I can’t believe we’re in September… Uhm, no, wait. I actually can. Like I mentioned in my previous blogpost, this year has been a three-in-one package. Somehow every year when we reach Spring, the year is kicked into fifth gear. Before we know it there will be Christmas music playing on low quality speakers in shopping malls lined with miles of tinsel. Michael Bublé will emerge from hibernation, welcomed with milk and cookies in every home.
Even though most of us are hit by a wave of all the allergies a human body can hold, I still love this time of the year in my home town. Little streaks of green start to colour the trees. Blossoms weave through branches, reaching for a breath of sunshine, hoping to catch the first drops of rain. Abundance of life sprouting from what was once barren and dry.
Driving to work one morning, I passed a massive tree filled with soft pink blossoms. I admired how the shades of pink danced through the early morning sunlight, wishing I had left home earlier to have time to pull over and take a picture. As I drove off, I started thinking about the tree and how it seemed to phase through the seasons effortlessly. I didn’t just admire it. I envied it.
I am turning twenty-seven this month, and in twenty-seven years I have learned a few things about myself. One of them is that I’m not very adaptable. I have many good qualities. This is not one of them. And yet, I find myself in a profession that demands bucket loads of adaptability. Go figure.
I’ve found that most of the time our lives follow seasons.
Summer. Autumn. Winter. Spring. They come and go, and never leave us unchanged. We grow through them. Resist them. Embrace them. Thrive because of them. Die because of them.
The winter has been my companion for a while now. It might sound strange, but I’ve grown rather fond of it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s no fun getting pruned while the icy winds blow through your bare branches. But I’ve found that the winters teach us to stand. They cultivate deeper roots to anchor us. They make us turn to the only Comforter and constant Friend, taking us to new depths of intimacy.
Until the wind changes and you can feel a shift in the atmosphere.
This is where my adaptability fails me miserably. I’ve grown so accustomed to Winter, that it’s hard to say goodbye. Spring can’t be that hard, right? Growing. Opening up. Sharing your blossoms and fragrance with the rest of the world. Being vulnerable.
Terrifying. That’s what it is. Just terrifying.
So, I started resisting. Throwing tantrums is apparently not only reserved for three year olds. Not my best moment, I'll admit. When I finished kicking and screaming, my thoughts carried me back to the blossoming tree on my way to work. The tree was simply following a rhythm. Following a Divine call to growth. Not only for its own benefit, but for the enjoyment and blessing of others. It didn’t resist the change of seasons. It moved with it.
Summer. Autumn. Winter. Spring. Each season specially used to make it reach higher and deeper. Grow stronger. Maybe I should be more like the tree, and surrender to the season. It might be the start of an awfully great adventure.