Do you ever have those weeks where you wonder just exactly what will happen? Where right from the get-go, all bets are off, normal is blown away, and from there it's sort of like walking through a fun house and there's no telling what will happen next. Will you crawl through a spinning tube or see a squat image of yourself, or--as I prefer--a long spaghetti image?
I started my week by leaving the house early destined for Northeast Arkansas to....wait for it...a toilet seat manufacturer.
Yes, someone has to make them, and now I know who. I had a personal chuckle, wondering how one gets involved in the toilet seat industry. Is it an idea that comes when sitting on the throne? Was the seat so uncomfortable that an enterprising sitter thought, "You know, I bet I could make this better." Or, was it a childhood dream?
Anywho, I drove North past Searcy and turned off of interstate 67 at Bald Knob. I knew I had about 26 miles until I found my seat people. Well, twenty six miles later, I pulled into town, which was weird since most plants are outside of town. Then I looked at my GPS and the street names, and just about had a heart attack.
I was in Searcy. Again.
For a few minutes I was convinced I'd found a wrinkle in the time-space continuum that ran along highway 64 in Northeast Arkansas. I have never anticipated finding such a wrinkle, and certainly not in Arkansas, but I guess you don't really expect to find them anywhere. When my heart started beating again, I scrutinized the little map on my phone a bit closer.
No, I had not found a wrinkle. Phew.
What I had done was miss a left turn and looped back down to Searcy on a narrow windy road. Grrr.
Fortunately the people who make toilet seats were patient and kind and agreed to meet with me thirty minutes later than planned.
The whole episode made me really glad that God designed the natural laws. It would be so hard to schedule one's day if you never knew if the road that used to go toward Memphis still went toward Memphis, or if, like a scratched CD, you might skip backwards 26 miles on your journey without warning. And, as much as I wished yesterday that I could pause time to make up my lost mileage, I'm glad that only marches one direction as well. It saves me from over thinking, from the chance to stew in regret, and probably from quite a bit of dawdling as well. And while I'm at it, I really am grateful for toilet seats and that someone makes them, and for people who are patient when you get lost twice and are super late to meet them.
Thank you, Lord, for your brilliance in configuring this world. For thinking up gravity, and maximum velocity, and the steady rhythm of time, and the sun by which to mark it. Thank you for cars, which make traveling so much faster, and that the cardinal directions don't go switching on us. Thank you, too, for inspiring the enterprise of humans to create things as simple and as indispensable at toilet seats. All my love.