I pull my coat tighter around me as the winter wind cuts through the layers I wear, causing a shiver to run down my spine. Ice crunches under my feet as I walk through my neighborhood. It is my Sabbath, and although most of the time Sabbath is my favorite day of the week, today I feel restless. 

I bundled myself up as much as I could — hat, scarf, coat, mittens, big sweater, boots — but the wind is cold today. 

I sigh as I walk. I am already longing for spring. I see massive icicles hanging from rooftops — I’d guess they’re more than two feet long, maybe longer. I stop for a moment, wide-eyed. They’re enormous. I whisper a short prayer of safety for anyone who happens to walk underneath one. 

I continue my walk, adjusting my sunglasses against the bright sun. I was hoping this walk would bring a sense of peace and restfulness, but instead I start feeling more antsy. I want spring. I want this pandemic to be over. I want my life to feel different.

A verse gently crosses my mind: There is a time for everything and a season for every activity. 

And suddenly I know: this won’t last forever. Nothing ever does. Not winter time or the pandemic or the stuck feeling I seem to be carrying around with me these days.

It’s a hard and wonderful truth all at the same time — nothing lasts forever. It’s wonderful when it feels comforting: when it’s freezing cold and I want spring weather, when it feels like I can’t handle one more second of this pandemic, when I beg God to change my circumstances, after a break-up or during a root canal. I can take a deep breath and remind myself, “This won’t last forever.”

It’s a harder truth to hold onto when we want to keep things the way they are: when it’s summertime or in the newborn stage, during first kisses or the early days of falling in love, in the midst of a good meal or a sweet friendship, when the pavement smells lovely after the rain or on Christmas morning. It is a hard truth to recognize that those wonderful moments won’t last forever.

Nothing on earth lasts forever. Like Solomon wisely said, there are times for everything — to weep and laugh, to mourn and dance, to be silent and to speak up. Seasons do eventually change. I think maybe that’s why God made four seasons — a gentle, quarterly reminder for you and me that nothing quite lasts forever. 

Snow melts. Buds form. The days get longer, and the sun sets later. 

And yet, there are seasons that can feel everlasting: loneliness, or chronic pain, singleness, or a pandemic. It can seem like they stretch on infinitely. 

But eventually, friend, those will be over, too. I think of Revelation 21:4, one of my favorite verses, “He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.”

This — whatever your this may be — won’t last forever.

The sun starts to set as I continue on my frigid walk, as I ponder the truth I’ve uncovered: how this season will eventually be over. I wonder if I can see God in this season too, even if I’d trade this season in a heartbeat. 

As I turn toward home, once again I see the gigantic icicles hanging from the houses — and I can see God’s handiwork in the icy spears. I feel my heart beating hard, my breath puffing visible wisps around my face — a reminder from God that I am very much alive. I see God in me. 

If I open my eyes and embrace the season I’m in — even if I don’t like it very much — maybe somehow I’ll still see God. 

Through it all — through the hard seasons and the wonderful ones — God will always be with me. And even when the season changes, He never will.

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