My four year old had outgrown his car seat and accompanied me to the big box store, eager to pick-out his new booster. He carefully selected the perfect model and I threw the massive box into the cart.

“Can I use it when we get out to the car mama?” he squealed with excitement.

I glanced at the carton. From the size, it must come assembled. I naively agreed.

Rookie mistake.  Seriously, after four children, you would think I’d have evolved to the upper end of the learning curve.

We got out to the parking lot and I ripped open the lid.  Three bulky, plastic pieces and three separate coverings fell out.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”  I glanced at the clock and then at my son’s expectant face.  I grimaced and dug in.  “This must snap here,” I muttered and tried to connect the two pieces. Nothing.  I gripped tighter and rammed it into the slide. It moved an inch. Sweat broke out on my brow. This was going to take a while.

The first 10 minutes the four-year-old was entirely supportive.  Patting my shoulder he affirmed, “You’ve got this mama!”  When I ripped the pieces apart for the third time, he gently encouraged,  “Oh you were so close. Thought you had it that time.”

My knuckles were now bloodied.  I began inventing curse words.

“Flipping franking piece of sandpaper!”

The second ten minutes my four year old searched for help. “Look mama,” he gestured to a middle aged man walking hurriedly to his car. “He looks like he would know how to do this. I’ll ask.”

“Close the door,” I hissed through clenched teeth.  “I am almost there.”

The final ten minutes the four year old completely turned on me and began heckling from the backseat.

“Even that lady over there could put this seat together!“

I followed his finger pointing to an elderly woman barely walking without assistance. My steely gaze quieted the peanut gallery but I knew what thoughts continued behind those seemingly innocent eyes.

“There!” I finally exclaimed.  My son sat up from his catnap.

“Holy mackerel! That was a really long time.”  He grinned and hopped into the seat.

It was about this time that I noticed a large wad of paper neatly taped to the plastic base.

Instructions. How wonderful.

I drove out of the parking lot, cold air blasting my sweat soaked body and reflected.   Such a perfect illustration of life.

Are you like me? So many times I dive into the next adventure, taking steps out of order, having to backtrack, making avoidable mistakes.  Frustrated. Annoyed. Questioning.  And yet there is a clear guide tucked inside the bible on my bookshelf or waiting to be revealed if I spend 15 minutes on my knees.

Some days it feels like you’re on the bottom half of that learning curve, but have faith.

His word is a lamp to guide my feet and a light for my path.    Psalm 119:105

Instructions.  How wonderful!