Part Two … Seasons

When my wife and I moved to Los Angeles for college, we had a three-and-a-half-year-old daughter and an eighteen-month-old son in tow. Neither of our children really remembered anything about Indiana winters. Their earliest memories were formed under the sunny skies of Southern California. The only snow they ever saw was on the distant mountains—those rare, clear winter days when the smog lifted just enough to reveal them.

So when we moved back to Indiana one October, it was a brand-new adventure.

The impact of seasonal perception hit home that February when my son came inside and excitedly told his mother,

“Mommy, I can’t wait for summer—when I can play in the snow in my short sleeves!”

After a good laugh, Ruby and I realized our kids didn’t really know anything about true seasonal change—not the kind the Midwest delivers.

“As long as the earth endures,

seedtime and harvest,

cold and heat,

summer and winter,

day and night shall not cease.”

—Genesis 8:22

From the beginning of creation in Genesis 1, through the rainbow covenant in Genesis 9, God established a rhythm for life: night and day, seedtime and harvest, spring, summer, autumn, and winter.

Even Sabbath.

These aren’t just atmospheric phenomena. They are part of the sacred pace of life—a divine rhythm woven into the day, the week, and the year.

So when someone asks, “What advice would you give your younger self?” I’d say: pay attention to the rhythms of life.

Another lesson I learned back on the farm was preparation. Each season carried the seeds of the next. In winter, we prepared for spring planting. In spring, we prepared for the harvest. Each day quietly prepared the way for the next. Life moved forward in faithful, intentional steps.

“For everything there is a season,

and a time for every matter under heaven.”

—Ecclesiastes 3:1

I often reminded our life enrichment team from my previous employer: you don’t need an activity running every hour of every day. There’s grace in the pause. There’s life in the rest.

(Except, of course, when it comes to Bingo—you never cancel Bingo.)

But in all seriousness, I’ve missed far too many Sabbaths in my life—driven by self-importance, by fear, by the lie that everything depends on me. I’ve missed sacred family rhythms because I believed I had to be somewhere else, doing something “more important.”

So what would I tell my younger self?

Stop.

Walk.

Don’t run.

Take time to recognize the season you’re in. Prepare for the one that’s coming.

Repent of the arrogance of self-importance—and discover the freedom that comes when you realize you’re not responsible for saving the world. Slow down enough to get in step with the Master.