Last night, David and I finally unpacked the last moving box. We still have a few blank walls, and our fall decorations have turned up missing (which makes me wonder what else might be missing) but for all intents and purposes, we’re settled.
The fall semester is one third of the way done.
It’s football season, which means I see significantly less of David.
It’s finally cooling off a little here in Florida. I saw people in sweatshirts on our walk Wednesday morning (and rightfully so—I mean, it was 78 degrees.)
I’ve switched to hot coffee drinks.
Riley had her two month appointment this week. I found myself thinking: “you’ve only been with us two months?” It feels like she’s always been with us.
All of these signs point to a new season. Thank God.
It’s no secret that 2014 has not been an easy year for me. The year has been full with anxiety, waiting, sadness, and loss, capped off by housing issues and a forced move. I feel scarred by this summer, which held the highest of high notes with Riley but was very difficult otherwise due to constant moving and adapting (and honestly, summer in Florida could be its own brand of seasonal affective disorder.) My grandfather died a few weeks ago, necessitating a 36 hour trip to Colorado to celebrate his life and the joy He has found in His eternal life with Christ. I found myself telling David “I’m so eager for a new season” about 600 times this year, but it seemed to just keep blending together into one challenging one. I’m not proud of what all this angst says about my ability to be content no matter the circumstance—but I’m also aware that some seasons are just hard, and that even if you do your best to choose joy in the hard times, it’s okay to look forward to when that joy comes more easily.
The last box we unpacked was full of random items. Tools. Newborn diapers (oops.) And this stuff:
Riley came out of the womb without a name. She left the hospital with a temporary name. But in 2-3 months, she’ll have a permanent name. How like our God—who lovingly takes us into his family as we are, gives us His name and His strength for our life here on earth, and gives us the assurance that we will belong to Him forever in heaven.
The miracle of Riley reminds me that no matter what my circumstances may look like, there is one circumstance that supersedes everything: that I have been loved, as I am, without doing anything to earn it, by a God who wants to unite me to Himself forever. As I pass through seasons of life, learning from each one, this truth is my constant—and I long for it to be the lens through which I view every season, stage, transition, and role I play.
“What a God we have! And how fortunate we are to have him, this Father of our Master Jesus! Because Jesus was raised from the dead, we’ve been given a brand-new life and have everything to live for, including a future in heaven—and the future starts now!”
I Peter 1:3-4 MSG