Fatherly wisdom

Back when I lived under my dad's roof, he would have occasion to notify me of life's seasons, particularly that families with young children had to make different choices than at other time of life. Of course, in my infinite, teenage wisdom, all of life was exactly as I was experiencing it and all decisions I made were good ones.

Now that I have my own family and it's got young children in it, boy, was he right. Seasons. They're such an apt metaphor for life. Here in my part of the world we have two seasons: April to September is ReallyHot. October to March is QuiteNice. ReallyHot is taking off and QuiteNice seems like a distant memory and a faint dream. But truth be told, QuiteNice will come again.

Yesterday morning, I melodramatically flopped myself on our bed and announced that I was done with this life season of DemandingDependence. I had been awakened by a mewing child several hours earlier and asked to help wipe a nose. That in turn awakened the light-sleeping sibling. [Gnashes teeth, tears hair.] I could not see out of our season. And honestly, I am probably more often convinced that DemandingDependence is a permanent state than a passing season.

But just the notion of seasons is hopeful and that's despite the fact that we have really long ones here. One recent summer we had 100 days over 100 (or something very close) and somewhere after day 79 it just felt like we would always be house bound and it was always going to be ridiculously hot. But the weather did break, and I did run for a sweatshirt around 80 degrees.

I don't know what it is with my tendency to think thing will "always be this way". I slip in that direction readily. But the metaphor of seasons reminds me that no matter how long and how grueling (or great) a season is, life rolls on and it rolls into a different season.