Seasons of Life

Dowd Simpson

04 Aug, 2015

I like to view my life in seasons. Why seasons? Well, a lot of people say chapters and I like that thought because I like books. Chapters are made up of lots of pages. Sometimes a short amount of pages, sometimes too many pages where you are flipping ahead to see just how many more you have to read in order to get to the next chapter so you can turn off your light and go to bed. There are lots of little tiny words neatly spaced out on a page. All in black and white. Orderly. I like that. That works well with a part of my personality. Then there’s the other part of my personality. The messy, raw, rolled out of bed, throw on my husband’s T shirt and whip my hair up on the top of my head kind of part. I like this part too. I use to not like this part. I use to try and cover this part up with the appearance of togetherness. And then I became tired. Tired of trying so hard. And then tired was eventually replaced with annoyed, and super frustrated that I cared so much. Then that was replaced with apathy and then apathy's sweet cousin acceptance finally came along. And that’s where I am today. The full on embrace of the messy. Not ugly. I don’t think it’s ugly to not wear makeup or cry so uncontrollably that I’m wiping away snot with the sleeve of my husband’s T shirt I just threw on. I don't think it's ugly to roll around in the grass with my kids or use the yogurt my toddler squirted in my hair as "texturizer," that might actually teeter on gross, but you get hat I mean. I actually find that way of life more beautiful than the put on “perfectionism” performance nonsense I was doing before.

So this messy part of my personality likes seasons. Because they are colorful and brazen, but also orderly. There are four of them and they come relatively on time and expected each year. But with varying degrees of vibrancy or severity. And that’s how I feel life likes to comes at me. I have had seasons of spring and seasons of summer, season of fall and seasons of winter. In the day to day if you were to ask me what season I am in currently, I would respond summer because my life feels like it is in full bloom. But upon further thought and reflection, I might believe my life to be in the season of fall. I have three very small children. At one point in the year I could say I have three children three and under. It is no longer I that I think for but James, Willow and Winnie. I am dying to self, and in the dying, producing leaves of incredible color. I hope anyway. Do you see color in my life? And as I die to myself, and daily let go of the branch that was my idea of what this day was supposed to look like, I am carried, somewhat tumultuously on the breathe of heaven, down to the ground and probably land somewhere not exactly where I expected to be... "Um, excuse me, could you just move me a little more to the left? I really had my hopes set on that nice patch of green grass..." But exactly where I needed to be, lying in the warm rays of the Son. And as I lie there in His embrace, dying to self, I rest knowing that He sees me and will never leave me, having done far more dying than I will ever have to do. He walks with me, leading the way with His very own life.