There is some sense of comfort in the knowledge that seasons of this life do not last forever.
Sometimes they feel that way though.
And while I can only speculate as to why, it seems rather clear that we were never created to thrive in a flat environment, one consisting of perpetual single-note melodies, horizontal land, stagnant air hanging motionless around us as it goes no where in silence.
No, we were made to move, and one way or another we will.
The world isn’t flat, it’s round. Cyclical. Turning. I cannot help but ponder the significance of that.
As we journey forth, we find before us a world that is not static and safe, but wholly active and terribly dangerous. Therein we discover immeasurable beauty, mysteriously overgrown paths of thistle that cut our feet and flowers that smile up at us as we pass by.
We are graced with love and kindness, scarred by grief and pain, and broken by our own brokenness and failure. Mountains we must climb, rivers we must cross, oceans too wide to even see a minute fraction of. We are blessed and we are bruised by our travel, kept alive by that which we seek, whether or not we know it.
We are drawn forward through the terrible, beautiful woods by a mysteriously known stranger, strengthening our spirit and beckoning us toward something we know is more extraordinary than what we can see.
In the darkest of nights when we can trod no further, our spirit is wearied and we feel the weight of the woods upon our back, we cease our journey.
“No more” we say, and lay ourselves down in the muck, no longer believing that seasons ever pass. Isn’t it all this wretched darkness here?
It is then that He carries us, knowing his creatures far better than we know ourselves. The journey does not lessen in adventure and peril, but we are bolstered with a sort of calm during those turns, one that is not of this world.
And when we are rested enough, he sets us down upon our feet again….changed. A bit stronger than we were, a bit wiser for what we learned while in his arms.
Sometimes we are set down in places of sunshine and peace for a season of rest and blessing, one that stays with us forever and charms our spirit for the rain.
And down the road as we enter yet another shadowy forest, we do not lose heart quite so quickly. For the light that found us before binds and guides us, drawing us through the perilous places we must go with him to reach the other side.
Each season shall pass one day, and we shall be changed as we endure their storms. Either we will become stronger, filled with more grace, wisdom and love by the scars mended while in his arms, or we will stay in the muck of the dark woods, unwilling to let him carry us.
Seasons do not last forever, but they leave behind their fingerprints. As surely as the sun must rise in the morning, so each must pass through. The beautiful ones bless us and the terrible ones change us, one way or another.