Turn, Turn, Turn

This week, watching Sarah Palin electrify the Republicans at their national convention, I could almost imagine myself living in Alaska and being darned proud of it. But that was only an idle daydream, because I love being a Virginian too much.

I am glad to live in a state—no, commonwealth—that is rich in history…one of the original 13 colonies, and one that produced four of the first five presidents, at that. And, although we’re traditionally conservative, I confess I like living in a state that could go red or blue…a place presidential candidates will have to pay attention to, or else.

We stood with the South in the Civil War, but we’re not so insensitive we automatically assume you take your iced tea sweet. And if you’d you’re hungry for some local flavor, how about our seafood, peanuts, ham, apples, or Brunswick stew, just to name a few of our specialities?

Virginia spans the geological spectrum, from the majestic Blue Ridge mountains to the shores of the Chesapeake Bay, and everything in between. My father raised his garden in the red Piedmont clay of the same Virginia where my grandaddy made his living growing tobacco in Southside’s sandy soil. And I probably shouldn’t say this, with hurricanes roaming the Atlantic, but natural disasters are relatively rare here in Virginia.

Still, I think what I love the most about Virginia are its seasons. I can’t imagine living in a place where the months merge into one another with no clearly defined seasons. My favorite is fall, its warm afternoons filled with golden light filtering through jewel-toned leaves. The crisp nights, with frost in the air and crickets chirping, lend a sense of urgency to autumn…a warning to gather in crops, friends, and family before the cold of winter is upon us.

For me, the first part of winter is fun and festive, busy with Christmas celebrations. The rest of the season is in stark contrast—still and quiet, occasionally surprising me with billiantly faceted snowflakes and icy air that takes my breath away. Winter is a time to rest and regenerate. Spring is a tease, just as harsh as winter at times, but also giving glimpses of new life and better days for our winter-weary hearts. I celebrate Easter, the risen Messiah, and the colors begin to fill in the landscape. The promise is fulfilled, in our hearts and surroundings. Then, in a flash, summer is upon us, seeming to arrive unannounced and leave just as quickly. It’s a fast and furious season of activity, although I remember it being much lazier when I was a child.

Maybe my soul yearns for the structure of seaons because I recognize that they also make up the structure of our lives. We compare youth with “spring chickens,” and when we grow older we liken our lives to autumn, again with a sense of urgency to check things off of our “bucket list” before the winter of our old age.

But within the larger calendar of our lives are a multitude of seasons we travel through—seasons of learning, waiting, parenting, new endeavors, love, grief, perserverance, enlightenment, frustration, anger, joy—as many seasons as there are emotions, and more. Often they overlap. A season of waiting and grief may go hand-in-hand, as surely do parenting and new endeavors.

My children are in seasons of learning and new endeavors. In retrospect, I tell them these will be some of the best years of their lives, but I doubt they take me seriously. Oh, to be in college again, with a huge expanse of possibility stretching out before me like the horizon when you stand on the beach between the safety of the sand and the unknown that is the ocean.

My season of “hands on” parenting is finished, and the idea of that makes me sad. I threw myself into being a mother with my whole being for the past 21 years. But now I can not only look ahead to the next seasons in my life, I can also take joy in watching my children experience this season of their lives. It’s a double blessing, and I’m thankful for it.


"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven." ~ Ecclesiastes 3:1 (NIV)

Note: Our Hannah has been asking to have her nose pierced with a small stud for the past year. I said no, with all of the parental advisement I could muster: "It'll get infected...You'll have to stick your finger up your nose, for heaven's sake...What about your first job interview? You'll have a scar!" But she turned 18 last month, and I think she knew, to tell the truth, that if that was the worst I had to deal with, I would be ok.