“It’s not my season.” I texted those words to a friend. I was making light of a situation that was unpleasant and uncomfortable. I texted those words, set my phone down, and went about my task. After I texted them, however, the words kept reverberating through my mind.
“It’s not my season.”
The more I thought about it, the more I realized that the statement wasn’t entirely true. It is my season. Just not my fruitful season–my bounty season.
This is my growing season.
What do I mean by this? This is a time when I am being prepared for something more. A time when all the conditions affect the outcome. I have been through these seasons before, and I will go through them again.
Right now, I am not sure what is growing. It could be patience. Gentleness.
Self-control. Someday it will be evident, but for now, it just seems like a lot of trials. Each one weighing me down, and casting anxiety. Yet, also, each one strengthening my prayer life. Each one strengthening me. Shaping me and molding me into something, and someone, else.
There have been seasons in my life where I felt like Midas. Everything I touched was golden. There have been seasons in my life that I felt like Medusa. Everything I looked at turned to stone. Each of those seasons was “my seasons.” They were the seasons that I needed to experience so that I could learn. They weren’t my harvest season. They were my growing season.
Those times when everything I touched was golden were to teach me about remaining true to yourself and treating others with kindness. It was about being in a position to help others and doing so. Those times when everything turned to stone? Those were the times that I was being taught about perseverance and adversity.
My husband and I own two vehicles. A couple of weeks ago, my sister borrowed our van.
On her way to work–at night, in rural Ohio, seven deer ran out in front of her. The largest, a 22-point buck, turned back around and she hit it. She described it in gruesome detail. I will spare you from those. My van was damaged. The state policeman that I talked to, at 11:45 that night, told me he would be surprised if it wasn’t totaled. The pictures I was sent showed horrible damage.
Yet, my van wasn’t totaled. It’s fixable, so I am in limbo. We borrowed a vehicle from my in-laws to use. We had another car, so we didn’t drive it often. It was mostly just something for me to have here while my husband was at work.
What did I learn from that experience? I learned compassion. My sister felt terrible. She was going through a terrible time and it was something else to add to the list of wrongs. I could have been angry. I could have yelled. Yet, what purpose would that have served? It was an accident and a potentially dangerous situation. Instead of yelling at her, I hugged her, in my driveway at 1:30 in the morning. I told her I loved her, and that it was okay. I learned compassion.
Fast forward a couple of weeks. Yesterday my daughter had to go for an echo of her heart. She was diagnosed with a pituitary tumor about a month ago (another trial we are experiencing). This echo was the last step that she needed to start a medicine regimen that will hopefully shrink the tumor. We were glad to have it finished and were on our way home. There is road work being done on one of the main roads in our area. It’s a two-lane road with no shoulder to pull off onto. One lane has been closed and we were stopped at the construction light, waiting for the other lane of traffic to go through. Right before the light turned green, we heard a dinging noise. A warning light indicated that our car had overheated.
My husband immediately turned off the car. He popped the hood and allowed the engine to cool.
He added water, since the radiator fluid was nearly empty, and we waited. For two hours we sat there with our hood up. The temperature gauge wouldn’t move, and our car remained in limp mode. We had to call his dad and leave our car there to be towed this morning.
In just a few short weeks, we went from having two cars to both being in the garage. We went from having reliable transportation to relying on others. I am not someone who likes to rely on others. I don’t like to inconvenience or bother other people. Yet, here I am, having to do just that.
Now, during that two-hour timeframe that we were stuck on the road, we had many people check on us.
Friends and family drove by and called, or stopped, to see if we needed anything. My sister picked my children up on her way home from work. There really wasn’t anything anyone could do, but they offered. One man even got out and found the reason for the radiator fluid being low. A hole in the hose.
This situation taught me about the kindness of others. It taught me that there are genuine people in our lives. And while we may not see them often, they are there to help.
Also, during this two-hour timeframe, I had to use the restroom. I am not a girly girl. I don’t have to have the best of everything. However, I try my best not to use port-a-potties. They gross me out. I mentioned earlier that we were broke down right in a construction area. Sitting about 500 feet in front of the car was a port-a-potty. I really did not want to use it. However, the longer we sat there, the more I had to go. The more it looked like a good idea.
It wasn’t. I made my husband come with me. He stood outside the door to guard me. You know, from that serial killer who stalks women in construction zones. The one I was convinced was going to get me.
Traffic rushed by not even five feet from the door. Every time a car went by it shook. And sloshed. Things splattered and splashed. Are you laughing? If not, you should be. Here I was trying not to sit all the way, shaking from the passing cars and being splashed from who knows what. At one point, a semi went by and I thought the entire thing was going to tip backward over the hill behind it. I wasn’t in there long, but I learned humility in that two-minute ordeal.
All these situations are helping me grow. They are all part of my season. My growing season.
I can look back on them now and see their purpose. Even the sloshing port-a-potty. This is my season.