I think I’m realizing how a person who worships constancy like I do can still love autumn.
While fall is the season of change, the season itself is a constant. As fall fades, winter comes; spring will eventually triumph over the snow and ice; lazy summer will mute the brightness of spring and invite us outside for warm nights under the stars. And then the leaves will turn again. When this autumn is over, I can look forward to next year’s.
Life is not exactly the same way. The “seasons of life” we often speak of are not very similar to the four seasons at all. Each life season is different, and while perhaps related to its predecessors, it is wholly unique in our experience. Each day builds on the last, and – assuming we learn something new every day – we are gaining experience all the while. Sometimes that leads to hope; sometimes we let it corner us into fear. I’m also learning that it should inspire increasing despair of our own abilities along with a more perfect confidence in God’s.
My flesh would have me dwell on that first reality to the exclusion of the second. Unfortunately, the busyness I let clutter my life – the voice that says just keep going, just keep working – keeps me from fully processing what’s going on in my heart. When I am still enough, I am shaken by the amount of raw, unmitigated fear I find. I’m ashamed because I thought I was doing so well. I perceived myself to be growing; I thought I was trusting God better than this. My faith seems a paltry grain that doesn’t seem to hold a candle to a mustard seed.
And then the Voice comes to remind me in the night of the One who came to bind up the broken, who does not reject the contrite spirit. Of the One who speaks courage to the fearful-hearted. And I recall that the point of all this is not increasing my self-centered ability to “live above the circumstances” or “be strong.” He is not angered by my brokenness; He is magnified in it. He reminds me that when I am weak, then He is strong.
Seasons in our live never repeat, not exactly. I will never be given the sweet, simple days of my childhood again. I won’t be the dually naïve and overly outgoing collegiate again. And the indescribable comforts of the place I currently call home, which has served as hostel and party venue, way station and safe place, a thousand square feet that holds so many echoes of laughter and tears and memories, are about to be lost to me. But it is an opportunity to be reminded that God is the designer and giver of Good, and He has much more in store. I can look to the past with thanksgiving and to the future with hope because I know the One who authors each unique season of life.
Doesn’t mean I’ll always react to change like I should. But it’s sure a wonderful truth to rediscover, time after time.
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