The Hope of New Seasons
There’s something refreshing about smelling new grass, flowers blooming, and trees sprouting fresh leaves. Seasons remind us that change is built into the rhythm of life. They’re marked by two things—temperature shifts and the amount of sunlight in a day.
Now, I live in San Diego, California, where we basically have 1½ seasons. We enjoy about 10½ months of “perfect” weather, with only a few weeks here and there that count as “less than ideal.” Us locals sometimes drive two hours to the mountains just to experience a real winter (pray for us!). Don’t get me wrong—I love good weather—but even I admit some seasons are more enjoyable than others.
And isn’t that just like life? Some seasons feel like warm sunshine on your face, while others feel like cold rain soaking through your shoes. Whether we like it or not, seasons change. And part of growing as people—and followers of Jesus—is learning not just to endure, but to sit with each season God gives us.
“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens…” (Ecclesiastes 3:1–3)
When Seasons Hurt
I love and resent Solomon’s reminder in Ecclesiastes 3. I wish life always felt like 75-degree weather, filled with beach trips and hiking trails. But it’s not. Some seasons are fun and lighthearted—life is good, loved ones are healthy, and things are going according to plan. Other seasons are harder—marked by loss, grief, or disappointment.
Recently, I’ve been in one of those harder seasons—what Solomon might call “a time to kill.” I’ve wrestled with the death of a friendship and the loss of a dream. In moments like these, it’s easy to question God’s goodness. But notice this: after a season of death comes “a time to heal.” That promise gives me hope. Seasons shift. Pain is not forever. Healing always follows death, just as joy eventually follows sorrow.
Without this perspective—and without trusting God—we’d all grow tired and hopeless. But with it, we learn to live with hope even in the hardest moments.
Two Keys to Sitting With Your Season
1. Embrace the season you’re in, not the one you wish for.
It’s easy to complain when life doesn’t go to plan. But God redeems even the worst seasons. Defining a “good life” as one without pain or problems only sets us up for frustration.
Think about it: if you’re in winter and you keep saying, “I wish it were summer,” and then when summer comes you complain, “This heat is awful, I wish it were winter,” you’ll never enjoy any season. You’ll miss the beauty of the present moment—yes, even in struggle.
2. Remember: seasons don’t last forever (good or bad).
Just like winter gives way to spring, so do the seasons of our lives. Some seasons feel dark and cold, even distant from God. Others overflow with joy and light. Both matter.
Here’s the catch: sometimes the length of a season is tied to our resistance to it. The harder we fight against reality, the longer it feels. But every season has a beginning and an end, and trusting God in the middle makes the transition smoother.
Where You Sit Matters
A lot of people hate sitting still—they always need to be moving, producing, doing. I get it. But as I get older, I’ve discovered the value of sitting still. Every morning, I spend 10–15 minutes sitting in the quiet before anyone else wakes up. I don’t check emails. I don’t make lists. I don’t even pray elaborate prayers. I just sit.
It’s not easy, but it helps quiet my busy mind and heart. Sitting slows me down, gives me perspective, and makes me aware of God’s presence in this season.
That’s what it means to “sit with your season.” To stop resisting long enough to notice what God is doing. To let His peace—the kind that “surpasses all understanding” (Philippians 4:7)—guard your heart and mind.
When we do, both pleasure and pain become gifts. Seasons no longer feel like interruptions. They become invitations. And the contrast between them—joy and sorrow, life and loss—becomes beautiful when we see it all as part of God’s redemptive rhythm.
Because in the end, every season is just that: a season. It won’t last forever. But each one has something to teach us—if we’ll sit still long enough to receive it.
