It was 5:00 p.m. and I was cooking dinner when my husband called.

His tire had blown out on the highway. He was safe, pulled into a parking lot, but he’d be late and would try to change it himself.

Mondays I have circle — our 7:00 p.m. gathering where a small group of women from church discuss the weekend message, pray for one another, and engage the Scriptures together. It’s a sacred rhythm in my week.

Immediately, I could see how this might unravel the evening. We would need both vehicles and both drivers to get his car home safely. There was potential for interruption.

Shortly after, he asked me to come pick him up. I loaded up the boys, drove across town, and called a friend from circle to ask if she could begin leading in case I was late — or didn’t make it at all.

She said yes.

And just like that, I felt peace settle in. I wasn’t carrying this alone.

Dinner happened. A jack was purchased. A tire was changed. Time ticked closer to 7:00.

Then came the teaching moment.

My ten-year-old grew frustrated.
“Why did Dad ruin my night by blowing his tire out?”

It made me smile a little — because isn’t that how we all think sometimes?

Something inconveniences us, and we instinctively look for someone to blame.

I asked him gently, “Do you think Dad wanted his tire to blow today?”

“Well… no. But I’m mad that it did.”

And there it was. The real issue. Not Dad. Not the tire. The interruption.

We talked about how so much of life is outside our control. Things won’t always go our way. And in those moments, we get to choose our response.

Anger or steadiness.
Bitterness or compassion.
Self-focus or family support.

As a family, we show up for one another. We help. We adjust. We support. That’s what we do.

And as I was saying it to him, I realized God has been teaching the same lesson to me.

There was a time when an evening like this would have tightened something inside me. I would have felt rushed, irritated, anxious about being late.

But tonight?

My joy didn’t evaporate.
My peace didn’t get stolen.

I wasn’t gripping the schedule with white knuckles. I was open-handed.

If I made it to circle, wonderful.
If I didn’t, it would still be okay.

And I did make it — late, but present. And it was sweet. We prayed and encouraged one another. A friend prayed over me, thanking God that I choose to show up even when it’s hard. That touched me.

God was moving at circle.

But honestly? He had already been moving.

In a parking lot.
On a highway shoulder.
In a car ride with frustrated kids.
In my own slow surrender of control.

I am learning to embrace the process.
To slow down.
To trust that I am not in control — and that this is not a threat.

God is shaping something in me that feels steady — bigger than myself.

I want to notice Him everywhere.
In the highs and the lows.
In the planned moments and the blown tires.
In the teaching conversations and the quiet peace that stays.

He is moving.
And I don’t want to miss it.