To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven. –Pete Seeger
How do you mark #time?
Better question, perhaps: How do you measure the seasons of your life?
I’m not sure “measure” is the best word for what I’m asking, but it’s the only one I can come up with right now. Here’s what I’m getting at….
I moved to Louisiana 21 years ago with a husband, two dogs and two living parents in another state. All of them are gone now. All five have died. So this is the season of being alone.
Well, sort of! Because along the way, as I was losing things, I was also gaining things. So this is also the season of being “Mom” to a fine young man who first came to my home fleeing Hurricane Katrina. And now his wife, and perhaps one day, grandkids!
And it’s the season of being an ordained deacon in the Episcopal Church. Both of these wonderful seasons were brought into being at least partly by the season of loss and the season of being alone.
Like the lovely camellia, Louisiana’s “rose of winter,” life blossoms in the darndest times and places. Seems to me I’ve heard this story before…