A red polka dotted balloon, almost knotted at the end to conceal it’s robust filling, slipped out of my hands and emptied itself of the air my lungs had worked double time to inflate it with.

I watched it fly spastically around the kitchen to land defeated on the counter by the coffee maker, and I cried.

I had been feeling a lot like that balloon. Exhausted. Worn. Tired. Full, but quickly deflated. So close to the end – nearly with the knot around this winter season – and then I lost it.

I’ve been reflecting a lot lately on the purpose and importance of winter. I’ve discovered that pressing in to this vulnerability, despite how uncomfortable it is, pushes me towards healing.

Maybe you’re like me: when things get hard, when winter shows up unexpectedly, I try to run. Not so much away from the problem, but through it. I figure if I pick up the pace, the days will pass faster and spring will come sooner.

But what I really needed to learn in this winter is not how to get out of it faster. No, I just need to know that it’s okay to be in winter.

Did you need to hear that, too? It’s okay to be in winter. 

It’s okay to hurt. It’s okay to want to stay inside. It’s okay to lock the door and shut the blinds. It’s okay to mourn.

It’s okay to cry in the wake of the changing seasons, to petition the earth to stop it’s rotation, if only for a moment, that you might regain your sense of direction.

It’s not just okay; it’s essential. Rushing into autumn leaves something in summer undone. And waiting for everyone else to be ready, or being pulled along by the ones lighting bonfires and baking pumpkin treats in August isn’t fair either.

And sometimes more than knowing that it’s okay to be there, we need to know that it’s okay to let others be there, too. We have this funny tendency to get uncomfortable when the people we love are hurting. And so we give advice and we say, “It will get better soon!” or “We’re here for you!” or “This won’t last forever!”

And as lovely and true and kind those things are to say, sometimes all the ones we love need to hear is “I know that sucks, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry it’s hard. And I’m sorry you’re hurting.”

That’s hard for us, isn’t it? It’s hard for me.

I’m a fixer. I want to make it better. I want to heal. I want to do. I want to say. I want to contribute tangibly to the get-my-friends-out-of-winter endeavor.

I’ve had a lot of beautiful, kind, encouraging, well-meaning folks around me this winter. I’ve heard lots of ‘It-won’t-last-forever’s and ‘Soon-it-will-be-better’s. And ya know what happened? It didn’t bring spring any quicker. It didn’t invoke sunshine. And it didn’t melt the snow. It left me feeling like I need to just get over winter and stop being affected by the cold. And somehow, somehow that made me hurt even more. Oh, the opposite of what was intended became inescapable.

Ultimately, this recent winter season has taught me how to love people better in their winters. I saw how badly I just needed to be validated that winter sucks & it’s hard & we’re not supposed to do it alone. It’s messy, isn’t it?

Sitting with people in their mess is hard and uncomfortable. But may those never be good enough reasons for us to stop.

How can you love your people better in the midst of their winter? How can you fight with them & for them? Do you know someone that needs a “I’m sorry it’s hard. Know I’m always on your team.” text message today? Or someone who needs a surprise white mocha, just so they know they’re loved?

Send those texts. Buy those mochas. It will speak worlds to your frozen friends.

I feel duped by nature.

Just when I thought I had things under control, I feel blindsided by a reality that somehow slipped passed me:

seasons are cyclical.

Growing up in Florida gave me a fairytale view of Winter, consisting of warm cookies on cold days, pretty scarves, and Christmas day snowfalls. Autumn was a once a year feeling of 60-degree mornings, surely stolen by sunshine in the early afternoon. Spring was what we called autumn days that happened after Christmas, and Summer was every other waking moment.

I studied for exams on the beach in December. I wore sundresses and shorts and flip-flops year round. I owned boots, but rarely ever had a valid chance to wear them.

still my heart longed for seasons in a way that would validate my sometimes-weary heart. Although Summer seemed perpetual around me with the Atlantic just across the street, the seasons were surely changing within me.

My heart felt Winter when a dear family friend lost his battle with cancer months after his eighteenth birthday. Winter came again my first year post-grad when I worked an office job and realized I hated high heels, 9-6, and sitting alone behind my desk while my heart longed desperately for ministry. Winter came and taught me deeply, and I made myself believe I had learned all that Winter had to offer.

After enduring what I considered to be the coldest Winter of my life, Spring came again and it was lovely. I danced in fields of wildflowers and got sunburnt on the beach. Summer followed Spring, as it always does, and I delighted in every moment. I reflected on Winter, thanked Yahweh for the frost, and dug my heels deep into the warm seasons that followed.

But though I withstood that deep, dark Winter, patting myself on the back for surviving and moving on, I forgot that seasons were cyclical. I forgot that Winter would someday come again in my heart and life.

Moving to Dallas and taking a full-time position in ministry left me feeling quite comfortable in Summer. Things were new and fresh and I was feeling more free than ever before. Nothing was further from my mind than the thought of Winter.

But somewhere in the sunshine of moving to a town full of new adventures, Winter snuck in uninvited. A ministry team became me working by myself. Brainstorming sessions and staff meetings were left with my name alone on the attendee list. Event planning, weekly meetings, and overall administration came under my sphere of responsibility. Still barely able to navigate myself around town without my GPS, I was thrown headlong into a season I did not want, and was not ready for.

And that’s the thing about seasons: they don’t work on your time frame.

They don’t come and go when you want them to, or when you think you’re ready. Sometimes you’re thrown recklessly into a season of winter with one brief phone call, or after a marathon conversation that leaves you suddenly, and regrettably, single.

Sometimes Winter lasts longer than you would prefer. You could spend weeks and weeks longing for Spring to come, only for a blizzard to shock you in April. Seasons don’t honor our schedules or desires. They come uninvited and leave only when Yahweh deems it time for change.

And that might be the very best thing about seasons: they always come and they always go.

The sun shines in Alaska and South Florida still gets frost warnings every now and again. Winter will never stop showing up this side of heaven, but you can bet your bottom dollar that Spring will never, ever cease to follow. In the glory of sunflowers and Texas blue bonnets, the snow will melt and your heart will heal again.

In the midst of pain and confusion, hold tight to the promise of restoration. Let Winter heal your heart as it heals the earth and prepares for Spring. And just as Winter will never stop surrendering to Spring, so Yahweh will never stop fighting for your wholeness.

And in the midst of Summer celebrations with water slides and fresh lemonade, thank Jesus for the gift of carefree, giggly days. Recognize that this season is special and hard days will come again. Store the memories of these weekends on the lake knowing that they will be balm to your wintery heart.

Yahweh knew what He was doing when He crafted the earth to need seasons, and He knows your heart just as well. So whether you’re in Summer, Winter, or somewhere in between – trust Him, look to Him, cling to Him. He alone is our hope for spring, both on the earth and in our hearts.