Seasons

Seasons come and seasons go. Every year the seasons change—outside my window and inside the confines of my simple life. Every change is like a stone tossed into a lake, causing a rippling effect. Each small stone—be it a new job, a new home, a new relationship—affects the surface of the water, reverberating signals of new challenges in every direction. The stone itself then sinks to the bottom and becomes a part of the foundational make up of the very being of the lake. How the water trips and moves is changed as a whole by a simple stone.

This new season I am beginning, complete with many stones, has caused so much rippling at times I feel as if the stones themselves are actually large boulders, splashing and sinking into my existence and changing the looks of everything around me. The water, not completely still before, but holding a calming effect on all audiences, suddenly is churning with change. The boulders so large that they have indeed made their way to the bottom and are currently redirecting the waters that flow over them. This is not a calm scene any longer. It becomes, instead, the beginning of roaring rapids. Which is more peace-full: a calm lake or rushing river? If rushing water implies change it can indeed be seen as either—depending on the lens of the viewer. One would say these changing waters represent a lack of focus, in a sense, chaos. Others may see it only as opportunity for Good.

The very nature of change is in itself full of uncertainty. It is different by definition from what is or has previously been. I have claimed to be one for change, or so I’ve stated when the waters were calm--nothing wrong with stirring up the surroundings a bit to make people wonder what’s going on. I have found, though, as change and the unknown link arms requesting to accompany me in my future, they can bring along a sense of intimidation. But, when they come knocking at my door requesting my companionship to a mysterious and unidentified destination, despite the cloud of fear waiting to rain over my head, I choose to step out—knowing that the One who plans and directs my steps is good. The waters may be full of change, but they cannot be full of destruction. I know that on my journey the waters will not pass over me. The lack of calmness and serenity need not imply chaos or deficiency of direction, but rather a greater sense of adventure and exploration. Much more exciting is a bend in the river ahead, raising up something unknown to our catalog of memories than sitting complacent in the midst of a lake where surroundings are completely observable with hardly a question in mind.

As much as the ripples have turned to waves and each day seems like a new bend in this body of water, I have chosen to embrace each day with complete certainty—no longer a certainty in the familiar, but a certainty in the One who drops the stones. God is stretching me to trust him. Trust in One I cannot see who holds a future of mine that is also invisible to my finite eyes.

Bring on the boulders.