“Hey, are you coming?”

My friend asks hesitantly on the phone as I bolt up from my couch. My blanket, now extra fluffy from a fresh wash, covered the lower half of my body. I even ignored the dangling dryer sheet still hanging on. That dryer sheet and I had a lot in common.

My daughter has a soccer game—in 15 minutes. My dramatic gasp reminisced of those cliffhangers that I so often saw on Telemundo’s many novelas.

My worried and kind friend asked me if I was okay—and then promptly reminded me I should go. At that point, I felt like a film crew had its camera centered on me, and it swung around at 360° in slow motion. The blanket, dryer sheet, and my senses flew into the air while I barked out directions to each of my kids.

To my oldest—he was captain of the snacks.
My daughter was in charge of changing but not put on her cleats until we reached the car.
And my youngest, at 4, just please use the restroom. Please. I don’t care if it’s on the floor; we just need to go.

Like a well-choreographed action scene, each member of our family played their part with gusto. The oldest even threw our chairs into the trunk. Nice touch, older kid.

The Top Gun pilots had nothing on my kid-sized crew and me. Eat your hearts out, Air Force. My minivan probably broke through the sound barrier—and one stop sign. Talk about riding through the danger zone. Was this worth it?

The giggles that erupted from the passenger seats shot me back into reality. The hurry didn’t seem to bother them even as I raced against the clock. Minutes passed as we wove through streets, inched closer to the soccer fields.

Eventually, I managed to snag a parking spot by my daughter’s soccer field. We made it right as the game started—self-high five.

The boys and I shuffled towards the field with our folding chairs.

A little relief.

“See? You made it just in time!” I slumped into my chair and affirmed my friend’s observation with a grunt of some sort.
“Wait—is it the 24th?”
“Uh, yes?”

Back into action. I grabbed the 4-year-old, repeated a similar action scene to Target, and managed to catch only 10 minutes of my daughter’s soccer game.

In the car, on the way back from grabbing a variety pack of Annie’s snacks (great soccer snack choice, by the way), I started laughing. I laughed because the choreography, the quick-wittedness of my children, and the moment were all out of my hands. Could I have planned better? Possibly. But the dates from the soccer game changed a week ago, and I didn’t have access to my calendar since I received a new phone earlier that day.

But in the middle of my hurry, I almost missed God’s providence.

A friend who calls.
An older child that thinks of details like seating.
The 4-year-old who did use the potty.
A working minivan.
Money for snacks.
A soccer game to attend.

They aren’t impressive marvels—they’re pretty simple. Even if we missed the soccer game, nothing would have changed. God would still be present.

He still provided those seemingly insignificant details in my life that remind me of his goodness towards me. Maybe for the next time, there will be rest in the hurry—because God is there at the end of it all.