought.

Sitting in our hotel room, I continued to look closer and hone in on the exact building in my maps app. And I could not believe what I was seeing.

If the map was accurate, it seemed I was already sitting in the pub. What in the world?

Some quick side research revealed that, not long after the pub closed, the hotel next door (the one we were staying in) bought the building. That building was then converted into a few extra hotel suites, and it appeared the room we were staying in (which took up the entire bottom floor) used to be the small, hole-in-the-wall pub I was looking for.

I kid you not, our exact hotel room used to be Will and Kate’s favorite pub in St. Andrews. Talk about surprise. We were shocked.

It wasn’t something we planned for, but it was something we were delighted by. And I found that as our trip went on, more surprises like that were in store. Most I was glad about; a few I wasn’t particularly fond of. But I found myself open to it all in a way that is not usually true for me. And it was unbelievably refreshing.

Here’s the thing: So often, at least in my experience, we cling so tightly to our agendas, timelines, strategies, and deadlines. The hope is that, if we follow suit, they will help us reach the goal or achieve the thing—whatever it might be. It’s not that planning and preparation are necessarily bad or destructive in and of themselves; they can be forms of good stewardship. But I’m learning that when they are fed by a need to control, manufacture or force, they can become less helpful and more harmful.

Because we soon find ourselves hyper-focused on a desired outcome. Anxiety, pressure, and bitterness creep in. And we begin to forget and overlook the movement and presence of God in our midst. In our circumstance. So we clench our fists and white-knuckle through, totally unaware of how God might be leading or what God might be up to.

It’s been my experience over and over and over again, all throughout my life. And it is exhausting. Maybe you can relate?

There’s a passage in the gospel of John where Jesus is having a conversation with a pharisee named Nicodemus. Now, there are a lot of important layers and details in this passage that I won’t unpack now. But essentially, Nicodemus has an openness—or at least a curiosity—toward Jesus that was not typical for a pharisee. And he has come to Jesus to explore and find out more. It is in the middle of their conversation that Jesus says something pretty profound. In John 3:8, he says,

 The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.

Now, the same word used for “wind” here can also be translated as “spirit.” The spirit blows where it chooses. A reminder that the Spirit of God is moving and at work. And if that is true, I’m discovering more and more that I want to be open and attuned to it.

I find this can look lots of different ways, but one way that has been helpful for me is what I  call a spiritual practice of surprise. I’ve been trying it on for size for a couple years now, and it continues to be a practice that cultivates a lightness, a gentleness, a freedom, and a flexibility within me. It’s led to an openness and a trust that isn’t always easy, but that has been incredibly life-giving.

What does it look like? Well, it’s less like a formula and more like an intention. And it starts by welcoming surprise, whether that surprise feels like an invitation or an interruption. A delight or a disappointment. A gift or a detour. An opportunity or a delay. Whether it meets, exceeds or misses altogether my own plans, hopes and expectations.

Practically speaking, I keep a list in the Notes app on my phone. Anytime something unexpected happens—big or small—I add it to the list. And every couple weeks, I take some time to review the list and consider if I noticed God meeting me in and through those unexpected situations and circumstances.

Not every surprise is a welcome one initially. But I’m learning that each surprise has the potential to lead us closer to the heart of God.

As author and minister Ted Loder prayed,

Gentle [us],

Holy One,

Into an unclenched moment,

A deep breath

A letting go

Of heavy expectancies,

Of shriveling anxieties

Of dead certainties

That softened by the silence

Surrounded by the light,

And open to the mystery,

[We] may be found by wholeness,

Upheld by the unfathomable,

Entranced by the simple

And filled with the joy that is you.

Today, may we remember and engage a spiritual practice of surprise. May we welcome the unexpected and hold our plans loosely. May we live with hands-wide-open, receptive to the movement and work of the Spirit, curious about how we might join in and be a part as, together, we continue to become the people God calls and invites us to be.