To Everything There Is a Season

by Lori Wilson

"To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven." These words from Ecclesiastes keep echoing in my heart this fall.

I live in the northeastern United States, where we have the blessing of four distinct seasons—each beautiful, each different. And yet, if I'm honest, I catch myself complaining. The heat and humidity of summer. The fleeting nature of spring. The bitter cold and ice of winter.

And fall? Fall is usually the hardest season for me. It feels like a slow death, a gradual slide toward the cold. Which is strange, because I genuinely love so much about it—pulling on a soft sweatshirt, the smell of woodsmoke from a firepit, long walks through fallen leaves. But fall is also laced with memories that are hard for me to carry.

This year, something has shifted.

I'm finding myself at peace with the changes. The vivid greens giving way to yellows, oranges, reds, and browns. The bluebirds that keep returning to my window—I believe they're saying goodbye until spring as they prepare to migrate. Last week, I saw a bear lumbering up the hill. Truth be told, it startled me. Then I realized: it's looking for its spot to hibernate through the long winter ahead. The deer have their antlers now and are frisky and abundant.

This is the third morning I've needed a sweater to sit outside and pray, to write, to greet God with the accompaniment of birdsong. And I'm beginning to see: what looks like slow death is really a slowing down, a hunkering in. An invitation to growth.

It struck me—while I might complain about elements of each season, there is such beauty in all of them.

Winter invites me to notice trees emptied of their leaves. I can see more clearly and deeply into the forest. They remind me of lungs breathing deeply. (Look closely at a bare tree and you'll see the similarity to the human respiratory system—remarkable, really.) I love how ice coats each branch in the early morning, the sun glinting off them in a magical display. I love catching the first snowfall and reveling in it. And one of my favorite things? Walking through fresh snow where no one else has left footprints yet. When real storms keep us snuggled in our homes, there's an invitation: slow down, breathe, rest.

Spring is my favorite season. I get to open windows and breathe fresh air again. I watch for tree buds and try to catch the exact day they all pop open. I take pictures on my walks, cataloging late winter and early spring flowers. I put away the winter coat and gloves and feel like I can move freely again. Spring is when I notice new life, new energy—a gentle speeding up of what was slowed way down.

Summer brings incredible growth. Food is abundant. We gather for barbecues, go on vacation, and seem invited simply to enjoy—life, family, friends, the fullness of it all.

These seasons I sometimes complain about have purpose and meaning—both for our beautiful earth and for me. They are invitations from God to notice the inner movements in my own life and heart, to lean into them as I become more fully the person I'm meant to be.

The rhythm of the seasons teaches me to trust the rhythm of my own soul. There are times for growth and times for rest. Times for abundance and times for letting go. Times that feel like death but are actually preparing the way for new life.

To everything there is a season. And every season has something to teach me about the God who made them all.

A Prayer

Gracious God, You who set the seasons in motion and call them good, teach us to trust the rhythms You've woven into creation— and into our own souls. Help us see that what feels like death may be rest, that what feels like ending may be preparation, that every season carries its own invitation to grow closer to You. Give us eyes to notice Your beauty in summer's abundance and winter's stillness, in spring's new life and autumn's letting go. May we embrace the season we're in, trusting that You are present in all of it. Amen.

Reflection Questions

• Which season (literal or metaphorical) are you in right now? How would you describe it?

• What season do you find yourself resisting or complaining about? What might God be inviting you to notice or embrace in that resistance?

• Look back over the past year of your life. Can you identify different "seasons" in your inner life—times of growth, rest, loss, or new beginnings?

• What does it mean for you personally to trust "the rhythm of your own soul"? What practices help you attune to that rhythm?

• If you were to write a love letter to the season you usually find most difficult, what would you say?