For today's post, I am sharing a season of yesteryear. For anyone struggling in a season of discouragement or discontent, may this encourage you that these seasons do shift. The point of this series is to dive deep into where we are, and I think it is healthy for our hearts and vital to our growth to acknowledge when times are difficult or confusing. Find your footing so we can begin the climb upward.
December 3, 2010 (my sophomore year at Baylor University):
I want to live where there are seasons. Four distinct, separate, predictable seasons. Cold in the winter. Hot in the summer. Cool, musky, humid and wet in the spring. Chilly, crisp, windy, and golden in the fall. Give me snow fall, rain clouds, sun beams, and falling leaves. Winter, spring, summer, fall. I want to live somewhere with seasons.
Life is full of seasons, when you think about it. Not seasons recognized by weather changes (or a lack thereof), but seasons of living. Infancy, childhood, adolesence, young adulthood, adulthood, and so on. Daycare, preschool, elementary, middle school, high school, college, real world. Confusion, understanding, learning, completion. Singleness, dating, engagement, marriage. Harvest, desert, battle, and fire. Take your pick. We live in a world of seasons.
There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a timefor war and a time for peace.
I've been feeling really confused about my season lately. I've felt lost and stagnate, stuck in a rut if you will. I felt without purpose or direction, turning in circles without moving at all.
But that's my season. My season is to be here, doing what I'm doing, learning what I can and using that to lead me to the next season, whatever it might be.
And I'm not the only one in a new or different season. It's been both interesting and hard to watch other people step into theirs. For some, it's flattering and warming, seeing light poured upon them and blessings, watching them flourish in their season, taking complete advantage of all that it gives. Others, the road has been more difficult, darker, tough to hash out. It is not an easy thing, watching someone stumble and suffer through a season. But every season has a reason. They really do.
This season means a lot. This season is more than one season. This season is fall, drawing near to winter. This season is exams; the semester is nearly over. This season is Christmas, celebrating the birth of our Savior. This season is waiting, being patient and with open ears. This season is decision making, following new paths. This season is learning about seasons, and finding a new excitement for each one to come. This season is my season.
Like I said, seasons change. Four years ago I had no idea how deep in my heart the idea of seasons and the desire for clarity would be rooted in my heart. I also had no clue about the adventure that lay ahead, the four distinct seasons I would celebrate in Seattle. I did not know that the Lord would radically change my heart and meet me in that place of despair. What I did know is that I had to be real with myself and what I was feeling. I had to put pen to paper, fingers to keys, and get out the thoughts swirling in my head.
I would encourage you to take a good look at your season. Then look back on seasons that have come and gone. Where have you fallen? Where have you risen? What has marked the changes? Answered prayers, major life changes, and the current desires of your heart are very telling. No matter which way they swing, remember there is a time for everything under Heaven. You are not alone here.