As summer wanes, and autumn inches closer, I've been thinking about the changing seasons and the future that will soon arrive with the chilled winds and knit scarves in the back of my closet that I look at longingly.
Sometimes when I try to think of "the future" it seems hard to think of things being any different than they are today. It is hard to see past this current limbo, while we try to figure out what's next for us and our careers and our finances and our futures.
The sensible part of me knows that change is inevitable and will at some point come to pass. That's exactly what time does, after all: usher in change of some sort, whether it's growing limbs, graying hairs or graduating into the next phase of life. Things will of course fall into place, because they always do, even if it's not the way we'd like it.
And lately, I've been feeling like that change is on its way. I have no idea what it will look like, the form it will take and the ripple effect it will induce upon our current "normalcy." But I can sense that this change that we've been awaiting is finally coming towards us and advancing.
And then I sit back and wonder, What will it be like when change does say hello?
I realize that it's likely I'll mourn the loss and the days of having Michael around to keep me company or chat to across the room while I'm doing some freelance work. I know that when change comes it will not be all wine and roses, like it appears from this angle. With the security comes other sacrifices, because there are always sacrifices.
And as I meditate on this more, I remember that one of the things that characterizes changing seasons the most is that we usually miss out on the changing altogether, until the old has completely dissolved and passed away. We open our eyes to realize that fall has become winter and our lashes are laced with snowflakes, or that spring has sprung into summer, just as we're cannon-balling into the swimming pool.
I realize that even though I might not see it happening around me, change must be taking place, because that's how life, that's how God, works. Even though I may not see it from this vantage point, I know that God cares intimately about us and hears our prayers, as he divinely ties it all together into one beautiful tapestry that we won't even notice until we look back behind us.
It's then, when I'm praying and am quiet long enough, that I can begin to sense the feeling of change. That it's happening, even now, being woven together, bit by bit.
And so as I intermittently long for change and fear what it may bring, I submit to the fact that it is inevitable. And I try to remind myself to relish this now and this season of life—however long it sticks around.
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