There is a time and season for everything, and everything has a purpose it’s in time. Yet, time and it’s great race run in the hand of God is created with patterns, rhythms and seasons, so Ecclesiastes tells us there is a time to live and a time to die. The seasons turn.
As Galadriel says in a voice over at the beginning of The Fellowship of the Ring (movie), “The world is changed. I feel it in the water. I feel it in the earth. I smell it in the air. Much that once was is lost; for none now live who remember it.”
Like pages in a book, the seasons turn, and nothing can prevent a new leaf from happening. Some wear change on our shoulders, sometimes like the burden of time. Others hold the season of life in their wrinkled faces, the revelation that time has worn it’s way throughout their being.
Who can deny this? Perhaps in America, where people seem to think death does not happen, and we are shocked when it does. In a nation where we cure disease, and fix what is wrong, we stare at the sky shocked when we realize we are not God, that we are finite, and that everything has its time.
Seasons are speaking from our souls if we will listen. Something inside of us even has to die so that something new can be born again. And if our souls hold violently to what was, how can we accept what is? If only living were as easy as such pithy statements as “let go and let God.”
“Let go? Of what was? I might lose myself for all that I know is what was.”
And true, the pith statements sometimes are a bit cliche, especially when they sound romantic, but the seasons must change, and we must continue. Like a leaf hanging from a tree, falling to the ground, only to be crushed by the foot that walks upon it. Under each crunch heard on an Autumn walk is something fading into the dust, “for to dust you shall return.” This allows life to be life.
To flourish in the spring. To dance through the summer. To tremble in a violent vulnerability in the Autumn. To feel the cold sting of Winter, death and all its friends.
Yet, we are not alone. We are found among our suffering friends if we will but look and see the lines on their faces, and the sorrow or joy in their eyes. Perhaps it is a mingling of both joy and sorrow, the tension of humanity and Heaven written into our eyes. For this is who we are. We are eternal. And all of us, every part of us lives in these seasons. Each in its time.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Look backward. Feel the present. Onward. The saga continues on. One season. Turning. Like pages. We are writing with our lives. Pages to be read. These seasons of life.