seasonal life..."let the season be..."

I love the four seasons and I'm not merely referring to Vivaldi (which I admittedly adore). I anticipate the coming of each season and I also feel a loss for a season's end. Constant, change like clockwork. I like change and I hate it.

Autumn is my favorite. Bright greens transition to reds, oranges, yellows, burgundies and shades in between. Crisp, cool days, bright sunshine, crunchy leaf piles, pumpkins, apples, fleece hoodies, hiking, and hot drinks on my front porch. Autumn never lasts long enough for me. One early storm with swift, bristly winds can ruin its splendor.

I prefer winter to be the shortest season. I do love winter clothes, stacks of books, hot drinks, soup, cobblers, candles, and watching pudgy snowflakes flutter and swirl and fall through my large picture windows. I like being cold so I can cozy up under more blankets. I love watching my kids romp around in the backyard snow.

Winter often bleeds into spring. Spring often has an identity crisis. New growth breeds hope, fresh non-freezing air fills my lungs, buds appear, birds fill the air with twittering, I start to think toward summer days. I savor the blossoms, my beautiful blossoming trees. These fragrant blossoms are so often taken out by spring storms and vicious winds, winter's reluctant release, but I breathe them in while they last. And, as much as I like blossoming trees, one type of tree in particular smells like rotting garbage. No joke, no exaggeration. I have no regrets when this tree transitions to its summer coat of unscented leaves.

Summer seems like it should be the best, but it's a mixed bag for me. I don't particularly like the heat, I hate mosquitoes and wasps and snakes, I hibernate during bright sun hours. Still, leafy trees and a hedge of bushes return to give me my own Secret Garden. I love sitting and sipping my coffee in my backyard while I read. I love the lingering daylight, swimming, BBQ, baseball and 4th of July. I look forward to cool mornings, cool evenings, summer storms, fresh basil for pesto, bike rides and field trips. Time seems to speed up during summer, it feels more the length of Leap Day, barely existing before it is gone yet again.

In life and in mothering I've heard many thoughts on seasons. Usually the reference is in hopes that a certain season will pass. To mothers of young children, "the longest days and the shortest years," has reached proverb status. Despite the cliche, it's very true.

Leaving that season, I felt a sadness for the little nothings and sweetness that I couldn't bottle up and wondered if I were too overwhelmed to really enjoy it all. I tried. Every season I leave, I feel bereft of something. Changes in my kids, our schedule, our home, my friendships...it hurts. Every season I enter holds uncertainty, but also a knowledge that new joys await, new experiences, new phases for our kids, new paths on our journey. New.

I miss my toddlers' exuberant excitement greeting me at the door, but I don't miss diapers and tantrums and not sleeping well. I want to hug their baby pictures sometimes, but I don't want to return if it means giving up where we are now. 

Our family traveled to New York City last fall for several weeks. At ages 11, 9, and 6, our kids are old enough to take such a trip and have it be amazing. They remember and appreciate it. They won't fall off a subway platform or wander off (we were a little concerned about Belle, being as fearless as she is...). We couldn't have done this trip when they were all pre-elementary school. (Well, we could have if we were totally nuts).

We are in a new season. Some parts are spectacular, some parts challenging, we hit the beautiful and the ugly. It's a different beautiful and ugly than five years ago. Not better, not worse, just different.

This season, ordained for us by the hand of God. Whether it be beauty or desolation, turbulent seas or mind-numbing doldrums...ordained.

Seasonal is defined as: fluctuating or restricted according to the season or time of year.

I've found this so true of life. Fluctuating. Restricted. But not just restricted, restricted according to the season....

Ecclesiastes resonates:

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:

2a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;  

3a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;  

4a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;  

5a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;  

6a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;  

7a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;  

8a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

I've been reading Victim of Grace by Robin Jones Gunn. My heart has been encouraged. She writes:

"Why are we caught off guard when the seasons change? We wonder if we've done something to precipitate the loss of the previous abundance and all the vibrant evidences of God's wonder-working power. All of nature willingly surrenders to the changes in the physical universe, yet nothing in our human nature allows us to simply let the season be what it is and trust that the hand of the Great Gardener is still at work in us, carrying out his bigger plan for the world as well as for our lives." 

I have felt these seasonal shifts. I tend to focus on the negative, what I will lose with each passing season. I cannot see what lies ahead, but I can know my God. I can remember all that He has led me through, all the seasons gone past, the many joys and sorrows and I can know that He continues to turn the seasons. 

I will praise Him as Samuel did after Israel defeated the Philistines in battle saying, "Thus far the LORD has helped us." (1 Samuel 7:12)

Beauty awaits on the horizon, seasons changing the world around me, but God does not change and I will walk hand in hand with my Lord toward the horizon, letting the season be.