“This is a season, honey.”

I’ve always had a negative reaction to that sentiment (usually offered as a well-meaning response to one of my whiny-tale complaints that I can’t do such-and-so).

A bristling. A knee-jerk. A restrain-myself-from-slapping-you moment.

Why? I’ve often wondered.

Oh, sure. It must be that control issue I have. I don’t want there to be a season. I want to do whatever I want to do whenever I want to do it.

If anything, though, lately, God’s been teaching me the value of fluidity. The benefit of ebb and flow. The recovery that comes with restful barrenness. The truth of Ecclesiastes.

The season for watermelon, flip-flops, and lemonade is summer. The season for mittens, hot cocoa, and fleece is winter.

The other day, one of the kids said, “I want some hot cocoa!” I said, “No! You don’t drink hot cocoa in the summer. Here, have an ice pop instead.”

It’s plain to me that seasons in the other areas of my life are sensible—even beneficial. It’s only fitting, then, to embrace the seasons of my life when it comes to home, family, work, hobbies, church life, and so on.

The season of having young children is not the season to pursue a leadership position for a Fortune 500 company (at least not for me; some women do it with ease, but alas—that’s another post: embracing who God made me and not comparing myself to others). The season of caring for aging parents is not the season for world travel. The season for establishing a career is (perhaps) not the season for marriage and family.

It is different for all. But wouldn’t it be a great tragedy to stuff myself into some mold of self-created “expectations” of what I should or shouldn’t be doing right now?

I see now that so much freedom exists in begging for God’s guidance—rather than fighting the inevitable—in the various seasons of life.

So, I may now be entering the “summer” of my life, as I turn 40 and have all my kids in school this fall.

I’m anticipating many “summer” days sipping that lemonade in prayer and reflection. 


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