There is a time for everything
And a season for every activity under heaven

A time to be born; a time to die
A time to plant; a time to uproot

A time to kill; a time to heal
A time to tear down; a time to build up

A time to weep; a time to laugh
A time to mourn; a time to dance

A time to scatter stones; a time to gather them
A time to embrace; a time to refrain

A time to search; a time to give up
A time to keep; a time to throw away

A time to tear; a time to mend
A time to keep silence; a time to speak

A time to love; a time to hate
A time for war; a time for peace

I just came across this passage the other afternoon.  You may recognize it as a popular 60′s song sung by The Byrds, or you may recognize the passage from the Book of Eccleseastes in the Bible.  For me, it’s an old familiar passage…okay, who am I kidding?  I can never read that passage without the song playing in my head!  It’s funny though, how the familiar can look so fresh and new when considered under different circumstances.

I grew up in New England where, just about like clockwork, we had four seasons every year.  I love seasons and don’t think I could name a favorite one.  I appreciate the wilderness of winter as it makes the sweetness of spring so much more delightful.  Oh how I love the magical awe I feel waking up to a white-washed winter wonderland–its something you feel deep in your soul, even before you reach the window to look out upon the pristine land.  I delight in the first crocuses and daffodils that gallantly push their way through the frozen earth, past the remnant snow and out to greet the warming sun of spring.  I soak up the warm summer sun and lazy beach days body surfing and searching for sea shells by the sea shore.  I relish the cool crisp autumn air and the blue blue endless blue of the sky against which the golden-orange fire of leaves blazes.  And once more, I know it is time to dig in, to store up and to ready myself for the winter ahead.

I left the lush land of seasons years ago when I moved to Texas and now California.  Well, okay, you’re right.  Texas and California do have seasons.  They’re just a little less defined.  California has maybe three seasons: cool, hot, and beach days.  Texas has three seasons too: warm, hot, and hotter ‘n an armadilla’s armpit…or something like that.  A.NY.WAY.   I digress.  When I left the land of distinct seasons I had always known, I started to forget about seasons.  I forgot that everything has its time and that each season needs to be allowed to run its course.  Here in California I never really plan for rain or wonder if outdoor activities will have to be canceled due to inclement weather.  As a result, I sometimes chastise myself for not having 365 days of sunny emotional weather.  Its totally unrealistic to be sure.  But I don’t have the annual cycle of seasons reminding me that everything has its time: the destitute and barren as well as the flourishing and vibrant; the parched and sweltering as well as the cool and refreshing.

Finally, I think my most favorite thing about this passage, is the permission it gives us to be in the reality of those not-so-pleasant seasons.  Each stanza is a parallel of positive and negative and for me, the fact that those less than lovely seasons are in there right along side the seasons to swoon is just so darn liberating.  It means that I don’t have to pretend that I don’t hurt and put on a happy face, it means I don’t always have to love everyone and every thing around me, it means I don’t always have to have all my ducks in a row; its okay for me to weep, its okay for me to get ticked off, its okay for my ducks to be scattered haphazardly all over the place.

Wow!  Isn’t it exhilarating?  I mean just think about what it means to be given permission to savor each of these seasons.  Are there places in your mind that you never allow yourself to go?  Are there places in your heart that you’ve boarded up and over which you’ve nailed “No Trespassing” and “Caution: DO NOT ENTER” signs?  Are there thoughts you dare not think and emotions you dare not awaken?  If so, I give you permission to feel these things, to think these things, to savor these seasons–each and every one of them.  If it is too much to bear alone, seek help, maybe talk to a counselor or a therapist who can walk with you each tentative step you take into uncharted territories of your soul.  But please, give yourself permission to welcome each season of life, give yourself permission to be authentic in how you experience each moment, and give yourself grace in the process.