As God prepares me for another season, one that starts in 21 days exactly, I’m anxious and expectant for how He’s moving, and at the same time I’m completely clueless as to what my life will hold.
Closing out this year, I have travel fever, an almost-loathing for political theory, and more new polaroids with pictures of me and my friends than I know where to hang on my wall. This post is short, but believe me, the journal entries behind it are piling up like little trinkets before one has a shelf to display them with. I’ve been furiously writing for months now, and God has been so graceful in teaching me about seasons and the blessings and struggles that come with each.
I don’t claim to know anything regarding the environmental impact of each season, or what would happen if we failed to experience one or more, but I do know without a doubt that each season spiritually only serves to draw us closer to God, and whether it’s one of quiet growth or loud promise-declaring, each season is sweet and after a while, it begins to grow on you like that Christmas sweater from grandma you’ve been trying to regift all year long.
Now that it’s the season to do so, and as we see this year coming to an end, it’s hard to let go.
There’s a song by Hillsong that goes like this:
Like a seed in the snow/ I’ve been buried to grow/
Though my waiting prolongs even greater/ Your promise for me like a seed/ I believe that my season will come
Don’t watch the clock. I’m preaching to myself, but deadlines and hear-back-by dates are crowding my thoughts, and that’s the season I’m in.
And it’s a privilege to have lived and loved in this time.
And I’m ready to let go.