Seasons: A Metaphor for Life

As we prepare to usher in yet another season of change, a time of gathering harvests from the seeds that were sown, I am reminded of a familiar phrase from Ecclesiastes that reads, “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven… a time to plant and a time to pluck what is planted” (Ecclesiastes 3:1-2, NRSV).

All of creation, it seems, knows that change is in the air. Children and their parents are flocking to local stores in search of school supplies and other essential items. The annual flurry of county fairs is winding down and, believe it or not, the leaves are beginning to show subtle signs of changing colors. Even the lush fields of milo, their stalks arching ever-upward into the sky as their plump heads begin to darken and change color, and parched fields of corn, resplendent in their green-golden majesty, are yearning to be “plucked up” and gathered.

In his fascinating essay, “There Is a Season,” Parker Palmer suggests that seasons is a wise metaphor for the movement of life; a metaphor suggesting that life is neither a battlefield nor a game of chance, but something infinitely richer, more promising, and more real. He writes, “The notion that our lives are like the eternal cycle of seasons does not deny the struggle or the joy, the loss or the gain, the darkness or the light, but encourages us to embrace it all—and to find in all of it opportunities for growth.”

While Parker Palmer may be right, many of us know all too well that while change may provide opportunities for growth in the form of attending a new school, starting a new career, finishing long-sought after goals, or entering a new phase of one’s life’s journey, often change does not come without a fight. Like it or not, we resist change. Why, I wonder, do we fight so hard to hold back the tide of change, particularly when it is inevitable? Is there something deep within our DNA, a survival mechanism of sorts that kicks in when we are pushed outside of our normal comfort zones or when others seem to be dictating and controlling the pace of change? Or are we simply afraid to try new things and to open ourselves to new experiences by leaving the comfort and security of the ordinary and the familiar?

As I prepare to embark on another season of change in my life, returning to Wartburg Theological Seminary in Iowa for a final year of study in preparation for ordained ministry, I will leave here grateful for the numerous seeds that have been scattered by my sisters and brothers in Christ; faithful disciples who take seriously their callings to teach, walk with, and uplift leaders for the greater church. And though this past year has flown by, a time of changing seasons punctuated by worship services, pastoral visits, confirmation classes, Bible study gatherings, and meetings, my time spent with the people of Prairie Faith Shared Ministry has been a season of my life that I will remember and treasure for years to come.

Perhaps if we let down our guard and allow ourselves to move out of our comfort zones, maybe, just maybe the fast-approaching season of autumn may help us open ourselves to the new and exciting possibilities that change often brings. “In my own experience of autumn,” writes Palmer, “I am rarely aware that seeds are being planted. Instead, my mind is on the fact that the green growth of summer is browning and beginning to die… But as I explore autumn’s paradox of dying and seeding, I feel the power of metaphor… On the surface it seemed that life was lessening, but silently and lavishly the seeds of new life were always being sown.”

Embrace the power of the metaphor. Be bold. Live courageously. Scatter the seeds of life’s experiences confident in the new life that they will bring.

The Message of the Maples

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In his book, Everyday Greatness, Stephen R. Covey tries to understand why some people struggle when adversity, failure, or loss strikes out of the blue while others persevere and find ways to adapt to unexpected circumstances that may come their way. And, while adaptable people do not dismiss the hurt, pain, and loss without a struggle, they eventually develop coping strategies that mourn losses while also finding solace in learning how to adapt and to live with losses. Though shaken to their very core, adaptable people find the inner strength to pick up the pieces left behind after the storms of life rage — the unexpected tempests that strike from time to time leaving debris trails of pain, heartache, and loss in their wakes. Yet, even in the midst of their own suffering and pain, adaptable and resilient people somehow find the courage to move forward in the face of shattered dreams and dashed hopes.

In many ways, people who manage to endure in the face of adversity have developed the habit of harnessing the power of mourning to gain empathy, compassion, and a deeper relationship with God. Cultivating a deep and intimate relationship with God, the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer of all that is and will be, is sometimes all that we have to hang onto when life seems so out of control. Our God, a covenant God,  journeys with us even during the darkest and most isolated valleys of life and always sees us for who we truly are, God’s beloved children.

Adaptable people, notes Covey, are like the small maple trees who one day find strands of barbed wire being hammered into their tender bark. Some growing trees fight and resist the intrusion of barbed metal, while other trees learn to adapt as they grow by incorporating the barbed wire into the bark of the tree. Interestingly, the maples that resisted the intrusion of barbed wire became disfigured and twisted as they grew instead of becoming the master of the wire.

We can learn a lot from the young maple trees that have learned to adapt to adversity. When adversity strikes we always have a choice. We can choose to become angry, to hold on to perceived hurts and wrongs, and to seek out scapegoats, thereby deflecting responsibility by pointing fingers at others to blame and castigate. We also have another choice. When adversity strikes we can let the pain twist us and distort us into embittered and angry caricatures of ourselves or we can choose to forgive. We can choose to let go of our grudges. We can choose to be kind to ourselves; especially when our own human frailty or our own stupidity brought about the trials and tribulations we must endure. Ultimately, the choice is ours to make. We can use adversity as an excuse to other, to blame, and to retreat into self-made prisons of hatred, anger, and remorse or we can choose to respond in ways that, while not minimizing or negating the pain of what may have happened, rejects revenge, jettisons anger, and summons the courage to forgive ourselves and others. For if we cannot find the courage to forgive we will remain prisoners of hate consigned to dwell in self-made prisons of regret, failure, and loss from which we cannot free ourselves.