Seasons are fascinating phenomena. Around and around they go, dependable as clockwork, yet with their own volatility. Will it be a wet spring? dry summer? long fall? hard winter?
Each has its own beauty, from the luster of summer to the darkness of winter, from the ebb of fall to the vibrancy of spring. There's a promise of the one to come, the natural sequence from the one before; timeless, yet marking time; mundane, yet marvelous.
Look at life around you - at your life. Do you see them?
Not simply the seasons of trees and grass and leaves - the seasons of your soul: they are there.
I'm in a bit of a dry patch. My husband and I are waiting for God to usher us into the next step of our life. We have planted and watered, but nothing's growing yet.
You see, we're in the process of buying our first home, and things should have been tied up long ago, but they aren't, so we wait.
None of which would be a huge issue, except that, for sundry and divers reasons, we are moving this Saturday.
I joke that we are moving out; we just aren't sure where we're moving to. (Yes, I ended that sentence with a preposition. It's my blog, so I get to.) And I can be fairly light-hearted about it, because we will at any rate have a roof over our heads - it just may not be the one we're working on buying.
But the fact is that I've checked my email for that specific note of confirmation at least twenty times today, and every time, my expectation mounts because this time, this time, surely God will have pulled things along for us.
And it's still not there.
(I just checked, even though every business office within five time zones is closed.)
And I think, "Why isn't it? Why aren't my prayers going anywhere?"
And then I think, "Maybe God's teaching me patience. Or to trust Him more. Or to lean on His timing."
And then I think, "What if He wants to teach me to trust Him by getting denied for the house?"
Oh, worries.
I never have these sorts of worries in seasons of peace and surety. I bask in the light of God's smile, enjoy my rest after the most recent patch of rough waters (or explosive volcanoes), and wonder how I could have doubted Him. Next time (I think), surely, I will handle things better because now I know He is able, so much more able!
But then, I start to get a little restless, because I see myself growing complacent, and I remember the verse about the disciplining of those whom God loves and wonder if I'm out of touch with my Lord because I haven't grown lately.
And then the Master of the Universe, the One who instructs the seasons in their timely dance, tilts His head and chuckles, because He knows what will happen as soon as He causes the seasons of my life to turn once again:
panic,
prayer,
pleading,
and basically looking to remove the inconvenience as quickly as possible to restore my sense of control.
Yet, He is willing to teach me until I learn; so He sends me the storms, the rains, the blizzards, and holds my hand as I struggle through the winds and waves and drifts. He patiently waits for me to realize that my strength is insufficient, to reach out to Him, and to rest in His arms as He once again carries me.
And from my place of safety, I seem to hear things calming down around me.
I peek out into the genial warmth of His pleasure.
His Word, like a rainbow, reaches from horizon to horizon and shouts His promises to me.
And I know that His love has once again brought me through that season -
just as it shall bring me through this one.
