Things have a way of working out for the best. When things go awry, I always try to see the greater purpose. I had one of those experiences on a road trip to New York to enjoy some college baseball.

It was Mother’s Day weekend, so my husband and I juggled doing things I wanted to do (“It’s your weekend, dear,” he said) with watching ballgames.

On my list was visiting some wineries between games. One winery was on our Sunday agenda. We concluded that we could attend church, visit the winery and make it to a ballgame for the first pitch.

As we drove down the road leading from the hotel to the church, we noticed a flashing neon sign in the window of the winery. It was closer to our hotel than we thought and quite a distance from the stadium. My husband slowed the car and asked me what I wanted to do. Did I want to stop at the winery now to ensure we have time to do a tour and tasting, or did I really want to go to church? (He reminded me again this was my weekend.)

I quickly came up with a game plan that would allow us to do all three if we made some concessions: like dart out of church before the last song.

We arrived at the church in a quaint little town to find both parking lots full to overflowing. The winery was looking better and better.

I jumped out of the car so my husband could find a place to park, and I could secure some seats in church. As I went up the stairs, I noticed a sign that said, “First Holy Communion this Sunday 10:30 a.m.” A wave of panic set in as I knew this would be no one-hour Mass.

I slid into a pew in the second last row, leaving space for my husband who came in a few minutes later with his eyes bulging. He motioned toward the little girls in their white dresses (they were so cute!) and let out a sigh. I whispered to him that we would leave at exactly the one-hour mark no matter what.

Now, if you are of the Catholic faith, you know all about special ceremonies and incense. Although this church was large and very deep, a thick cloud enveloped the entire building. My husband began sniffling then gave me that look with the bulging eyes again. (I hate when he does that.)

But then we got to the homily. I think it was the best sermon I had heard in years. The pastor referenced an upcoming local event. It was a festival for people of the Islam faith, and a group of folks were planning to stage a protest. Another group was planning to provide support for the festival goers and show support for the Muslims.

The pastor did not condemn nor did he condone anyone’s plans. Rather, he talked about judgment of others. He gave a quick tutorial on the Islam faith, noting their faithful are just as upset about terror attacks done in the name of God as the rest of us. He said when people do not have information or know the facts, people become fearful. And fear makes good people do bad things. Fear is what causes people to make hasty generalizations about others based on what they do not know about them. Fear causes people to judge others based on their ethnicity, religion or lifestyle. At its worst, fear makes people act in destructive ways, causing tremendous harm and suffering.

I pondered this statement over and over. I totally forgot about the game plan to rush out of church. My husband let me take the lead, so he just followed along. It was nearly noon when we pulled out of the parking spot six blocks away.

It was clear we were not going to make the winery stop, but it was okay. The message I heard that morning had refreshed me in a way I had not anticipated. I started to re-frame some of the comments I hear and read on social media not as narrow-mindedness or bigotry, but rather the sound of fear. And I began to respond differently upon hearing such remarks.

Sometimes things don’t work out the way we want them to, but at the end of the day, you realize the way things worked out did indeed make you a better person or put you somewhere you needed to be. And that is how change begins.