Sandra McCracken

snowflake seasons: no two are alike

    I had this thought tonight about life seasons thinking about how fall is sneaking into winter, trying to go out unnoticed.  It's my first night home after days and weeks of a bustling tour.  It is so quiet in the house, the baby is asleep.   I'm too tired to call a friend, although I'm craving both solitude and connection at the same time.  I figure that tension is a good indication that my human-ness is fully functioning.  I have the TV on, but it's muted.   The glow of light gives me some company as I write. 

    I've been journaling for my son about his short life updates; new teeth, new words, new revelations.  It reminded me that in just a few more months, we will have another baby out in the world--in this house, to be more specific.  It makes me a little sad to say goodbye to the current season.  I like the quiet evenings, after Rhodes is in bed, and the long, uninterrupted nighttime sleep. Just when you get the feeling you have figured out a few things, it all gets tossed back into the bucket and re-sorted.  I feel as though I  have one foot in the familiar rhythms we have established, and one foot in anticipation of what's ahead. 

    This is a bit of a cliche, but it comes into my head tonight like it's a brand new thought.   I'm just sitting here thinking how life's seasons are each so short, and no two are exactly alike.   Semesters of school, summer jobs, illness, boyfriends and breakups, adolescence, pregnancy, mid-life crisis, tours, election campaigns...whatever the case may be.  Each stage gives the feeling of being so all-encompassing.   At the time, you are convinced that it might be this way for the rest of time, but it vanishes into the next season without warning.

    It makes me want to learn to number my days, to endure challenges with more faithfulness, knowing that they are fleeting, and they are usually functioning to shape my character.  It makes me want to really breathe in the joys of everyday moments, too.  Sharing old wine with friends.  Talking to my sister on the phone about every stupid or profound thing that we care about.  Sitting on my front porch when it's raining.  Hearing Derek's songbird voice in harmony with me in the middle of a show, and realizing that we get to DO this together for a living.  I could go on...

     I want to savor these last days of having only one child, and look forward to how our lives will be made more beautiful and complex when his little sister arrives in February.  He, quite literally, won't remember life without her.  Each human life seems to bring with it a fresh provision of love and time and possibility, like a self addressed stamped envelope.  You can't imagine it in advance, but when it arrives, you will have all the ingredients you need.  It is a small glimmer of calling, and learning to walk by faith.  You see the path, you move your feet, and widen the stakes of your tent.  You make room for what you can't yet see or imagine.  Summer to fall to winter, the Earth shows us what it looks like to walk on.