The Good Things Happen by Accident

This evening, I found myself sitting outside in my driveway. It's about 85 degrees in the shade, but there's a breeze. My husband is mowing, so the smell of fresh-cut grass is thick in the air. I'm listening to Josh Garrels, which is wonderful.

I didn't plan this moment. It wasn't on my schedule or in my planner. I didn't set an intention to "find peace in the driveway" or "practice mindful listening." I just... ended up here. And I didn't know I would enjoy it this much.

I feel like the good things that are happening in my life right now are fully accidental.

That should bother me more than it does. I'm someone who likes to plan, to make things happen, to see results from my efforts. But lately, it feels like God is orchestrating my rest in ways I could never manufacture myself. Like He's gently preventing me from experiencing results from my own efforts, and instead giving me gifts I didn't earn and couldn't create.

When Control Gets Taken Out of Your Hands

There's something both frustrating and deeply merciful about not being able to make the good things happen anymore. Frustrating because I want to be able to count on my own planning and effort. Merciful because my nervous system has been running on control for so long that maybe the only way it's going to learn a different way is if control gets gently taken out of my hands.

Not as punishment, but as protection. As an invitation to receive instead of always producing.

Tonight, sitting here with the breeze and the music and the smell of summer, I'm getting a taste of what it feels like to just... be loved without earning it. The warmth on my skin, the music that feeds something deep in my soul, the simple pleasure of existing without an agenda—this is the kind of nourishment that can't be scheduled or optimized.

The Gifts You Can't Plan

Maybe you know this feeling too. Maybe you've noticed that some of your most restorative moments happen when you're not trying to make them happen. The unexpected phone call that made you laugh. The song that came on at exactly the right time. The way the light fell through your window this morning and made everything feel, for just a moment, okay.

These aren't the things you can put on your to-do list. They're not the result of better routines or more discipline. They're grace—unearned favor that shows up exactly when you need it, in ways you could never orchestrate.

And maybe that's what your soul has been starving for. Not more efficiency or better systems, but the experience of being cared for without having to perform for it. The discovery that you matter not because of what you do, but simply because you exist.

Learning to Receive

There's something revolutionary about discovering that rest isn't something you achieve—it's something you allow. That healing doesn't always come through your efforts, but sometimes in spite of them.

Tonight, I'm learning that I don't have to earn the breeze on my skin or the music in my ears. I don't have to deserve the peace that settles over me when I stop trying so hard to make everything happen.

I can just receive it. Like a gift from a God who loves me enough to orchestrate my rest when I'm too stubborn to choose it myself.

Maybe that's what grace looks like for the chronically capable—moments when we can't make anything happen and discover we're still beloved. Still worthy of beauty and music and gentle summer evenings.

The Good Things Are Already Coming

What if the healing you've been working so hard for is already happening in ways you can't control or manufacture? What if the rest you've been trying to earn is being given to you in unexpected moments, accidental graces, gifts you didn't see coming?

The next time you find yourself in an unplanned moment of beauty—sitting in your car listening to a song that makes you cry, or watching the way the light falls across your kitchen counter—you don't have to analyze it or try to recreate it.

Maybe you can just receive it. Let it be enough. Trust that Someone who loves you is orchestrating your healing in ways more gentle and perfect than you could ever plan.

If this lands somewhere deep in your chest, trust that feeling. Sometimes recognition feels like coming home.

Save this for the next time you're trying too hard to make something good happen. Maybe it's time to discover what it feels like to be loved without earning it.

With love and accidental grace,
Laura