12/2/2022
A read a social media thread last year on seasons, people sharing their favorite season and why. Most responders had definitive reasons why spring/summer/winter/autumn was a personal favorite. Most reasons had nothing to do with leaves or flowers or snowflakes or ocean swell. There were memories attached to their favorite season, places embedded deep in synapsed cocoons held safe. And yearly, as that season rolled around, the memory fired alive and ushered peace. It was neat to read.
It was also eyeopening to read how many chimed in in distain of their not so favorite season. One even gave a profane thought on dead leaves. Only a few understood they personally had bad memories attached to seasons for a reason. Loss of loved one, illness, hardship.
And I get it, I do. Holidays havenโt always felt so holy, wintering ushering drear, not something to nestle into as sacred safe space. And it leaves a choice. Leaning into it all or avoid it, call it repugnant.
We forget the places and spaces of grace woven in between.
God gives seasons to bloom and seasons to rest. Both are important for growth. You are likely in one season or another, both seasons worthy to be honored.
โ๐๐ฏ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ด๐ด ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฅ ๐ฃ๐ถ๐ช๐ญ๐ฅ๐ด ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ด๐ฆ, ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ด๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฐ ๐ฃ๐ถ๐ช๐ญ๐ฅ ๐ช๐ต ๐ญ๐ข๐ฃ๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ท๐ข๐ช๐ฏ. ๐๐ฏ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ด๐ด ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฅ ๐ธ๐ข๐ต๐ค๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ด ๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ค๐ช๐ต๐บ, ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ข๐ต๐ค๐ฉ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ด๐ต๐ข๐บ๐ด ๐ข๐ธ๐ข๐ฌ๐ฆ ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ท๐ข๐ช๐ฏ. ๐๐ต ๐ช๐ด ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ท๐ข๐ช๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ณ๐ช๐ด๐ฆ ๐ถ๐ฑ ๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ๐ญ๐บ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐จ๐ฐ ๐ญ๐ข๐ต๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ด๐ต, ๐ฆ๐ข๐ต๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฃ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ข๐ฏ๐น๐ช๐ฐ๐ถ๐ด ๐ต๐ฐ๐ช๐ญ; ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐จ๐ช๐ท๐ฆ๐ด ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ด๐ญ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฑ.โ -๐ฏ๐๐บ๐ ๐โฌ โญ๐ฃ๐ค๐ฉ:๐ฃ-๐คโฌ โญ
