Seasons

I recently saw a wall sign that said, “It’s weird being the same age as old people.”  I laughed out loud because it describes exactly how I feel.  I recently turned 65, and while I know that age is only a number, the fact that society now defines me as a senior citizen—that number hit me differently.  It’s had me reflecting on my past, pondering my here-and-now and what’s potentially coming—and wondering just how the heck it all happened so quickly.

I’ve heard the phases of life referred to as seasons and decided that, since I was in a reflective mood, it’d be interesting to plug my life experiences into seasons.  My first attempt was the four ecological seasons, the familiar dates on the calendar that indicate a physical change.  Easy enough, I thought, and eagerly began my journey down memory lane.

However, I didn’t get very far.  I’m a rules girl and all about good order and discipline—and the fact that I couldn’t seem to get my life events to fit neatly into the precise order of seasons discouraged me.   When I ventured to the internet to see how “those-in-the-know” defined the life stages, I was even more discouraged.  Apparently, not only had I lived things out of seasonal order—I’d lived them in the wrong chronological order.

I confess I was anxious—feeling like I’d somehow gotten life all wrong.  I wrestled with this for days, determined to figure out how to right what I’d gotten wrong—and make my past fit into tidy, little seasonal boxes. Then one night, as I lay in bed,  I realized I’d been using the wrong point of reference. I’d been looking at the calendar and online to frame my phases of life—and had forgotten what the Bible very clearly says about our seasons.

Ecclesiastes 3 says:

For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven.  While I’d tried to outline my “every activity under the sun” in a precise, established manner, the fact is that life is a continual ebb and flow, one of constant change and shifting sands.  One of personal choices and consequences.  One of my own actions and one of reacting to the actions of others. One of lessons learned or lost opportunities to learn.

A time to be born and a time to die.

My beginning and my end.  Two dates ordained by God— two dates of which I have absolutely no control.  Yet even the days between my first breath and my last are ordained for His purpose and for my good.

A time to plant and a time to harvest.

I thought about dreams I’ve had over the years. Some are long-term dreams birthed in childhood, nurtured in adulthood. Others were short-term, pop-up dreams.  But every dream—every hope—meant I had to be willing to take the time to put the seeds in the soil.  I had to invest in it.  Sweat for it. Wait for it.  Oh, the sweetness when the time arrived to enjoy the fruits of my labor!  Even now, I still have a God-sized crop in the field that I’m tending to—and the slow growth in the wait is hard.  In hindsight, I realized, too, that there were times when I sowed the right seed in the wrong field.  Like when I allowed my desperate longings to be a wife and mother—good seeds—to be driven by fear, and I compromised my values and married a man who didn’t share my faith.  And my thoughts on fear?  Fear will plow my field every single time—and not in a good way.

A time to kill and a time to heal.

Destruction and restoration.  That seed I sowed in the wrong field?  After eleven years of marriage, my husband walked out.  His actions almost killed me.  My heart was shattered, and I could barely breathe.  I lost my identity. I lost my purpose. I lost hope. That was, until I fell on my knees before the Lord and gave Him all my brokenness.

My season of restoration was long and hard.  But in the midst of the dormant, new seeds were planted, rooted, and watered. I discovered my identity in Christ.  I found new purpose.  And I found true hope—hope that wasn’t dependent on a person, but on God alone.

A time to tear down and a time to build up.

Tearing down isn’t always a bad thing.  After a particularly long season of feeling stuck, I tearfully asked the Lord to reveal my strongholds. I was ready to deal with them.  What I wasn’t ready for was how quickly He’d brought them to mind—I could hardly write fast enough!  It was time to tear down the walls of my tainted perspectives, unrealistic self-expectations, and presumed responsibilities. That was a pivotal moment. It was when God started to take down the walls of my strongholds, stone by stone, and to begin to build a fortress of hope— His hope. His goodness. His enduring love.

A time to cry and a time to laugh.

Scripture says that God collects our tears and records them in His book…and I’m pretty sure there’s a lake in heaven holding my tears.  However, my times of laughter far exceed my sadness and disappointment. I have known joy—great joy!

A time to grieve and a time to dance.

I’ve known grief.  Those times of a loved one’s physical death. The death of a marriage. The dreams that never had a chance to be.  My journeys through the valley of grief were slow and relentless.  Sometimes it was one step forward and two steps back. Sometimes I got stuck in the muck and mire.  And sometimes I willingly chose to camp in the valley, pouting because things weren’t going my way. Yet the Lord didn’t allow me to stay there long—and kept prodding me forward, and eventually I scaled the mountain.  And when I reached the mountain—oh, how I danced with delight!

A time to scatter stones and a time to gather stones.

This brings to mind the times when the Lord moved the boundaries of my comfort zone, challenging me to trust Him in bigger ways.  And I’ve gathered those stones because they are now my Ebenezer stones—the memorial stones of all that God has done for me and in me.

A time to embrace and a time to turn away.

I’m a social butterfly and tend to collect friends.  I always look for the good in people.  I’m a good friend and will easily forgive an offense, even multiple times. Yet there have been times when the Lord has made it clear that I needed to turn and walk away from an unhealthy friendship. The good I saw in them was not genuine.  They were wolves in sheep’s clothing.

A time to search and a time to quit searching.

While my marriage had ended in divorce, my desire to be married remained strong. Singleness was not part of my plan, so for the better part of two decades, I kept my eyes on the horizon, anxiously watching for my Prince Charming to show up.  One evening, the Lord whispered that I needed to thank Him for my singleness. Yet how could I thank Him for something I wasn’t thankful for?  That began a season of great internal struggle. I’d always said that I trusted the Lord in all areas of my life, yet I wasn’t willing to trust Him with my greatest longing.  Until one day, I surrendered it—willingly. Now, I’m content in my singleness—and if the Lord brings a man into my life, I’ll run in the opposite direction!

A time to keep and a time to throw away.

I’m nostalgic. I’ve got a dozen scrapbooks, each page made with care to perfectly capture and preserve my memories so I’d never forget.  Years ago, I went back to Hawaii for a class reunion.  As I stood at the top of the hill overlooking the beach where I’d spent my high school years, I was caught off guard by a barrage of memories.  That beach held countless fond memories, but it had also been where I sought solace for my troubled teenage heart. As I struggled to process the hard memories, the Lord spoke to my heart: “Cast Yesterday into the Deep.”  Somehow I knew what He meant. I wasn’t to forget my past, but I was to filter all those old memories—both good and bad—through God’s truth. If the memory was healthy, pure, and edifying, it was safe to keep.  But I needed to cast away those memories that weighed me down: the tainted perceptions that fueled destructive self-talk; the unfulfilled expectations that were unending stumbling blocks; and the disappointment of fractured dreams that discouraged me from dreaming new dreams.

A time to tear and a time to mend.

I’d been divorced for several years when I ran into my ex-husband.  While it was awkward, we exchanged cordial small talk.  Then the Lord interrupted me mid-sentence.  He told me, “Say the words.”  I knew exactly what words He meant, but I hesitated. He repeated, “Say the words.”  Have you ever argued with the Lord, knowing it was a battle you weren’t going to win?  Knowing that you had an immediate choice to make—obedience or disobedience?  My heart pounded, and I couldn’t breathe—and suddenly I blurted, “I’ve forgiven you.”  Those words weren’t for him—they were for me.  It was a critical turning point in my healing.

A time to be quiet and a time to speak.

Ouch…all those times when I should’ve been quiet but opened my mouth—and kept my mouth shut when I should have spoken.  I want to use my words for good, to encourage, and to help fix a situation.  But the truth is, often I’m meddling in what God is trying to do. I’m working on being slower to speak and quicker to listen to what the Lord would have me say—IF I’m supposed to say anything.

A time to love and a time to hate.

The word “love” is easy for me to say.  And the word “hate” makes me uncomfortable.  In anger, I’ve spewed the word, and there are periods when I absolutely despised someone or something.  But hate is a cancer; if it’s given a chance, it’ll consume and destroy.   Proverbs 10:12 says, “Hatred stirs up strife, but love covers all offenses.”

A time for war and a time for peace.

How many times have I engaged in battles that weren’t mine to fight?  Specifically, spiritual battles. When my lack of trust and abundance of fear allowed the enemy to gain entry into my camp, wreak havoc, and steal my joy and peace? Sometimes I’m slow on the uptake, but after a lifetime of being battle-weary, I’m waving the white flag and will allow the Lord to fight my battles and bring the victory.

With my past seasons defined, I shifted my focus forward.  I ventured back to the ecological seasons to see what to expect in my “autumn” season.  Much to my dismay, I discovered I was already in the throes of winter.  I sensed purposelessness lurking in my future.

But ah ha!  That’s what the enemy would have me think! God’s Word has plenty to say about my days as a winter saint—and it’s a call to action!

Psalms 92:12-14 says, I will flourish in the courts of our God and still bear fruit—if I continually pursue the Lord and His righteousness.

I’m to share the wisdom and understanding I’ve gleaned from my life’s experience and lessons learned. – Job 12:12

I’m to invest in the generation coming behind me, engaging with them, loving on them, and teaching them Truth. —Titus 2:4-5

I’m to use my God-given gifts to serve, encourage others, and tell what He has done. —1 Peter 4:10 and Psalm 78:4.    

So, while winter—my here and now—doesn’t look anything like I thought it would—it’s a good season. In fact, it’s a very good season filled with God’s abundant blessings, steadfast love, and His constant presence.

And I am certain of this:  That God, who began the good work within you, will continue His work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns. –  Philippians 1:6