Seasons.
I dragged my oar, bringing my little green boat to a slow drift amongst the thousands of brilliantly colored leaves floating all around me in the cove. We were protected from the midday winds by a canopy of enormous overhanging maple, oak, and elm trees. Just enough of the autumn foliage had fallen to allow the sun’s rays to stream through small gaps in the broken coverage, beaming streaks of light into the otherwise dimly-lit shelter.
At this point in my bi-weekly paddle I’m usually at 13 minutes per the timer on my phone, finished with my warm-up, and deciding between an endurance paddle and intervals for the first hour of the three ahead of me. But this time, even my dogged determination couldn’t push past the surrounding beauty pleading for admiration.
It was in the low-80s… unheard of for October 28. But Tuesday was forecasted to be 50 as a high, and freezing overnight.
“This may be my last paddle of the fall… maybe even the year,” I warned myself.
A flashback to Junior High filled my mind. The image was so real, I wasn’t entirely sure if the crisp air was imagined to fit my walk home from the bus stop, acorns crackling under the little brown boots I was so very proud of, or it was an actual mildly-chilling gust sneaking through the trees as I sat there in my little boat.
I remember the vigor of the squirrels as they went about their preparations… the warning in the way the trees swayed… the goosebumps that made me pull the sleeves of my dad’s bomber jacket over my hands as I walked, and pull my chin down to just below the zipper. An unexplainable nervousness- the kind that isn’t really bad, but more one of anticipation- stimulated my senses to pay attention. The leaves would be gone soon. The autumn would turn. The wait for the return of life would begin just as the street lamps would flicker before eventually illuminating the cul-de-sac before supper was even on the table.
My thoughts drifted back to the cove as an oak leaf landed on my boat. I wasn’t ready for the winter. Not yet. But then, I was never ready for change.
As are many of you, my readers, I am sure, I’m often either poignantly focused on trying desperately to hold on to a chapter in life that’s going smoothly… maybe even well… and avoiding any kind of growth or change, or frantically trying to get through seasons to envisioned peace and a coveted life on the other side of the struggles.
But for that few golden moments, there under the thinning canopy of giant maples, oaks, and elm trees, I fell right in the middle of the two.
Looking up I saw a swirl of leaves outlining the wind, just as I’d drawn it in crayons as a child. Leaves of all shapes and sizes started raining down around me- the rustle of those still clinging on to their branches joining the faint slaps of those hitting the water to create a type of natural orchestra not dissimilar to the cadence of cicadas at the end of summer.
I’d never before truly soaked in the change of seasons. I knew I loved something about them- be that the adrenaline that comes as summer ends and the campus is abuzz with life again, or the thrill of seeing a tiny purple petal of the first crocus poking her head out from beneath an early march snowfall. But it was usually just a fleeting recognition that a season was transitioning… any excitement being the hint of a new chapter coming.
And yet, for as much eagerness as I had as a schoolchild- walking the halls of a new school, making new friends, starting piano lessons again, or buying new clothes- the changing seasons worried me.
I didn’t like change then. And I don’t like change now.
But Isaiah 43:18-19 reminds us that when it’s time to move on, rather than hold onto fear or look backward, holding on to what has passed, we are supposed to let go and trust that, whatever season is up next, it either holds goodness of its own, or it’s necessary to pass through on the way to more goodness in our lives.
“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.”
There are often times when we dwell on the past a little too much. So much so that we are unable to continue moving forward towards the blessings awaiting in a new season.
The wind had ceased again, and it was time to move on in my afternoon paddle. Usually I’m in such a hurry, both when I kayak, and when I’m anxious to get through a hard spell I’m going through, that I forget that God makes all seasons, both here on earth and in our lives, with purpose. But this time, I never wanted the time there under the grand maples, and oaks, and elm trees to end.
“As long as the earth endures, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night will never cease.” Genesis 8:22
“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.” Ecclesiastes 3:1
Ecclesiastes reminds us to slow down, to enjoy the time it takes to go through each season of life as it comes and to not rush through it. Even the heartaches are worked into God’s purposeful plans, and along the way, beautiful moments are offered to encourage us along. I would have missed them that afternoon in the cove if….
Even with the warm air that afternoon, the angle of the sun had shifted. There was a kind of “knowing” all around.
“This may be my last paddle of the fall… maybe even the year,” I reminded myself again. Winter would be here soon.
Winters are the one season on earth, and the one (often repeating) season in my life I just simply do not like. At all. Period.
All I can think about from Thanksgiving onwards is that I only need to make it X more days, then it’ll be over and the warmth will return again. I am practically giddy the first day it’s (almost-but-not-quite) warm enough to open all the windows.
The reassuring thing about the seasons it that the return of the green, warmth, and life can predictably be marked on a calendar. And you’d better believe it is on mine every year! (Counting days to Christmas by eating one chocolate a day out of a colorful paper advent calendar is fairly straight forward. But I get a bit lost in my countdown to Spring arriving by about early January each year… so the March page gets extra attention!)
Life though? I only wish I had a “March 1” for every hard spell I go through! A “You’ll be back to running on X date.” A “Shane will find the perfect job at X event.” A “Your nerve pain will leave once for all after X treatment.”
These winters I try to hurry through even faster than the winter that ends just before my birthday (technically after, but eagerness and a rabbit or two in the front lawn shift the dates a bit in my world…). The insecurities that come within outweigh those of the unknowns yet to come. I rush. I plea. I fight harder. I push a little more. I study more. I beg louder. I angrily try to force solutions.
But I don’t often see the beauty in the falling leaves. And I certainly don’t often hear the music they make as they hit the water all around me.
I forget.
I forget that God made these seasons too.
I forget that everything is in His time and in His ways.
I forget Acts 1:7.
“He said to them: 'It is not for you to know the times or dates the Father has set by his own authority.''’
God's timing is so vastly different than our timing. He will reveal the answers to us when it is in His best interest for us to know and understand.
I forget Psalm 1:3.
“He is like a tree planted by streams of water that yields its fruit in its season, and its leaf does not wither. In all that he does, he prospers.”
When we are firmly rooted in Christ, regardless of the season we're in, we will be able to find His goodness in it. This requires of us patience and obedience, especially during the times when our "fruit" is not yet in season. But if we keep close to Our Creator throughout every season He has made, our leaves "do not wither."
And I forget John 15: 1-2.
“I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.”
All the seasons are needed. There can be seasons where we're growing, life is wonderful, and we continously bear fruit. But those cannot exist without the seasons where we focus on pruning branches that no longer serve us so that when Spring comes again we are stronger and ready to be more abundant.
An hour and a half further along into my paddling I passed through another beautiful cove, equally protected from the elements by magnificent maples, oaks, and elm trees.
The cove was filled even more abundantly than the first, with thousands of floating leaves in a spectacular display of the vibrant colors of a perfect Autumn. A sharp gust of wind raced through the canopy just as I was about to head back into the main lake, and leaves came streaming down all around me.
One line of melody stood out as I listened to the arrangement The Composer orchestrated amongst those falling, and those still clinging on tightly way up above.
