So I have this wonderful friend named Caroline (oh, irony) who is currently living in China and who is, for lack of a more modern phrase, my “pen pal” of sorts.
We exchange emails pretty often, and so much of the time, I feel I work out my own heart in our correspondence. She is an incredibly smart, beautiful woman who has shared so much wisdom and encouragement with me. I have been struggling a lot lately, and she has such beautiful insight into my brokenness (sometimes, I feel like I should be paying her for therapy). This is a piece of our correspondence lately that I felt might be worth sharing, as the seasons are changing — literally for all, metaphorically for some.
Her: “My mind keeps wandering to the beginning of Ecclesiastes where it talks about seasons. A time to reap, a time to sow, a time to be born, a time to die…all of that. God is the one who brings about the seasons in His time. Caroline, I am convinced that love will bloom in your life. God will choose when that season will begin, and that’s what makes it the most beautiful.”
Me: “It’s funny when I look back on the last few years of my life, and see that nothing has turned out like I expected it to — it has all been so much better. Sometimes “better,” in that I have enjoyed it more, and sometimes simply “better” for me, even though it has hurt. You are so right, friend — we are so much smaller than our seasons, and in our finite smallness, we could never hope to control them. All we can see is the snowflakes, the buds on the trees, or the hearty crunch of falling leaves under our feet. But we are guided by a God that can cradle the air streams, the patterns of the stars, and the currents of the oceans in His palm. He can see how the seasons need to change in a perfect rhythm — He knows when enough snowflakes or buds or leaves are really enough, and when it is time for the music to change beat.”