I can’t help but ponder the transitioning continually taking place throughout the sameness of life. When winter lingers long into spring as it has done this year, it’s easy to become frustrated, melancholy, even despondent. A mixing of seasons is not how things should be. One season at a time is quite enough, thank you very much.
As I’ve watched this mysterious mixing play out over the course of these past months, this blending of snow and blossoms, of frost creeping to smother sunshine’s warmth, my heart longs to side with one extreme or the other, but not both at once. I’m quite discontent to mingle. Unwilling to see the beauty of this collision. Worried that Jack Frost’s gentle breath will encroach upon my spring and nip it in the bud, forever stunting its blossom.
It’s a perfect metaphor of life. I fear the newness will be lost in the old, smothered beneath a frosty chill instead of released to bloom in the brightness of the sun.
Will sameness forever stifle the fullness lying in wait beneath the surface?
Will the newness remain enslaved beneath the former’s heavy coat of duty, cloaked under the guise of doing things a certain way because it’s all we’ve known? All we’ve been taught to expect.
It’s time to learn to breathe freely.
Here in the very depths of our reality.
Here where the seasons collide.
Here in this mixing of the now and not-yet.
To trust the Creator of every new thing and every established work.
To trust His timing.
To trust for the coming of spring even when winter’s chill lingers long.
To trust and believe in the newness waiting beneath.
So very near.
To look with new eyes at the sameness, and ask for a heart that willingly transitions with the passing of days.
To be unafraid of unfulfilled promises, and trust in the makings of transformation at work in this moment.
Even when it lies beyond what naked eye can see.
Perhaps this mixing of seasons is exactly how things are supposed to be after all.