Seasons of Life

The Seasons of Life

   by BJ Morbitzer

“There was a man who had four sons

He wanted his sons to learn

Not to judge things too quickly. 

So he sent them each on a quest,

in turn, to go and look at a pear tree

that was a great distance away.

The first son went in the winter,

the second in the spring,

the third in the summer,

and the youngest son in the fall.

When they had all gone and returned

he called them together

to describe what they had seen.

The first son said that the tree was ugly, bent, and twisted.

The second son said it was covered with buds and full of promise.

The third son disagreed: he said it was laden with blossoms

that smelled so sweet and looked so beautiful,

it was the most graceful thing he had ever seen.

The last son disagreed with all of them: he said it was ripe and 

drooping with fruit full of life and fulfillment.

The man then explained to his sons

that they were all right, because they

had seen only one season in the tree's life.

He told them that you cannot judge a tree, 

or a person, by only one season.

That the essence of who they are,

and the pleasure, joy, and love

that comes from that life,

can only be measured at the end,

when all the seasons are up.

If you give up when it's winter

you will miss the promise of your spring,

the beauty of your summer, and the fulfillment of your fall.

Don't let the pain of one season destroy the joy of all the rest.

Persevere through the difficult patches,

And better times are sure to come in time.”

I read that this morning, and it was possibly the biggest reproof I've been given in awhile. "If you give up when it's winter, you will miss...." 

How many times have I given up when it was still winter?

Often I've seen spring and summer come and go...even fall...and then, like a slap of hard reality, winter comes. And all I think there is left is a dead tree. So I turn, and walk away... And leave the tree in winter's icy grip, never thinking or suspecting or even daring to hope that spring might be right around the corner.

In fact, right now, I'm in the grip of winter. Oh yes, it's sunny and warm; spring and summer and autumn all have places in my life. But deep down inside, there's places of my heart that are frozen solid: locked in ice. There's places that I can even recall that are winter for me...places and people that I have walked away from. 

Walked away from? Why?

Because winter came. 

And my heart and eyes told me that spring...summer...and autumn...were gone forever.

I remember when I welcomed spring with open arms. I danced through summer's beauty, holding a friendly hand. I picked ripe fruit in the autumn, the cool breeze making my eyes snap. And then I was suddenly left alone; no friendly hand to hold. It was gone. The cool breeze, that once had so refreshed me was gone--in it's place, a chilling, icy, frigid wind that cut me to the heart. No flowers, no sunshine, no laughter. It was all gone.

What to do? Only hug myself to try to keep out the cold, let the tears freeze on my cheeks, and walk away, convinced that summer, spring and autumn would never come back. 

But when I walked away, what did I do? 

I left a tree locked in winter. I left what once was a flourishing, beautiful, promising friendship--because I was convinced it never would come back. Suppose spring returns? Suppose summer once more glows over it's branches? What if autumn comes and the fulfillment of harvest is a reality once more? Where will I be? 

I won't be there. 

I'll be gone. 

Perhaps the one whose hand I held in friendship will look for me there. And if they do, what will happen when I'm not to be found? Will they even see me as worthy of having their love anymore? Will I be counted as a trusted friend, when I couldn't endure winter; when it was only a brief blink in time? 

Am I a coward? Am I afraid of winter's breeze? 

Unfortunately, I was forced to admit that I was afraid. Afraid of the cold, afraid of the pain, afraid of...everything. I automatically assumed that because winter had come, that what once was there was gone. 

But even when a tree is held in winter's grip, the promise of spring is still within. Inside that dormant tree lies the current of life that will spring forth as soon as a warm wind takes the chill from the air. Spring buds the branches, summer blossoms them, and autumn brings forth fruit. But it came from winter. 

And I have run away from the winter surrounding my tree. 

Didn't Jesus bear the icy wind for me? Didn't He take it upon Himself to bear the winters that every one of us go through? And didn't His patience...His sacrifice...and His love--that love that wouldn't let go--bring about spring...and summer...and autumn... and the hope of all of those hereafter? Can I not do the same?

There's a tree on a distant hill. Over there: if you shade your eyes, you can probably pick it out. It's covered with snow and icicles; seemingly dead and forlorn in winter's grip. 

I'm headed for that tree. It's time I returned and made it my own once more. Winter, spring, summer, or autumn... I'll be there. And I'll go through every season just in order to call it my own. 

After all, my God went through every season to make me His own. 

I can do the same.

It's winter right now... But who knows? Spring may be just around the corner.