I love this time of year. I love thunderstorms that interrupt sentences. I love waving leaves that appear so suddenly on foundation branches. I love to be reminded that resurrection is coming, and it's a lot like spring.
In fact, with every changing season there is hope. A golden autumn, an emerald spring each carry with them changes--not always suddenly, not here, anyway. We have weeks when the world can't decide whether it would rather be summer or spring, raining or snowing. We get surprise days in the middle--75 degrees in January, snow in April. But each change brings hope. Hope that the world isn't the way it was yesterday, doesn't carry the same baggage, the same disappointment. Hope that we're moving forward, headed in some new direction. Even as I miss the snow, I love the greener grass. I long for something new even as I mourn what is past and gone.
But the seasons mean hope--every one--even winter. Hope that this summer I'll be less angry. Hope that this fall I'll be less tired. Hope that this winter I'll be less distant. Hope that this spring I'll be less lonely. Maybe as the world changes, finally, I'll change too. Surely if everything around me can change so completely, God is powerful enough even to change me and my circumstances. Our world is not able to be tamed, try as we might. So, the seasons give me hope. At least we're going somewhere.
But lodged between hope and disappointment, change and stagnation, is this strange thing longing. Longing is the desire for change, the craving for something better. It's good, but it's difficult. Just like hope, longing can be halted by disappointment. It can freeze or evaporate altogether.
Maybe hope is just optimistic longing. Longing is a rooted-in-the-gut feeling of what could be, what should be; it's a healing and a hurt all at the same time.
If we're allowed to have favorites--and I think in this case we are--I pick winter. I've made it a rule that whenever I see the first snowflakes of the year, I immediately run outside to feel them. Don't stop to put shoes on, don't reach for a coat, just go and smile at the clouds. Winter is grace falling from the sky, covering a dark earth in pure, brilliant white. It's a whisper that silences the busyness and persistent responsibilities of our lives. But spring is new life: delicate buds bursting impatiently into life-creating leaves. Summer is freedom. Autumn is staring into a yellow sky, celebrating gifts and friendships.
But for all the beauty, so often I'm still longing for something else. I want each season to deliver it all, but instead each delivers doses of its own kinds of graces. Because the seasons know that longing is good. Longing builds endurance. Longing reminds us of the almost and not quite so that we live--sometimes comfortably, often impatiently--in the in between. We're always in the halfway. Somedays I like this world, this time, this season. And sometimes I want nothing more than for everything to change, for everything to be completely different.
In some feeble attempt at acceptance--an unfortunate coping mechanism--we often tell ourselves: "That's just the way things are. That's just the way she is. That's just how he always reacts." But we only say these things because we have this insatiable craving for the now to be not what always will be. Our hearts and flesh are hungry for better food, and we know, however deep we have to dig, that are and is aren't what ever will be. And if the whole world can change in a day--summer gone and fall cooly slowing things down--then surely we can change too. I hope so.
Remember that first day when the scent of spring comes blowing in, when the first taste of autumn laces the air? It might be weeks before it's back again. But it will be back, and here to stay for its own full course.
In reality, each day is new. Yesterday isn't the same as today, and tomorrow will be different as well. I need to remember that here is a place where it's okay to be discontented, where hope is not ignoring the feelings of longing, but faith that longing will one day be fulfilled. Here is a place where I'm often impatient, where yesterday and tomorrow seem so much better than today. Here is a place for faith, hope, and love.
And here is a place for longing.
In fact, with every changing season there is hope. A golden autumn, an emerald spring each carry with them changes--not always suddenly, not here, anyway. We have weeks when the world can't decide whether it would rather be summer or spring, raining or snowing. We get surprise days in the middle--75 degrees in January, snow in April. But each change brings hope. Hope that the world isn't the way it was yesterday, doesn't carry the same baggage, the same disappointment. Hope that we're moving forward, headed in some new direction. Even as I miss the snow, I love the greener grass. I long for something new even as I mourn what is past and gone.
But the seasons mean hope--every one--even winter. Hope that this summer I'll be less angry. Hope that this fall I'll be less tired. Hope that this winter I'll be less distant. Hope that this spring I'll be less lonely. Maybe as the world changes, finally, I'll change too. Surely if everything around me can change so completely, God is powerful enough even to change me and my circumstances. Our world is not able to be tamed, try as we might. So, the seasons give me hope. At least we're going somewhere.
But lodged between hope and disappointment, change and stagnation, is this strange thing longing. Longing is the desire for change, the craving for something better. It's good, but it's difficult. Just like hope, longing can be halted by disappointment. It can freeze or evaporate altogether.
Maybe hope is just optimistic longing. Longing is a rooted-in-the-gut feeling of what could be, what should be; it's a healing and a hurt all at the same time.
If we're allowed to have favorites--and I think in this case we are--I pick winter. I've made it a rule that whenever I see the first snowflakes of the year, I immediately run outside to feel them. Don't stop to put shoes on, don't reach for a coat, just go and smile at the clouds. Winter is grace falling from the sky, covering a dark earth in pure, brilliant white. It's a whisper that silences the busyness and persistent responsibilities of our lives. But spring is new life: delicate buds bursting impatiently into life-creating leaves. Summer is freedom. Autumn is staring into a yellow sky, celebrating gifts and friendships.
But for all the beauty, so often I'm still longing for something else. I want each season to deliver it all, but instead each delivers doses of its own kinds of graces. Because the seasons know that longing is good. Longing builds endurance. Longing reminds us of the almost and not quite so that we live--sometimes comfortably, often impatiently--in the in between. We're always in the halfway. Somedays I like this world, this time, this season. And sometimes I want nothing more than for everything to change, for everything to be completely different.
In some feeble attempt at acceptance--an unfortunate coping mechanism--we often tell ourselves: "That's just the way things are. That's just the way she is. That's just how he always reacts." But we only say these things because we have this insatiable craving for the now to be not what always will be. Our hearts and flesh are hungry for better food, and we know, however deep we have to dig, that are and is aren't what ever will be. And if the whole world can change in a day--summer gone and fall cooly slowing things down--then surely we can change too. I hope so.
Remember that first day when the scent of spring comes blowing in, when the first taste of autumn laces the air? It might be weeks before it's back again. But it will be back, and here to stay for its own full course.
In reality, each day is new. Yesterday isn't the same as today, and tomorrow will be different as well. I need to remember that here is a place where it's okay to be discontented, where hope is not ignoring the feelings of longing, but faith that longing will one day be fulfilled. Here is a place where I'm often impatient, where yesterday and tomorrow seem so much better than today. Here is a place for faith, hope, and love.
And here is a place for longing.