"And even when the trees have just surrendered
To the harvest time,

Forfeiting their leaves in late-September,

And sending us inside.

So it is with You, when change begins,

I will offer thanks for what has been,

And what's to come.

- Nichole Nordeman, Every Season

November. Autumn. Even as I say those words, I am in disbelief. As of next Friday, I will have been home on PEI for 3 months. 3 months. Where on earth has the time gone?

If you've been reading my blog or my posts on Facebook, you've probably picked up on the fact that I've spoken often of seasons. Ever since I heard Steve Carter speak at a youth conference back in 2012 in relation to the Christian life and living in seasons, the concept has not left my mind. I truly believe that God planted that seed in my mind and heart, to help me through the challenges and struggles, as well as the joys and celebrations of these past few years. More on that in a moment. 

I have been much more aware of the changing seasons since moving home to PEI. Living in Oklahoma City for 4.5 years, unless I was out at the Salvation Army camp in Northeast Oklahoma, in the woodlands, it was a little more difficult to note the seasons' changes. But here in PEI, it's much more apparent. My family's home is in a quiet little rural community, tucked in by a beautiful little bay, surrounded by farm land. I moved home in late August, which, for farmers, is a time for harvest. I had several potato farmers come in to the store where I was training and while I poured their coffees and asked about their day, they would tell me about how they were harvesting potatoes and preparing their fields for the fall and winter. To avoid rot, potatoes tend to be harvested in late-August, then transported to storage for grading and distribution, for large-scale farmers, a long process. 

Autumn boasts beautiful colors of changing leaves here. I loved my commute to work, taking back roads that gave me a backstage pass to some of the most beautiful tapestries of oranges and reds and yellows. Through a difficult time of transition, seeing God's creation in nature was something that spoke deeply to my heart. 

And now, we are preparing to move into winter, and more than just "colder winds" tell me so. For the past few days, we have had a gigantic gaggle of geese congregating in the field opposite our house, and splashing around in the bay. It has been fascinating to hear the constant honking and squawking of the geese, as if they were strategizing the trip south, arranging the next team to take to the skies. For the past 4.5 years, I was on the other side of their trip, receiving them in the south. Now, I'm on the other side, watching them lay out their flight plan, and it's truly fascinating. 

But the migration of my feathered friends tells me that colder winds, and snow, and darker days, are coming. Any friends who identify with the struggle of Seasonal Affective Disorder (moods being affected by the lack of natural sunlight) know exactly where my anxiety lies. I am thankful for my friend Sarah who recommended a therapy lamp to me for these short and dark winter days. I'm already noticing a difference. Message me on Facebook, if you're interested in purchasing one. I've done some research. :-)

I remember Steve talking about the Fall and Winter season, about the need for plant life to die, to fall into sleep beneath the snow, to prepare for the new growth, the New Life, to come in the Spring. 

Let that sit for a moment...Because I know, if there is anyone who is going through their own form of Winter instantly relates to what he's talking about. 

Every morning, I go to the back door of the kitchen to fill the coffee pot with water (okay, get it out of your system...I work at a coffee shop, and the first thing I do at home in the morning is put on coffee...let's move on.). Hanging on the wall next to the water cooler is a print my mother put up years ago with the well-known Scripture from Ecclesiastes:

It catches my eye every morning. To everything, there is a season. Funny how I've read those words over and over again, sang the song by The Byrds numerous times (Okay, who else is now singing it with me? You're welcome!). But those words have so much more meaning, now, as I go through this current season. It has very much been a winter season. I have gone through numerous changes in a very short time, not to mention the fact that I am also going through a pretty intense season of grief. 

Yes, grief. It doesn't just come to those who lose loved ones to death. It comes after major life changes, big moves, job changes, relationship changes. In this current season, I've moved back to my home country (a big change with a series of little changes), leaving behind friends and "family", I've moved in with my family as an adult, I've taken a new job that is not ministry-related, I've taken a step back from practical ministry for a season to rest and restore from significant burnout. I've had to re-adapt to a different climate, culture and people. I've had to grieve, not a loss of people, but a change of relationship, with several friends who are now separated by a few thousand miles. And you know what's funny? I've had several people, in my low points, remind me of just how many changes I've experienced, and yet, as I list just a few of the pretty major changes I've experienced, I feel a sense of freedom, a sense of acceptance. There's a reason why I'm in a pretty wintry season, even before the first snow flies. 

It's been challenging. Even excruciating and exhausting. When I first came home, I was in shock and denial, that I'd be fine, that I wouldn't have to struggle through this transition. But that soon wore off. I have some really good days. But I also have some really hard days, too. Some days I can't stop crying, because I miss the place and people I once called "home." Some days I get really frustrated, even angry, because the decision I made, that I know was God-inspired, has resulted in my being away from all the familiarity that I've known over the past 4.5 years, and now I must work hard to re-acclimate to a home that was once familiar, but now feels alien. Some days I bargain, thinking if only I do A, B, and C, I'll be able to go back, or I'll feel better. 

I haven't gone through a "classic" cycle of grief. This experience has been far from textbook. Some days I am in the depression stage, then anger, then bargaining, then back to anger, then back to depression. Back and forth. Back and forth. 

But lately, I have seen glimpses of the "promised land" of the grief cycle: acceptance. And it was when I finally came face-to-face with my grief, started writing again, cried a little more, poured my heart out a little more - anger and all - to God, I could see myself moving a little closer toward acceptance. Some days I get there, and some days I slip back to the former steps. But I see acceptance coming closer and closer, like a glimmer of hope...

Spring is coming...I can see it. 

I remember Steve talking about the hope and promise that Spring is coming. We see it in the story of Christ's death and resurrection. The suffering He endured was excruciating and humiliating and torturous, as He went to the cross, bearing our sin...my sin. 

But the third day came...and He rose again from the dead...Spring came. New life appeared.

There is hope, friends. And that hope has been what brings me through each day of this difficult season. Hope that Spring is coming, that New Life will come in time, is what I cling to. I cling to the promises that my Heavenly Father gives to me, that His mercies are new every morning, that He is faithful, that He died - and rose again - to set us free from the bondage of sin - not suffering, not hardship - but sin. 

This has been a grueling season...but there have been glimpses of hope. It comes in the smiles and the hugs and the prayers of my friends, my family, my support system that is being developed here. It comes in the moments of laughter that are beginning to become more frequent. It comes in the confidence I am slowly building in my job. It comes in the days I can sit in a church service without feeling anxious, allowing the music and the Word to heal my broken heart. 

Spring is coming, friends. I don't know if my "Spring" will come in April, as it often does...but I know it will come. It's a hope I hold on to. 

Thank you for praying for me. I ask that you continue to do so. And if you're in a winter season, you're not alone. We can walk it together. Let me know how I can pray for you. 

Blessings.