One friend suggested I write about the change of seasons, and at first, I wasn’t sure what to do with that. After all, that could be a really short post:
“We live in a place where the seasons change. Fast. As they say, ‘if you don’t like the weather today, stick around for tomorrow—it’s sure to change.’”
Or, I thought, I could take the tact that we really only have two seasons around here—winter and less winter. But that would turn into a whiney, complaining kind of post, which I really try to avoid . . . unless I’m talking about the weather.
But this morning, as I was catching up with a friend whom I haven’t seen in a very long time, I got to thinking about seasons of life. And, boy, do those change just as quickly as the weather!
One year ago I was a little over-committed. O.K., a lot overcommitted. As in over-my-head-committed. I was chairing two large committees, leading a small group at church, teaching Sunday school, and I don’t even remember what else. Truly, I approached the fall with trepidation, not quite sure how I was going to make it through the year with all those commitments.
It was all good stuff, but it made me feel a little sick to my stomach to be that busy.
But this year, several of my commitments have fallen away. I finished up the two large committees and I took a year off from teaching Sunday school. I’m still leading a small group, but that is the only big commitment I have right now.
I gotta say, it feels weird.
This morning, as I listened to my friend who is in much the same place I was last year and the year before that—much too busy and overcommitted—I wondered how it happened so fast that my situation changed. And I realized that I’m in a different season. She has kids in three schools with no drivers--yet; I have kids in two schools, and the older two drive themselves to school every day. My youngest is three years older than my friend’s youngest. That makes a huge difference. This morning my friend was dashing off to a little play at the elementary school. I don’t have to do that school-day stuff anymore.
Just as much as being overly-busy was hard, this new season of less commitment is hard too. It feels like I’m waiting for something. It feels like I’m in an in-between place right now that doesn’t feel completely comfortable, but doesn’t feel completely terrible either.
I am definitely looking for and praying about what’s next—I know my life won’t be quiet forever. But this new season takes some getting used to. It’s a season of not being so much on call as I used to be. It’s a season of reflection. It’s a season of rest. And it’s a season of waiting.
Next year will bring yet another season . . . the season of one less child in my home.
And when I think about that, I realize that seasons of life change just as quickly as the seasons of the year.