Seasons

“Seasons come like Seasons go, I guess.”

Seasons. I’ve used that word a lot over the last few years. How many times have you looked back on your life and said something like, “That was a good season!”, or maybe less enthusiastically, “That was a long, hard season.” I think we get used to certain rhythms in our lives. Like the actual climatological seasons of winter, spring, summer and fall. These four seasons often provide a context for how we look back – or ahead – in life. And so we tend to do the same with periods of time in our lives, especially when we look back.

I sometimes refer back to my “wilderness years”; a season when I was avoiding God and making some (a lot) of not great decisions. I learned an awful lot during that season. Do I wish those five years had gone differently? Absolutely. Do I treasure the lessons I learned? Absolutely. Both can be, and are, true.

There are also many wonderful seasons that I can look back on. The five years I spent getting to know and courting the woman who would be my wife for 30 years, is one of my favorites. Everything was in front of us! The world was our oyster. Anything was possible! Those five years were transformative for both Barbara and me. There were many other wonderful seasons from those 30 years we shared, as well. Some were weeks long, some were years long. Most of them good. Some of them – especially the last couple – were very difficult and rather challenging.

How you process the emotions of hard seasons right before you lose someone, will test your faith, resilience and frankly, your mental health.

“Ain't it just like me, making all this mess of my head again?”

I’ve written in this space often of my grief journey that began when Barbara went home to be with Jesus. Writing is one of the things that helps me cope and process. One of the things about grief is it’s not linear. You don’t gradually get better until all of a sudden – poof! No more grief! No more pain! No… That’s not at all how it works. The sudden “poofs!” are more grief showing up out of nowhere when you think you’re having a pretty good day (or week, or month, or, well… season.)

I’m learning (yes, two years in and I still say learning, not learned), that how I manage these poof! moments makes a big difference.

“I got memories I like to think of when this big old world gets a bit too much.”

A big part of grief and healing concerns how you deal with memories. When Barbara first went home, all I could do was think of the memories we shared, and then grieved the fact that we would no longer be making them. The last memories of us had been made. There would be no more. That was part of the mourning part for me, that there would be no more memories. No more time together. No more seasons. And so I thought back to those good times. They brought me comfort.

But then I got a little stuck. I had placed pictures everywhere of our life together. It started because I wanted to remember the good times… the happy times… the joyous seasons of our life together. This was good, and healthy, for a season, but then it started having the opposite effect. Instead of looking at those pictures and feeling joy and happiness, I also started feeling more sadness and despair. “Those were great times… but we’ll never have any more!”, became a sad refrain in my head and my heart. The memories remained valuable treasure, but all those reminders were starting to prevent me from moving forward.

“When I close my eyes, I find some peace in the back of my mind.”

This is where some amazing friends come into play. There were loving things they did and precious words they spoke, that helped me to see what I was doing. And sometimes what I wasn’t doing. They came and helped me clean Barbara’s closet and sort through her things, as one great example. There were (and continue to be) countless encouraging messages. And real conversations. (Pro tip – surround yourself with people who love you enough to speak truth to you!) And meals. So many meals. And not just the food and the meals, but the company while enjoying them. God has blessed me mightily in this regard.

Through all of these things and more, they were reminding me, and I was finally starting to see myself, that I still had a future. And hope. That God still had a plan. My life on this earth did not end when Barbara’s did. There were times – more than I’d care to admit – when I’d wished it had. It took me a while to come to grips with that. But eventually I did, and have.

The life Barbara and I shared was an absolute blessing from God. Probably the biggest I’ve ever received. And the memories of us I have to hold onto are the most precious I possess. But there is more. I can have hope and look to the future confidently and expectantly. And maybe even joyfully.

“And just like that, I'm back to loving life again.”

Do I know what the future holds? Of course not, we never do. But I most certainly know that God is in complete control of it. All of it. And my job is to trust Him.

It is okay to have peace. It is okay to have joy. It is okay to make plans for the future, (providing they line up with His will!) And it’s okay to love life. The lives we’ve been given are a gift. We need to receive that gift and make the absolute most of it!

I hope sharing this part of my story is helpful to at least one person. A few weeks ago, a dear friend assured me this would be the case! She’s a great encourager, especially when it comes to my writing. (So, Lisa, if you’re reading this – and you better be! –  Thank you!

Finally, any music fans reading this might have recognized the lyrics I used as de-facto headings in this post. The song, “Loving Life Again” by Ella Langley, has become a bit of an anthem for me the last six months or so. (I may have even shed a few poignant tears when I saw her perform it in-person last June.) I encourage you to listen to it if you’ve never heard it. It speaks to the power of fond memories and their ability to get your head back in the right place to live life today. And to live it joyfully.