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Why We Need Seasons - and How to Get Through the Long Ones

My heart is all over the place today.

That best-friend-sister of mine is having a baby as I write. She's practicing her labor breaths, ones she didn't learn through a birthing class. I'll just wing it, she told me. My first reaction when she told me they were at the hospital was to get in the car and drive 10 hours to Iowa and hold her hand, sit with her husband, and fetch the ice chips on command.

But I'm not there. I'm here. Because she has a mom and a sister who deserve their place before me.

My heart is there.

I've had babies. It seems like so long ago, but even 8 years after the last one was born, the feelings and anticipation are still so raw in my mind.

They aren't babies anymore. That season is long gone, and I find myself now in the midst of pre-teen hormones and independence and boys that are just about as tall as me.

Lisa-Jo's book releases today, and though I've never met her, I feel like she's my soul sister. It's about more than friendship - it's about getting out of your own head and moving into intentional relationships with other people.

I've always wanted to "be a writer", whatever that means. Author a book? Write a blog? Be on staff at a newspaper?

I could be missing the signs, but this isn't the season for that.

All around us over the past year, people's prayers have been answered - they've had babies and answered a call and bought houses.

The potential employers have called them back.

Their kids are small and sweet, not asking the hard questions yet. Everyone still fawns at their new accomplishments and waits in anticipation for the next new thing.

And I've had to work through those tough conversations with myself about overcoming jealousy and my contempt with my own season.

Because the eleven-year-old still wavers between emotionally-charged and utterly annoying.

Because we are still in the rented apartment with the loud upstairs neighbors and dog owners who refuse to clean up.

Because those job leads have not called back, and will I ever write a book?

And the one side of me knows it's wrong to want what others have, to long for a different season.

While the other side just wants things to happen quicker.

Here's the thing about seasons: Going through them changes us.

We can try our hardest to avoid them, sidestep them, or plow through with tunnel vision. Whatever our approach may be, seasons come at us with a fierce wind or bright, sun-shiney joy.

And those long winters of hum-drum? Spring comes, friends. Wait for it, and don't forget to watch for what is blooming just underneath that snow.


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