Seasons (Revisited)

A few months ago, I wrote the following:

Because God has made everything beautiful for its own time, this season is beautiful for what it is... He has commanded the seasons to be and to change, and to rush through one season would threaten the health and diminish the beauty of the next. It is all part of God’s amazing creativity and unfathomable intelligence.

My resolution was strong in the fall; it had all but disappeared in the dreariness of winter. Since the ball dropped and five changed to six on the calendar, I had felt lost searching for purpose and direction. I had no idea what this new year and new season had in store. As January wore on, I got stuck believing that there was no particular purpose, nothing new, nothing fresh, nothing moving.

Then I went to church at Destiny in Atlanta last Wednesday night. The pastor preached about Elisha's prayer that his servant's eyes would be opened to what God was doing around him. Then the praise team sang a song that moved many in the congregation: "Walk into your season." I didn't move. I refused to be moved. Surely, this is not my season. It is dark and dreary and I am standing still. This is not my season.

But they kept singing, over and over and over. Walk into your season. Walk into your season. Finally, I stopped focusing on the last two words and started thinking about the first: walk. Move. Go forward. I didn't know what I was walking into -- I couldn't see the road ahead of me, yet I joined the rest of the congregation and I walked. I walked into this season.

Now as I walk through this season, which remains more dark and dreary than bright and beautiful, I need courage for each step. I pray for that courage, and pray that as I walk, God would open my eyes to what he is doing. I pray that he would help me see that this restless winter is beautiful for what it is.

Avoidance and hesitation

Since the notion of blogs first came onto my screen, I didn't like it. I put blogging in the same category as instant and text messaging -- new modes of communication destined to contribute to the breakdown of the English language as we know it. Poor spelling, bad grammar, and juvenile acronyms abound in cyberspace, and they tend to leave my stomach churning. For a long time, I've refused to join the blogging world.

Yet here I sit, with words, thoughts, ideas and stories swirling through my mind, rarely being pinned down onto paper, and all too often being lost forever because of my laziness. I find myself craving a space for the "in-between" writing: words I hope others will read, unlike those tucked safely away in the pages of my journal, but words that are too brief or perhaps too young for me to put into a polished piece. Perhaps this space will provide me with building blocks for those pieces. Perhaps I will occasionally risk journal-level vulnerability in the words I post. Perhaps this blog will make someone think differently. I hope that someone will be me.

The title of my blog is Carefully Chosen, and I assure you that each word written here will be. I promise myself -- and anyone who might be so inclined to glance at this website now and then -- that I will write well here, complete with proper punctuation and sans any sentences ending in prepositions (though I confess I may have already failed in that endeavor - does anyone have a red pen?).

My other hesitation about blogging comes from wondering about who will read my blog. It seems presumptuous to think that anyone would care to, yet I still hope that someone might. I don't want an audience to be my motivation for writing, nor do I want to expect an audience in this venue. At the same time, if an audience does wander in, I want them to have something to chew on. Part of choosing my words carefully will be based in that paradox. I will avoid pandering to any particular hoped-for reader, and I will also do my best to make what I post here worth the while of someone who might read now and then.

Here's to a new and carefully chosen blog.