Changing Seasons

The weather has cooled. There’s now frost on the lawn in the morning and mist rising off the river. Hummingbirds no longer frequent the feeder. Many of the songbirds are gone. A few of the poplar trees are sporting gold leaves amid the green. Outside chores are tapering off. Soon, winter snows will blanket the green lawn and frost will drape the trees.

I’ve lived where the weather stays about the same all year. At first it was nice having warm temperatures every day. But after a few years, I missed the fall colors and cooling temperatures. Christmas wasn’t the same for this Pacific Northwest gal without snow. Christmas lights in the desert, although beautiful, didn’t sparkle like they do on a snowy winter’s eve.

These thoughts spiraled in another direction. Our lives have seasons too. We move from youths in early spring to mature adults in the summer of our lives and on into the fall. We become empty nesters, newly retired. For some, the change is unwelcome. Their life purpose gone with grown children and retirement. For others, they launch into projects they’ve long held off while raising families and building careers. Many travel to places they only talked about.

Then, in a blink, we are in the last season. Natural aging slows us down a bit more. But not to the point we stop living. There is still wisdom and talents to share. Prayers to be said.

“For I know the plans I have for you, ‘declares the Lord,’ plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.” — Jeremiah 29:11.

We have a future no matter the season of our lives. We are called to an eternal spring in heaven. Amen.

Reflections

Image by Pexels from Pixabay

I choose to be aware of evil but concentrate on the good I see. “For the rest, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever modest, whatsoever just, whatsoever holy, whatsoever lovely, whatsoever of good fame, if there be any virtue, if any praise of discipline, think on these things.” Philippians 4:8.

 

It amazes me that our all powerful God humbled himself to become one of us, the Creator subjected to his creation. He is so far above us and yet he chose not only to come as a helpless babe, dependent on human parents, but he also died for us, taking our place, burdened by our sins. It’s hard to understand, but I’m thankful all the same.

 

As for prayer, I read an interesting concept. Whatever we are praying for, would Jesus pray for the same thing? If the answer is no, then God’s answer will be the same. Our prayers must be in alignment with God’s will for our life. In essence, everything we do, everything we ask for, should be to glorify God, not to satisfy our desires or insist on our own will. “Not my will, but yours be done. In Jesus’ name I ask. Amen.” The more I pray, the more my thoughts and desires align with God’s plan for my life.

 

“And he turned the storm into a breeze: and its waves were still… He hath turned a wilderness into pools of water, and a dry land into water springs.” Psalm 107:29, 35. He has carried me through every difficult moment of my life, even sending a few miracles, as long as I held onto my faith, trusting him and not my circumstances. 

 

“All things have their season, and in their times all things pass under heaven.” Ecclesiastes 3:1. God uses each season to complete his work in us, for his glory and our good. Amen.

 

 

All Things Have Their Season

All things have their season, and in their times all things pass under heaven. A time to be born and a time to die. A time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-2.

In 2003, after twenty-six years I was leaving the home where I had raised my children and spent half of my adult life. The choice was not only voluntary, but necessary. Bill and I needed a fresh start, a home without ghosts of the past.

Late at night, when ghosts and demons are likely to prowl through my imagination, I would see my ex-husband standing in the bedroom doorway, sparking memories of that awful night he tried to smother me. Other times I saw my second husband, Ron, lying on the living room floor with paramedics trying to revive him. They failed. When I stood on the front deck, I glimpsed images of my third husband, Shannon, in the swing watching the sunset, his head still bandaged after his surgery for brain cancer. Neither the surgery or radiation treatments saved his life.

I moved slowly from one empty room to the next, recalling all the memories, the joyful as well as the sad. Finally, with a sigh, I laid the keys on the counter, took one last look and quietly shut the door.


Outside, I walked the perimeter of the yard, staying longest beneath the Quaking Aspens. Ron and I planted the small grove just outside the bedroom window. They sang me to sleep at night and gently woke me in the morning. I felt a pang of melancholy. I would not see them leaf out that year. Neither would I see the orchard in bloom or pick the fruit in the fall. Someone else’s hands would till the garden and plant the seeds.

I stood on the front deck and watched the sunset. A slight breeze brushed my cheek and a Meadow Lark broke into song. It was then I realized how much the house represented everything I had lost.  By leaving I would finally let go.

The first night in the new house was rough. I dreamed of my previous home, of the open fields and mountains, the family holidays and celebrations, of children growing. Shaking off the images, I rose and went out to the kitchen. I ignored the stacks of moving boxes and stood looking out the window while coffee brewed. The new house was strange and uncomfortable. Would it ever feel like home?

The sun rose, pouring bright light through the garden window and bathing the room in a warm glow. Mourning doves cooed from the rooftop and song birds chorused from every tree and bush. Humming birds flitted around the Crab Apple tree.

Bill came into the room and put his arms around me. “Good morning, Sweetheart. It is such a beautiful day let’s take a walk before we do anything else. The OC&E trail is only a few blocks from here.”

This trail is a converted railway stretching for a hundred miles through the heart of the city, outlying suburbs, open farmland and surrounding national forest. The section closest to our house cut through hay fields teaming with birds: meadowlarks, blackbirds, Mallard ducks, pheasants and Dove. Tall cottonwoods graced one side, mountains and old red barns lined the other - a little piece of paradise right in the middle of suburbia. I did not feel quite as homesick. 

Fifteen years, several states, six homes, and numerous walking paths later, I stood in yet another unfamiliar house, staring out the kitchen window, waiting for coffee to brew. I thought about people still married to the same person, living in the same house, going to the same church, and the same job. How lucky they are to always be surrounded by the known, sinking roots deep within families, homes, careers and communities. I had that once, a long, long time ago, but for reasons I do not understand, God took that type of stability from me. 

Yet, what God takes away, he often gives back a hundred fold. 

Bill and I took our coffee out to the bench on the front porch overlooking the Snake River Canyon, rolling hills, and hundreds of popular trees. Wind sighed through the pines, willows, and poplars. The creeks gurgled down the hill toward the river.

I loved the little church I was attending, the people were kind and friendly. The little community already felt like home, a place without the haunting images of the past, a place to settle in and stay.

At that moment, a Meadow Lark sang from a nearby fence post. I smiled. Even though a lot had changed over the course of my life, some things remained the same. The sun rose in the east, there were paths to walk and song birds to serenade us. Spring followed winter, and God was always there, providing the most important things.


That which has been made, the same continues: the things that shall be, have already been: and God restores that which is past.   Ecclesiastes 3:15:

Restores.

Amen.

Is It a New Year?

We have a clean slate, an unwritten story or is it a continuation of an old one?  The calendar may say it's new. Our lives may not. As with December 25th, New Year's Day is a man-made date, a designation on a calendar, merely a way of marking the passage of time. Isn't it?

Our minds are geared to think in absolutes, in finite numbers. Science has proven we cannot remain sane when deprived of a method of marking time, as knowing night from day. We then count the days, the weeks, the months and years. Every culture has a method of marking time.

We currently use the Gregorian, switching from the earlier Julian calendar. Both use celestial events in their calculations. However, the Gregorian is the more accurate when adding in a leap year, which is necessary to keep the calendar in alignment with the earth's rotation around the sun. This rotation is the basis for our year.

It took three hundred years to switch from the Julian Calendar to the Gregorian. The first countries to change were in Europe and did so in 1582. The last country to adopt the calendar for civil use was Turkey in 1927. Only a few countries do not use this calendar: Afghanistan and Iran, which use the Persian calendar, Saudia Arabia, which uses the Islamic calendar, and Ethiopia which uses its own calendar. Other countries use the Gregorian as their official calendar in conjunction with their own, such as China.

Some other calendars are the Revised Julian, Jewish, Islamic, Persian, Mayan, Chinese, and Roman.

The year the Gregorian was implemented, ten days were removed from the calendar. For countries waiting longer, some lost as much as thirteen days from their old calendars. This reduction in days brought them into conjunction with the equinoxes.



Thus, we can say, by using the earth's rotation, along with lunar months, equinoxes, and seasons, we have a new year, fixed by physical, celestial events, not just a thought or attitude.

I raise a toast to this New Year. I hope yours is filled with blessings and enough challenges to keep you from being bored, but not enough to overwhelm you.

Happy New Year!