Remember this ghoulish fall that I took?

I never went to the doctor afterward. To the horror of my MD sister-in-law I never got it checked out. I never got an x-ray. Instead, I got on a plane 2 days later headed to a conference. And believe me, I wish I could have responded to all the questions directed at my battered chin with a, “yes, I did get this in a skiing accident.”

It would have sounded so much cooler than the truth, which was “I lost my temper and was chasing my disobedient 4-year-old while wearing a pair of high heeled boots and I tripped and fell in the church parking lot.”

After it happened I lay on the cold, comforting concrete for a good half hour or so.

It was the first real concussion I have ever had. And I didn’t go see the doctor.

Classic. A classic example of last year. Life lived in a perpetual state of chaos.

No planning, no order, no time for reflection. Just pure survival mode. This year I want to break the pattern. I want to be deliberate.

I want a blueprint.

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV).

A blueprint, like its name, is a white-on-blue photographic print. It’s the translation of an architect’s plans into a builder’s road map to the completed house.

But do you know how a blueprint comes into being?

The plan is first drawn to scale on a special paper or tracing cloth through which light can penetrate. That drawing is placed over the blueprint paper. But here’s the thing, the paper is not blue yet. To the naked eye it appears ordinary. But it has been treated with a special mixture of chemicals.

It is full of the potential for transformation. But only exposure to bright light, to searing heat, will activate the blueprint’s hidden qualities.

When the switch is flipped the unprotected parts of the blueprint paper not lying beneath the lines of the original drawing are reduced to blue. This blue is the background of the finished print.

But the parts of the print that lay under the lines of the drawing, protected from the light, remain. And during the washing in water that follows exposure they surface. As a result, the lines of the original drawing appear white in the finished blueprint. (Columbia Encyclopedia.)

I want the Father to map me in this way.

I want to climb up onto his architect’s easel and lie hands and feet, soul, skin, hopes and dreams splayed out before him.

And when he places the plans he has for me over my life, I want to align with them. I want to crawl into the crevices of his penciled trail for my life and find refuge there from the over exposure to the disappointments, longings, and background noise of the world.

On days when the process hurts I want to remember that this is what it takes to transfer the original plan onto the waiting blueprint. And that in time I will emerge, washed in the water and true to his original design.

Map me, Father. Hide me beneath your plans. Mark me as yours.

Blueprint me. Slowly. Deliberately.

I will try not to move.

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