When we grieve, we are governed by seasons, and they do not fall into the predictable patterns we might expect. Ordinary days can turn stormy or sunny, especially when stress comes along in the form of bad news, medical problems, an unwelcome change in plans, or another tragedy. The seasons of the heart are blown whichever way the wind blows.
Some seasons are short; some weave back and forth into each other, making no sense at all. And some settle in to stay for a while. In fact, the pain of losing a precious loved one seems permanent. Years can pass to the beat of hearts that carry that kind of pain.
And yet, seasons of the heart do change, just as those other seasons do on earth. Whether through processing, accepting, or wearing them out before they wear us out, they often mellow somehow. One transitions into the next – the way an autumn breeze sneaks into an August day – without our notice.
Healing is like that. Moments we haven’t recognized have been silently gathering. On the worst on the winter days when we feel we can’t take one more step, suddenly there they are, little bits and blooms that say the cold won’t last. Listen to them. The winter heart is real and so is the summer and everything in between.
