Seasons

Three months ago we traded in the buzz of cicadas and hot summer nights of Southern Virginia for the cool ocean breezes and misty rains of Western Washington. I am now settling into the deep changes that have invaded every corner of my family’s life. New state, new climate, new home, new job, new school, new congregation, new church assignments, new car . . . I still find myself reeling when I step back and take a minute to reflect. Is this really my life now? When did this happen? Who is this “kid mom” driving a minivan?

Back in Virginia, the opening verses of Ecclesiastes 3 were my mantra. Learning to accept and embrace that season of life was the only way I knew how to thrive. “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.” Seasons are a divine reality. Seasons begin and end. Heaven has a purpose for me. “A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted.” This life is fleeting. Live purposefully and be mindful. Keep planting. “A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away.”

Now I find myself pausing here, recognizing the beautiful transition we are experiencing. Our Virginia years were in large part my “time to lose.” To lose my husband in a very real way to the demands of a medical residency. To lose parts of myself in the bearing of two children in three years. To lose myself in the demands of caring for those children, day in and day out, largely on my own. 

But the deep friendships I found and relied so heavily on? The personal and spiritual growth I experienced? The trials that ultimately strengthened my marriage and ability to communicate with my spouse? That was my time to get, wholly intertwined with my time to lose.

And now I find myself in a time to keep. A time to keep my husband close, relying on him to be home for dinner and on weekends. A time to keep my two youngest home, to learn and play and explore this new world with them. A time to learn how to keep my oldest close, even as I send him to school each day. A time to rediscover myself and learn how to keep myself while working to meet everyone’s needs. Keeping is comfortable and we are content. So what will I get through this next season? That is up to me.

My takeaway is this. We don’t get to choose our seasons. There are times to lose and times to keep. But getting? That is up to us. We can still get while we lose. We must make the effort to get while we keep. 

Having traded urban city for rural suburb, these words by Rachel Carson are something I want to get. 

Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts . . . There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature - the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after winter.

Reserves of strength? Infinite healing? Sign. Me. Up. The air here is fresh, the forests are endless, and the Puget Sound is always closer than I expect it to be. In three years we will leave this place and I will probably find myself back at my keyboard, trying once again to put my feelings into words. My hope is that upon reflection I will find myself and my family in better harmony with God and nature. That we can be soothed by quiet evening and close of day, appreciate the fresh newness of another dawn, and find the rhythm that God has in store for us. I can think of no better way to draw closer to Him and to each other.

"The Old Girl"

I’m not quite sure how to say this without sounding like one of those trite, “Live, Laugh, Love,” quotes found on mugs and t-shirts, but we have truly lived deeply in our little rented home on Newport Ave. This house was built in 1917 and I once heard our landlord refer to it affectionately as “the old girl.” Her affinity for this place matched my own sentiments as I thought about its history. And that is exactly what drew me to this place! Creaky stairs and all. This “old girl” has seen so much and has so many stories to tell. She was built in the midst of WWI; America had just declared war on Germany and women were converting flower beds to vegetable gardens to support the cause. She sheltered families through the heartache of two military drafts, the Great Depression, political uncertainties and social revolutions. She has celebrated countless birthdays, holidays, graduations, and homecomings. The Model T once parked in front is now a Toyota Camry, vacuum tube radios have given way to Alexa and the streetcar line that once ran past is now an HRT bus stop. Bedtime stories have been read, cakes have been baked, bills have been paid, and flowers have been given. Life has been lived here.

Matt and I celebrate our 9th anniversary this year. We are 30 years old with our whole lives ahead of us. But even though we are young and still at the beginning of our story, I know that we will forever look back on these past 3 years as formative ones.

Residency was an ominous thought when we started medical school. Those three years of 80 hour work weeks, high stress, and little sleep felt like a looming shadow to me--totally unknown except for the horror stories I read on the “Lives of Doctor Wives” Facebook page. And they were hard. Really, I have no intention of sugar coating the difficulties that were our daily reality here. But the thing is, we grew! We changed! My relationship with God has deepened, my marriage has been strengthened, Matt and I are better at communicating with each other and making decisions. Our children are growing and we are growing with them. Matt is well on his way to becoming a board certified pediatrician, confident in the things he has learned and eager to learn more. And that has all happened here.

All of the early mornings when I’ve been pulled from bed, desperate for another hour of sleep, by a crying infant or needy child. Matt leaving before sunrise and returning late in the evening, only to do it again for another week straight before getting another day off. Counting down the hours until bedtime with a fussy baby and a defiant toddler. These moments are interwoven with phone calls from family, joyful holidays, game nights with friends, Saturday morning pancakes, and watching stupid sitcoms all snuggled up on our loveseat because we couldn’t fit a couch in our tiny front room.

We have spent countless hours wandering our tree lined streets, playing on our porch, and soaking up the backyard before the mosquitoes descend from June to October. These wood floors have been covered by intricate webs of train tracks, elaborate Lego creations, and a fair amount of crumbs and spit up. Crying, laughing, learning, loving, hoping. Mourning the loss of loved ones and celebrating the miracle of new birth.

This has been a happy home before, it was our happy home for a brief moment, and it will be a happy home again. I have loved adding our story to these old walls.

'“After all," Anne had said to Marilla once, "I believe the nicest and sweetest days are not those on which anything very splendid or wonderful or exciting happens but just those that bring simple little pleasures, following one another softly, like pearls slipping off a string.”

― L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Avonlea