Detours are Crooked Lines Too

It was nearly noon, and I was rushing (as much as you can rush on a country road) to make my appointment managing a photo session in Hastings, Minnesota. Hastings has it's share of meandering roads but the one I was on had stopped abruptly, just a few seconds before I would reach the bridge that would bring me into town.

I tried, I really did, to get to the appointment. I followed the minimal directions on the detour signs until I was certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I was lost. 

I called the photographer and explained, and he was kind enough to understand and send me home, or back to the office at least, saying he knew what to do and would do it.

I backtracked out of Hastings, feeling completely depressed for getting lost. Especially because I get lost a lot, and as soon as I see a detour anywhere, my heart jumps into my throat and I can only hope for the best. Unfortunately, the best is usually burrowed in  a rabbit hole somewhere, wanting nothing to do with me.

Oddly, I used to love detours as a child. All those arrows directing you through a maze of streets you likely never saw before, or if you did, you weren't paying attention. It felt like a game when someone else was driving. Now it just feels like another layer of stress, piling on to the day.

Detours take us on crooked lines, often making us miss the people we were meant to meet. My new book, Crooked Lines: A Single Mom's Jewish Journey, is about how God uses those lines can lead us to the right people, and that has been my experience too.

I have had exceptional luck in finding extraordinary people (including my husband) and am grateful that the detours I found as a single mom brought me to roads I wanted to travel on, with sun and moon to light the way. 

Leading to Crooked Lines, which is published as of September 5 (tomorrow) and can be purchased via my website here.

So. Maybe. Detours aren't so bad after all? Unless you're driving through them.

Photo by Pete Alexopoulos on Unsplash