Seasons

How is it that the dying of the season, this slow decline of Summer’s lusty green comes so luminous, so bright?  There is something in the light, an amber quality of warmth that falls at a low angle, like the sun has tired in her azure sky and slid just a little toward the horizon.  Why does God paint the world so in the waning moments of the season, sow beauty…brilliant crimson, glowing orange…across the fields and woods  that will soon be little more than black skeletons, bare arms etched against cold gray sky?

All things in creation move in season, wax and wane and we, too, move in and out through time, His time and His seasons.  The swelling tide, the crescent moon, the rising sun and yes, these leaves that die so beautifully on the vine.

I am burdened and weary and I stumble, and this, too, is a season.  I am bright and joyful and strong and this is a season that will wax and wane, swell and diminish.  I see my children, how they’ve grown and how they’ve changed and I remember this about raising children: that childhood is just a continuous series of changing seasons and you never really get the hang of it, you never cross the finish line because the end of one challenge means the beginning of another, the end of one set of joys is wrapped in the beginning of another new and different one.

How many times must I remind myself of this, that God who IS and has been and will be always the same, He is a God who loves variety and woven into us is this spinning, this orbit of change that keeps things turning over.  The seasons change and the years pass and waves crash and swell and recede, and still it feels sometimes that things will be this way forever, that what is now will never pass.  And in that blindness I sometimes fail to appreciate the moment, fail to rejoice in the beauty that is now and in that blindness I sometimes forget to hope, to know that whatever the situation the one thing we do know is that this, too, shall pass.

What would  happen if I embraced these seasons, if I flowed with these changes like a paper boat skimming the water’s surface?  What if I trusted that God will bring these seasons ’round and that He’ll weave them together, pull them into something beautiful and good?  Perhaps it is a human trait, present at birth that we have this shortsightedness, that we are at the same time so blind to the passionate beauty of this moment and also so short of vision as to the glory of what is to come.

Lord, I pray that you help me to embrace the seasons as they come, to enjoy the beauty of each of them and to live them fully.  Help me remember that they pass, the good things and the bad, they wax and wane and that the end of one thing is woven into the beginning of another. 

holy experience
  

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