Soul Seasons Part 4: Soul Autumn

Autumn is without a doubt my favorite season. The rainbow of leaves above, the coziness of soups and yes, cups of tea, and the sweet autumn air make it irresistible to me. But two things that are honest confessions for me are 1- I have been dreading writing this blog post, and 2- I dislike autumn as a soul season- at least I feel that way now.

You see the autumn that wraps nature in a robe of beauty, and the soul autumn I'm experiencing don't feel the same. Physical autumn is eye candy. Soul autumn is agony at times. In soul autumn, there is a dying to self, a letting go, and the close of a chapter. It was a few months ago that Steve and I felt the Holy Spirit telling us that our season at our church was coming to an end. The 9 glorious years spent there made it so hard to leave. The pastors are our dearest friends, the love is unmistakable, and we were comfortable. And yet, the direction from God was crystal clear. This journey with Jesus isn't always pretty. He will lead us into places that are downright painful; His purpose is our good, but more than that, His glory. 

When you find yourself at an end, an end of a relationship, a dream, a job, it can feel so bitter and bare. Sometimes we can see the writing on the wall when we're in a relationship/job/friendship/etc that drains us of our joy; it almost makes it easier to leave when things get sour. But what about when things are still sweet and there's an ending? It reminds me of the trees in fall. Summer begins to exit, and the bright green leaves start to turn. From verdant to gold, orange, or red. The leaves don't show any sign of distress when the change starts to happen. When soul summer becomes soul autumn, questions swirl in the air like falling leaves. "Why does this have to end?" "Why now?" "Why do things have to change now that I'm happy?" Have you ever found yourself asking questions like that to God? 

I've found myself fluctuating between excitement at this new God adventure, and feeling bare. Bare like a branch that had a beautiful cluster of flowers clipped from it forever. There is no mistaking though- those flowers are clipped because the gardener has new growth in mind for that branch. Growth like the branch has never seen before. God is leading us on from our church because He has new growth in store for us. Still though, I am grieving what was, while waiting for concrete proof that it was all worth it. The only hope and reward I have left after this pruning is God's presence, and His promises. His presence that stays with me while I'm in this season, and His promise that He blesses obedience. If this is you too, we're in the trenches together. Maybe you said goodbye to someone you loved, after asking God for a miracle. Maybe your job transferred you from one place to another, and you are faced with saying goodbye to friends, family, and a house. God has growing in mind for you. And what parting gifts is He imparting to you? His presence, and His promises. And while you're holding on to those with sweaty hands, and a lump in your throat, consider these two ways you can thrive in this season.

Refocus.

Maybe like me, you were so comfortable that you were on auto pilot. The cadence of your surroundings was in sync with your very heartbeat. And then the ending comes, and you are thrown off. Take some time to refocus. Who are you? What defines you? The things that you do, the relationships you are tied to, or the fact that you are a child of God? Remember that He gives you your worth, priceless one- not the gifts that He's given you. Lock eyes with Him- not on the beautiful flowers He's clipping off of you. His very life is coursing through your veins. And if His life is in you, you will grow anew. You are rooted and established in His love. Refocus on that truth in the midst of your grief. This might be the end of something, but it's not the ending of you. In fact, you are at another beginning. There is less of an extension of yours, but this cutback is positioning you for a comeback. 

Let Go.

Those technicolor leaves end their fiery display in being let go. I never realized that there is a double beauty in the changing foliage. Those gorgeous leaves go from bedazzling every bough of every tree to hurtling in a dazzling descent, blanketing the ground like a patchwork quilt. Those leaves are just as beautiful on the ground as they are on the tree. Their story isn't over though. As those leaves die, they break down, and bequeath their rich organic material to the soil underneath so that it's positioned to incubate new life, and enrich existing life.

So you see, the letting go of what God has called you to nourishes dreams, relationships, and seasons that are yet to be. Goodbyes are painful. Goodbyes make a heart ache. But goodbyes prepare for hellos. I find comfort in knowing that God isn't asking me to suck it up, and move on, never looking back. He is asking me to heal in forward motion. He is infusing my fingers with courage while they close this chapter to open a chapter yet unwritten. And He is happy to offer His shoulders to cry on when I'm feeling the pangs of missing out on the season I'm saying goodbye too. He fills the awkward space between the goodbye and the new beginnings with His steadfast love that makes us at home in every season. 

You can trust that as you let go, the hollow of your empty hand is the perfect receptacle for you to receive grace that will sustain you in this leg of the race. Grace that will cushion your heart in the act of letting go. 

May you see the beauty in this bittersweet season, just as I'm learning to.  I don't know what it is that you've let go of. I bet it was painful; it always is. However, in the midst of the aching, you can trust that the Gardener of your soul is taking extra care to ensure you're ready to grow, and that He will use what He pruned to nourish things yet to be. For with God, nothing is wasted.

Casa Content

The day we moved in to our little 2 bedroom townhouse in 2003, I was amazed by how much space we had. Going from a 500 square foot apartment to 1,052 square feet was a welcome change for us. Steve and I had been married for two and a half years, and our 4 month old Wes was as cute as can be. As each box was unpacked, we realized we had room to spare. Room to grow. Room to live. My family may have moved in to our new home, but my heart moved into Casa Content. Casa Content is a state of mind where a heart is at rest and steady. I was content to be where we were in town, and in life. We had enough, because we had each other. Our needs were met, and we lacked nothing. 

I don't know when it happened exactly, but unwittingly, my mind moved out of Casa Content while my physical body remained at the same address. Maybe the thundering footsteps stampeding down the common hallway that is adjacent to our unit thundered one time too many. Maybe when my family grew again, and again, and again it made the condo seem to close in. Maybe one too many episodes of HGTV's House Hunters was watched. I began clamoring for a bigger home, and loathing the four walls I had once loved. My family remained in the condo in Hudson, but my mind had moved into Casa Complain.

Casa Complain was smaller- much smaller than Casa Content. Casa Complain was also a state of mind; except this state of mind made living in this condo unbearable. In this new state of mind, nothing was right with our condo. Not the wall color, not the number of bedrooms, not the floor plan. I found myself resenting the home we live in, scorning the lack of room, and dreading inviting others in. Through the years, I celebrated with friends or family that moved to bigger and better homes, but inside, I wondered when it would be my turn. I developed a jaundiced eye toward my house. No longer was it easy to come up with things to be thankful for; I had to stretch to be grateful. Finding a list of cons, however, was effortless. Casa Complain did nothing good for my spirit, and I found myself packing the boxes in my heart once more. Before I knew it, I was closing on a new property: Dwelling Despair.

Dwelling Despair was even smaller than Casa Complain. Dwelling Despair seemed more like a jail cell. Complaining evolved into a despondency over our living situation. I took the dreams I had for a bigger house, stripped them off like old wallpaper, and threw them in the dumpster. Dwelling Despair was deceptive in that although the complaining was gone, the hoping and dreaming was also gone. I resigned myself to the fact that we were always going to live here. Indefinitely. Until the end of time. And I might as well get used to it.

How about you? Have you ever lived at Casa Complain or Dwelling Despair? Have you ever looked around at your house and had your stomach sour? Has discontentment over the season you're in stolen your joy? There has to be a better way than pressure washing your home with bitterness, or throwing your hopes and dreams into a bonfire. The path that leads to life is moving back into Casa Content. In 1 Timothy 6:6, Paul tells us that "Godliness with contentment is great gain." And Philippians 4:13, one of the most popular verses in the Bible, happens to be tucked into the context of contentment:

"..for I have learned how to be content with whatever I have.  I know how to live on almost nothing or with everything. I have learned the secret of living in every situation, whether it is with a full stomach or empty, with plenty or little. For I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength."

I can move back into Casa Content through Christ who gives me strength. Strength to sort through my motives of wanting a new house and realign my desires with His. Strength to pack those desires into boxes of thanksgiving. Strength to load those boxes into the truck of obedience. And strength to unpack those boxes, once and for all, and more than that if necessary.  Strength to begin to dream again, except this time, to dream while not adding the pollution of discontentment. Strength to celebrate with friends and family when God blesses them with beautiful new homes, because that same God can bless me with the gift of contentment right here where I am. God can give me the strength to personalize those verses to be my new heart's cry:

"For I have learned how to be content with whatever I have. I know how to live in a 500 square foot studio apartment, or a 2500 square foot ranch. I have learned the secret of living in every situation, whether it is in our dream house with a white picket fence and generous back yard, or this condo that lends itself beautifully to cozying up with my family. For I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength."

And so, my friend, I welcome you to live in Casa Content. It's turn-key, and just what you need. The windows of grace let plenty of light in, while the floor plan is open for God to give, take, and rearrange. It's no palace, or even a mansion. But I promise that no matter what the season is on the outside, you will be steady on the inside. And if you ever feel tempted to move back into Casa Complain or Dwelling Despair, may you recite the address of contentment: Philippians 4:13, knowing that He will give you the strength to stay there.