Seasons are God’s way of breathing expectation, delight, wonder, hope, and renewal into my soul. Each one brings with it some beauty and joy not known or experienced in the one preceding it. Nature bears this cycle elegantly and with strength. The hills don’t shiver and shake, resenting the snowy blanket of Winter, the daffodil bulbs don’t refuse to bloom, timid of leading the rebirth of Spring, the fruit doesn’t delay its ripening, unwilling to abide the heat of Summer, and the trees don’t hoard their leaves, resisting the tide of Autumn. The orchestra of nature ebbs and flows with each cue of the Creator’s hand, no one individual season vying for the spotlight out of turn.
How is it that I expect my life to be patterned any differently? Why does it come as a surprise that the details of my life shift and rearrange from one season to the next? If ever there were a hoarding tree, it would be me. Don’t ask me to let go to make room for something else. I’m quite content with keeping every last frond in its place. So it wasn’t without some pain and disappointment that the leaflets of my story dropped to the ground one-by-one, like pages from a book, a book I so desperately wanted to keep documenting. Hard, beautiful life crowded out the excess to make room for my son’s short and sweet newborn days and my daughter’s last summer as a preschooler. So it was that letting go that made room for new life to grow, new experiences, new discoveries, new passions, new adventures, new joy. The near year long break from blogging wasn’t planned or something I gave you any heads up about; and while I probably should have said something, I was confident you understood and didn’t need for me to make any formal announcement. But while my blogging came to a sudden halt, my woolgathering did not. Writing continued, though in a mostly private/short-hand way. It’s how I process, and my pen or keyboard has been my friend since I started journaling at 14. During my hiatus, Instagram has been my mini blog, simplenote my collector of stray thoughts and musings, and disorganized scribbling my every day lifeline.
“It’s just a season.” I’ve said it more times than I can count over the past year. In the grocery check-out line with a screaming babe, in the physical therapist’s office working towards recovery, in the middle of the night rocking a sleepless newborn, in the few precious weeks of time before I let go of my preschoolers hand on her first day of school, in the weeks of my husband’s 18-hour residency shifts, in the sweet momentary snuggling with my tiny son. I’ve said it over and over. “It’s just a season, and I want to enjoy and embrace it while it lasts.”
And just like that, the season passed and is changing now, and I am changing with it. I’m confident this new season will bring about the most beautiful things.
Just look. “The trees are about to show us how lovely it is to let the dead things go.”