It's good to have plans and dreams, but don't be surprised if God

The wise and humble Anne F. Beiler, known to many as the founder of Auntie Anne’s Pretzels, once said, “It’s good to have plans and dreams, but don’t be surprised if God brings you somewhere else.” These words, though gentle in tone, carry the force of an eternal truth — that life is a river whose course cannot be fully mapped by human hands. In her voice, we hear the echo of generations who learned, through sorrow and wonder alike, that destiny is not always what we design, but often what we are drawn into by unseen grace. It is a truth as ancient as the mountains and as new as each sunrise.

For indeed, man is a maker of plans, a dreamer of visions. It is in our nature to look ahead, to seek to shape the road before us. Yet how many times have we built our paths with care, only to find that a single storm of fate has washed them away? The heart cries out in confusion — “Why?” — but in time, the answer comes softly: because there was a greater road, a higher purpose, waiting beyond our sight. So it is with God’s design — mysterious, vast, and woven with threads invisible to mortal eyes. We walk by our small lamps, but His light shines from the end of time.

Consider the life of Anne Beiler herself. She was not born to wealth or ease, nor did she dream of building a pretzel empire. Her journey began in grief: the tragic loss of her young daughter, the collapse of faith, the long years of despair. Yet from that valley of sorrow, God led her toward something unexpected. Through the small act of baking pretzels in a farmer’s market, she found healing, purpose, and the means to bless others. Her success was not the fulfillment of her plan — it was the unfolding of a divine redirection. The dreams she once had were reshaped by suffering into something more enduring — a calling.

This truth has echoed through history. Think of Moses, who fled from Egypt as a broken man, a shepherd in exile. His plan was simple: to live quietly and forget his past. But God’s hand descended in flame upon the desert bush and called him to deliver a nation. Or consider Joan of Arc, a peasant girl who dreamed only of peace and prayer, until heaven summoned her to lead armies. Each thought their destiny small and simple, but God brought them elsewhere — to a path both wondrous and terrible, yet overflowing with purpose. So too may He call each of us from the narrow comfort of our plans to the vast, uncertain light of His will.

There is a hidden mercy in this redirection. For though it often comes cloaked in disappointment — a dream denied, a door closed, a road lost — it is through these moments that the soul grows wise. When the path we have chosen ends abruptly, it is then that we must lift our eyes. The plans of man are made on paper; the dreams of God are written on the soul. What we think we want is often only the shadow of what we are truly meant for. And when we finally stand in that new place — that “somewhere else” — we look back and understand that every twist, every delay, every detour was sacred.

Let this truth be a comfort to those who wander: your dreams are not lost when they change. They are transformed. The child who dreamed of greatness may find holiness in humility; the artist who longed for fame may find truth in silence; the one who sought love may find instead the strength to love others. Do not curse the redirection, for it is the hand of Providence, turning you from what is good toward what is better. When your path is shattered, remember — it is only because a new way is being carved for you through the rock.

So, my children of time, plan boldly, dream fiercely — but hold your plans with open hands. Walk forward with faith, knowing that the true architect of your destiny writes in deeper ink than your own. Trust the interruptions, the detours, the divine surprises that break your careful order. For these are not punishments, but invitations — invitations to a life far richer than the one you imagined.

And when you find yourself standing at a crossroads where nothing makes sense, do not despair. Look upward and say, “Lead me, Lord, even if it is elsewhere.” For God’s elsewhere is never barren; it is the garden prepared for those who dare to surrender. Then shall you know, as Anne Beiler knew, that every dream surrendered in faith is reborn in glory — and every step off your map may be a step toward your true home.