These days I'm reflecting a lot on the seasons of life. Without our consent, events and circumstances come and pass as time progresses, adding and subtracting from us, shaping our lives with a relentless force we cannot deny. We can only play along, if we are to be wise, if we would take time to understand the times. To ignore or dismiss the seasons would be like wearing winter coats during the heat of summer. But we're so good at numbing ourselves to the seasons. We stay locked up in the dungeon of our hearts, flustering with the broken A/C, deluding ourselves with false securities.
I don't know if this is true, but I feel a sense of change in season in my life. The past few years made up a season in which death had to clear the path for new life. A seed cannot grow and flourish unless it's planted in fertile soil. The winter months come, bringing death to what is old. And before the seeds can be planted firmly and fruitfully, the land is tilled. The soil is ploughed and harrowed turning over fresh soil and burying the old, dead crops to become the base for the growth and harvest of the new seed.
It's remarkable how poignant a metaphor this is for life. We are born and raised with a dizzying complexity of presuppositions and fallacies. Weeds are strewn all over, heavy boulders lay crush the soil, a lack of protection fails to keep robbers and pests at bay. We grow up with obstructions in our hearts that are too stubborn to remove by will. For life to birth, winter must come. The tiller must do his work. Only then can the seed grow and become fruitful, yielding a harvest.
I've spent many years of my life misguided with foolish assumptions about life. Not only that, there have been wounds and scars that have crippled me from living life in the manner it was designed. My brokenness and folly have led me to pursue what is worthless and deceive myself to a destructive end. Without a certain, and clear, death proving to me what is folly as opposed to wisdom, I couldn't fully commit to the convictions of wisdom and life. This past season has proved to me these things. By God's grace I've come to the sobering and undeniable conclusion that I am like a mere grass that is here today and thrown in the fire tomorrow. There is nothing I deserve. And yet I have lived with a sense of entitlement that views God as his slave. A death of me had to come in order that I could see the reality of the fear and majesty of God. I am his subject. Not the other way around.
I feel the tide turning. As the spring sprouts leaves and fall yields harvest, I am finding victories previously unattainable that point to the hope of fruitfulness.
I don't know what kind of season you're in, but I hope that you will take a moment with me to reflect where you are. In all these things, there is a God who is faithful and whose love remains through the changes. If we hold onto him, he will make sure that our hearts become fertile ground that yields a harvest of righteousness. May we cling to him, even as the seasons change, and seek his unfailing love to mold us according to his image.