Seasons — funeral flowers

(in which I discuss actual seasons and their relation to the Christianese meaning of "seasons")

Before I lived in New York City, I knew nothing about seasons. Fall, Winter, and Spring were just a theory to me in Palm Beach, the land of perpetual summer. I didn't mind it--I loved posting pictures of me at the beach in January. It was fun to see all those "Jealous!" comments from my northeastern friends roll in. But now that I live in a land of changing seasons, it's hard to imagine going back to not having them.

There are all the various joys of living through weather changes--like finally having a real reason to wear adorable coats and scarves and hats, getting to enjoy fresh seasonal vegetables, and seeing trees bloom, turn bright green, and then yellow and red before finally becoming just branches magically coated in snow. [Snow still makes me happy, even if it is a huge inconvenience for everyone else in the city.]

But there's also this lesson about things changing. Change is natural, the way that Creation maintains itself. A time to grow and flourish, a time to rest and reset. Seeing this happening in front of me in the most basic way reminds me that it's okay if my life looks like this too.

"Seasons" is a wildly overused term in Christian culture--I actually cringe when I hear it. Church people (a group which I find myself a part of, even when I wouldn't self-identify as such) like to use this term to mean super ethereal, spiritual things--"I'm going through a Season of Joy" or "Our church is in a Season of Revival". I can't help but think that people casually checking out our churches hear this and think we're real freaks.

But I have to admit that while I hate the overuse and connotation the word has developed in our Christian circles, I can't deny the reality that our lives go through ups and downs, ins and outs. Sometimes we are at the height of our career, or relationships, or health. And sometimes we feel lost in one of these areas--or all of them. And sometimes seasons--like, the actual seasons--provide a great metaphor to explain and understand the patterns of our experiences. We might wish that "summer" (aka when we feel on top of the world) could stay forever and that winter (when we feel lost and miserable) will come and go quickly. But much like the real seasons each have their own beauty and value, all of our experiences whether they are joyful or painful are opportunities to become who we were meant to be. There are things God wants to show us, things to learn about ourselves, and friends to be made along the way--even if the "season" we find ourselves in is a wintry waste filled with self-doubt and uncertainty.

The honest to goodness truth is that I am in that place right now--even though its gorgeous summer outside, I am deep in a snowy winter. I've felt so in control, so perfectly in place for the past year. But in recent months, winter has come rolling in. It's scary to go from feeling so on track, so in command of your life, so happy, to being unsure of everything. I don't know where it comes from and I can't tell you for certain what I'm supposed to learn from it. Probably that I need to trust God despite my circumstances, despite my feelings, despite my relationships--but that's a preliminary guess.

For me, there is a profound spiritual comfort that comes from seeing the world's rhythm at work. Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall; Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall. The pattern provides some elemental reason to look forward. In winter we dream of Spring flowers and new growth, of Summer sun and longer days. In Summer we can't wait for Autumn breezes and leaves changing color, for Christmas and snow days. The seasons are embedded into our plans, they mark the passage of time, they are familiar and comforting if not always comfortable (I can attest that after mid-January, Winter is no longer a welcome friend in my home). There's a dual hope in each season--the benefits of the season we're in and the promise of the seasons to come. It encourages me that I can embrace the hard times and learn what I can, without fear that I'll be stuck here forever. It means I can survive uncertainty and self-doubt. It means that I can have hope.

It's reassuring to know that the Earth keeps spinning as it goes through it's seasons--that the spinning is what causes the changes in the first place. I think an essential part of our human existence is that we go through ups and downs, another way that we take part in Creation. Our lives are constantly changing and it has to be a privilege to experience all that is brought our way, whether that's long days and sunshine or hunkering down to rest and wait for things to bloom again.