In the Seasons

I

Seasons come and go. It's what they say of life.
...While I struggle to see beyond my sleepless baggy eyes and overflowing sink and hamper.

This too shall pass. A supposed comfort they give.
...While I finally "pass out" from exhaustion to be awakened with needy cries moments later.

They somehow have ended up with a different perspective on this dismal season of life.
But how can I ever hope to view things differently under my permanent ball cap hair-do and through my cereal smudged glasses?

God help me!

Come to me, and I will give you rest.
But I can't add one more thing.

Don't add anything, come to me.
Where are you?

I abide in you, don't you remember?
So you're here?

Rest and go inside.
Breathe deeply and feel my presence.
You and I meet here.
Be still and listen and my view will become your view.
Come to me and I will give you rest.
Thank you.

You are always welcome, my love.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

II

In all seasons, the ebbs and flows, the ups and downs, God is always there. That's what they say.
...While I struggle to make sense of my life.

When you only see one set of footprints, it's because He is carrying you. That's how the poem reads.
...While I lay here with the weight of the world on me.

They seem to find purpose in this kind of season of waiting and wondering.
But I see myself fulfilled there, not here. This season is no fun. Where is the purpose in that?

God help me!

I have come to give you life; abundant life; life to the fullest.
I don't see abundance or fullness at all right now.

Because you're not content.
I know. How can I be?

Begin seeing through my lenses.
How?

Be aware, look and listen.
I will show you abundance right here, where you are.
Look and listen.
It is here.
I have come to give you life.
Thank you.

You are always welcome, my love.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

III

There is a season for everything; a time to be born, a time to die. That's what they say: Solomon and the Byrds.
...While I writhe and wail one minute, falling paralyzed the next, from the weeping, the mourning, and the pain.

He's in a better place now; praying for your strength. Incompetent condolences they offer.
...While I stare at a gaping hole in my weak heart, desperately longing for my confidant.

They are clearly in another season, and can speak of such things with mysterious ease.
But I am stuck in this dizzying repetitive spiral of grief. How will this dreadful season ever end?

God help me!

 I am here. It will get easier. 
But how?

Go through it. I am with you.
I'm stuck.

I know. Go through it. I am with you.
Okay, but I am weak.

Let me be your guide through the valley.
You don't need strength.
You need me.
I am your haven and your strength.
Come on, let's take the next step together.
Thank you.

You are always welcome, my love.