As a good friend and I drove out into the country earlier this morning to go for a hike, I marveled at the stark change in colors in the area. Not two weeks ago, when I went to the very same park (Beaman Park) to help construct a trail, the leaves were radiant in yellows, reds, and oranges. But today, while there were a few touches of these bright colors, grays and browns were more prevalent than before. Winter is soon approaching middle Tennessee and with it, cold winds and subdued colors.
This change in season reminded me of Ecclesiastes 3, which ironically enough, I was reading before we headed out the door. The simple and yet profound truths that are weaved through every verse in this chapter resonates with me and I come back to it on a regular basis. The eloquent prose that Solomon carefully used and the way that it speaks to me is beyond my comprehension. I doubt that anyone will read what I write now in a dozen, not to mention a few thousand years.
Gazing through the trees, soaking in their rigid and weathered beauty with a bright blue sky above, I imagined the seasons going by. These very trees, ragged with wear, will see a new beginning in spring, enveloped in greens. Summer will come, the deers will feed around them, safe and hidden. Autumn will return once more and an abundance of colors will appear. With winter’s arrival, the wealth of colors will once again fade to their current stark beauty, but such is life…for “[T]here is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven” (vs. 1.)
Even though I know this well, both when it comes to natural seasons and life, I still battle with accepting seeing friends and family going through the winter season of life. I find myself delighted by friends’ children-for the spring of life makes me more happy than any other, but when it comes to saying good-bye to those, such as my best friend’s Granny, I rebel against it all.
My mind knows that life is not possible without death, but my heart agonizes over the departure of loved ones. It is something that I battle with and seeing the change in the trees around me, I know that it is unavoidable. Today, as I think about seasons and the wonderful life that Granny lived (she passed but last night), I am going to step outside, breath in the brisk air, and once again gaze into the trees–being fully aware that God’s faithfulness is like the changing of seasons.
