The Luckiest Bad Days of My Life

People sometimes ask me how I stay so positive.

The truth is, I don't think positive people have fewer bad days than anyone else. We've simply learned to keep looking until we find the blessing. The last couple of weeks reminded me of that lesson in a way I'll never forget.

I had just returned from the National Storytelling Network Conference in Canyon, Texas. It was a wonderful experience because I had the honor of serving as the emcee for the National Tellers Concert, introducing five of the finest storytellers in the country. Standing on that stage was a privilege, but I knew my role wasn't to become another performer.

Before the concert began, I reminded myself of two things. First, everyone already had the program with each storyteller's biography. The conference committee had done an outstanding job putting it together, so there was no need for me to read it again. Second, nobody came to hear me—they came to hear the storytellers. My job was simply to welcome them, make a warm introduction, and then get out of the way.

From everything people told me afterward, that's exactly what happened. The introductions were short, the evening flowed smoothly, and the storytellers had the time they deserved. Sometimes success isn't about saying more. It's about knowing when less is better.

The trip also reminded me of another lesson I've learned over the years. Whenever possible, arrive the day before an important event. Whether you're driving or flying, getting there early gives you time to relax, prepare, and handle whatever surprises may come your way. It's one of those simple habits that has paid dividends throughout my life.

After several wonderful days, I made the seven-hour drive home to Mansfield. I was grateful, tired, and looking forward to sleeping in my own bed. I had no idea how quickly life was about to change.

While I was away, I learned that my dear friend Janet's daughter, Jalen, had taken a turn for the worse. Then came another phone call. My fraternity brother and good friend, Duke Majors, had passed away. Before I could even process that loss, word came that Jalen had also passed.

My mind immediately went back nineteen months.

When Janet's husband, Reggie, another fraternity brother and dear friend, died, we agreed I would come see her after things settled down. We all know how that goes. Life gets busy. Weeks become months. Before I knew it, nineteen months had passed, and I had never made that trip.

I wasn't going to let that happen again.

This time I was going.

Not only did I want to be there for Janet, but I also wanted to reconnect with a circle of friends who have been part of my life for decades—Janet, Natalie, Bryan, Charles, Arno, Doug, and T.P. Life had already changed our little group. T.P. was gone. Natalie and Bryan had moved to Atlanta. The older I get, the more I realize that opportunities to be together become fewer, not greater.

Then I made a mistake.

I ignored my own advice.

Instead of leaving the day before, I convinced myself I could leave Thursday morning and still arrive in St. Louis in plenty of time for the celebration service that evening. Looking back, I knew better.

Wednesday had other plans.

Driving down Interstate 20 at highway speed, my transmission suddenly failed.

One second I was cruising along. The next, I was trying to guide my car across three lanes of traffic without power while vehicles were flying past me. Somehow I made it safely onto the shoulder.

After my heart slowed down, one thought kept coming back to me.

Nobody got hurt.

Not me.

Not another driver.

Not a single accident.

On a day that could have ended very differently, the only thing I lost was a transmission.

AAA arrived much sooner than expected. The dealership was able to get me a loaner car. Replacing a transmission isn't cheap, and it certainly wasn't convenient, but every time I think about that afternoon, I don't remember the repair bill.

I remember the blessing.

Surely Thursday would go better.

It didn't.

Somehow I looked at my boarding pass and headed to Gate E36.

The problem was my flight was leaving from Gate E26.

By the time I realized my mistake, the plane was already pulling away from the gate. My ten o'clock flight became a two o'clock flight. Then two became four. It seemed like every plan I had made was falling apart.

By the time I landed in St. Louis, picked up my rental car, and arrived at the church, they were in the middle of the eulogy.

At first, I felt disappointed.

I had wanted to be there from the beginning.

Then something unexpected happened.

Because my schedule had been turned upside down, I didn't spend all my time in one large gathering. Instead, I found myself spending meaningful one-on-one time with the people who mattered most. Dinner with Doug. Time with Charles. Visiting with Arno. Quiet conversation with Janet on her back porch. Lunch with Leonette before heading home.

Those weren't hurried conversations.

They weren't interrupted by a room full of people.

They were the kinds of conversations that only happen when life slows you down.

What I thought I had lost, I had actually gained.

As if life wanted to make one final point, while I was sitting beside Interstate 20 waiting for the tow truck, my phone kept ringing. During one of the most frustrating afternoons I'd had in a long time, I received invitations for two, maybe even three, future speaking engagements. I was so distracted I accidentally accepted one on a date I was already committed somewhere else.

Even my confusion arrived wrapped inside a blessing.

As I reflect on these past few weeks, I don't think about them as some of the worst days of my life.

I think about them as some of the luckiest bad days of my life.

The broken transmission reminded me how quickly life can change.

The missed flight reminded me that my schedule isn't always God's schedule.

The loss of friends reminded me not to postpone people I love.

And those quiet conversations reminded me that sometimes life's greatest gifts are hidden inside its greatest inconveniences.

Since returning home from St. Louis, I've driven that same stretch of Interstate 20 twice.

Both times, as I passed the place where my transmission failed, I found myself thinking the very same thing.

I don't think about the transmission anymore.

I think about the life that didn't end that day.

Sometimes we pray for miracles that look spectacular.

But maybe the greatest miracles are the quiet ones.

The accident that never happened.

The tragedy that never came.

The phone call you never had to make.

The family that never received bad news.

I've come to believe that gratitude isn't pretending bad things never happen. Gratitude is recognizing that even on our hardest days, God is still at work, often in ways we don't see until much later.

The next time your day falls apart, don't be too quick to call it a bad day.

It just might become one of the luckiest days of your life.