when my seasons collide

if there’s one thing i know to be true with every fiber of my being, it is that all of this life is seasons. there’s an ebb and flow, a continual changing of the tides; old gives way to new, and something beautiful always rises up out of the ashes.

for me, this season often feels like a cold, hard winter. i’m in a thin place, where sometimes the winds are so bitter and  fierce that it hurts to even breathe. this season is emotion that shakes me to the core. it is a deep-down soul renewal, where parts of me are stripped away and what’s left is laid bare. it’s a season where life seems to be just a little bit muted, where everything is just a little bit gray, where the pace is just a little bit slower.

this season is grief. and it’s messy; it’s hard. it’s my heart-rubbed-raw, and it hurts.

and sometimes i feel like i need to explain that to people, like i need to have some sort of excuse for my bleeding heart, for my silence, for having more questions than answers, for not being able to find the right words.

and maybe that’s what this post is, in a way: an explanation of sorts. but also, maybe…maybe an apology.

because i know right now, i’m taking more than i’m giving.
i know i’m saying no far more often than i’m saying yes.
i know my mourning clothes look heavy, and they might make some of you a bit uncomfortable.
i know i’m restless and discontent, not satisfied with easy answers or quick fixes.
i know sometimes your words feel like they fall on deaf ears.
i know i’m being jealous of my time and of my space.
and i know that it might seem a little bit unfair.

but for far too long, i stopped myself from entering into the fullness of my emotions because i was trying to protect myself + those around me.
and it all became so heavy, so weighted, such a burden on my shoulders that i broke beneath it.

and it’s in this season that He’s going to start putting the pieces back together.

because though this winter often feels long and cruel, i know it’s not my forever-season. when i choose to listen to the silence, i can hear the heartbeat of spring beneath the ground.

Image[Photo by Samuel Van Dijk on Flickr]

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9 thoughts on “when my seasons collide

  1. oh elena. beautiful elena. This is stunning. Furthermore, you are so entitled to your time of grief. You are loved, wanted, cherished and even from far away, if you have moments where the burden is to hard to bear, or the mourning clothes need to be thrown off, i’m here.

    love you and pray for your spring to appear in its time x

  2. Yes, there’s so much hidden happening underneath the soil right now. The new season will come, perhaps so slowly you don’t even notice it at first. Winter is hard hard hard. Wrap up in a warm blanket and don’t fear the cold – the fruit of summer will be better for it. That’s the strange paradox of it all.

    • this is such a beautiful comment! seriously – it gave me goosebumps when i first read it. thank you, fiona, for reminding me it’s okay to snuggle up + wait for the winter winds to pass. my heart is encouraged knowing there is movement in the secret, hidden place…even if i can’t yet see it.

  3. This, all of it:

    “because i know right now, i’m taking more than i’m giving.
    i know i’m saying no far more often than i’m saying yes.
    i know my mourning clothes look heavy, and they might make some of you a bit uncomfortable.
    i know i’m restless and discontent, not satisfied with easy answers or quick fixes.
    i know sometimes your words feel like they fall on deaf ears.
    i know i’m being jealous of my time and of my space.
    and i know that it might seem a little bit unfair.
    …”

    I can so relate. Trying not to feel guilty about it.

    Love you
    X

  4. I remember in church awhile back the first time I cried in over 3 years during worship, while singing a song of Jesus’ sacrifice. I used to cry all the time for stuff like this. But my emotions were so suppressed that me, the emotional person, was so hardened on the inside. Me and God stood still for years while I tried to figure this all out. I should have had counseling, but I didn’t realize I needed it. Glad you are here, even though it hurts. The heart needs seasons of grief. Don’t be afraid to ask God the hard questions. Asking and not always getting answers is so much better then not talking to Him. Keep moving forward, Sister. Soon you’ll start to see the beauty from ashes.

    • melodie, your comments always bless + encourage me, much more so than i can even convey in words. thank you for that. thank you for knowing what it’s like to be fearful of a hard heart. thank you for understanding the unique hurt that comes through the grieving and processing experiences from a life lived elsewhere. thank you for reminding me to hope.

      xo.

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