Transitioning with Purity
Knock, knock, knock.
It’s 2PM on a Tuesday, who on earth could it be?
Somebody that knows they’re welcome, that’s who...
I opened the door to the familiar and refreshing smile of Sarah, the mother of Isaac. We embraced and she made herself comfortable at the table. As I prepared tea, we talked about the changing of seasons and the gentle reminder of the leaves, giving us permission to let go of the old... I asked her why transitioning from one season to the next has to be so messy, always requiring so much energy? “I mean, raking these leaves feels a little unnecessary don’t you think?” I said sarcastically pointing to my yard.
She was quiet for a while, something I admired most about her... She never filled the air with empty words but instead carefully discerned what she wanted to say.
“Properly processing the season you’re coming from may single handedly be some of your life’s greatest offerings” she said with her eyes squinting. “And you’re right, it requires a lot if not all of your energy, but how you walk out of one season depicts how you enter another, Elizabeth...”
“Properly?” I asked? “How do I know if I am processing properly?” She smiled and said “Properly just means purely... The fruit of pure confession is always a garden of peace.”
We were both quiet, staring out the front window, watching the tree across the street shed its leaves one by one, knowing we both had a lot of confessing to do and how it felt right to do it at a table.
I’m learning the beautiful tension of what used to be and how it bleeds into where I’m going. I’m learning the rhythm of confession and how though it feels messy, it’s necessary for a connected spirit. I’m learning that grieving one season of life doesn’t automatically mean you’re not filled with hope and unwavering anticipation for the next. And lastly, I’m learning that picking up the leaves of a precious season that is coming to an end is an intersection of intimacy and trust and that years from now you’ll look back at that chapter and see a patient Father that cared more about the condition of your heart than anything else...