Life is full of transitions—some we anticipate, some we resist, and others simply arrive without our permission. Lately, I’ve been living through several of them myself: preparing to leave one pastoral appointment and begin another, and more personally, grieving the recent death of my father. These experiences have prompted me to reflect deeply on what it means to navigate transition with grace, presence, and hope.
One of the unexpected teachers I’ve turned to in this season is the natural world. I’ve found wisdom in the rhythms of the four seasons—each offering insight into how we might move through the changes in our lives.
Summer invites us to celebrate the fullness of life. It’s the season of long days, warm sunshine, and vibrant greenery. It reminds me to be present, to appreciate the moment I’m in, and to savor the memories being made right now. Summer teaches us that there is strength in joy and beauty in simply being alive.
Autumn, with its vivid colors and quiet letting go, speaks to the necessity of release. The trees shed their leaves without fanfare. In my own life, autumn reminds me to consider what I might need to let go of—not because those things were bad, but because I can’t carry them with me in the same way anymore. This has been especially true in grieving my father—the conversations we had, the wisdom he shared—I carry the memory, but must let go of the expectation that the relationship can continue in the same form.
Winter often gets a bad reputation. It’s cold, dark, and quiet. But it’s also a time of rest and recovery. In the middle of change, we need space to simply be, to slow down and sit with our feelings. Winter gives us permission to feel everything—or nothing—and to trust that dormancy is not the same as death. It’s a sacred pause, and resisting it only increases the discomfort. I’m learning to welcome these quiet moments, even when they’re hard.
Spring, of course, brings renewal. New life emerges from what appeared lifeless. As we begin to re-engage the world after a season of grief or uncertainty, spring asks us to notice what’s rising within us. What fresh desires or renewed callings are sprouting? What has quietly taken root while we were resting? Spring doesn’t erase the loss of winter—it builds upon it.
Nature, as D.H. Lawrence once noted, doesn’t complain about the seasons changing. It simply responds, adapts, and moves with the flow of life. That’s the lesson I want to hold onto. Whether you’re in the brightness of summer, the letting go of autumn, the quiet of winter, or the emerging life of spring—each season has something to teach.
So wherever you find yourself in your own season of transition, be gentle with yourself. Celebrate when you can. Let go when you must. Rest when you need. And rise when the time is right.
You are infinitely precious, unconditionally loved, and a gift—no matter what season you’re in.
Infinitely Precious 