Seasons

Today I went up to the field near where I work and sat on the back of my car. The sun was still August-warm, but the breeze was cool and whispered sweet September nothings in my ear. It was a sweet song of a day, full of peace. But even perfect days have to end. Life is such a bittersweet thing.

I sat there on the trunk of my car, sipping my coffee and trying not to think about winter coming in a few short months, when I was reminded of a sermon that I listened to a few weeks ago (yep, I’m that kind of nerd). It was all about transitions, and the pastor told a story about his son when he was little. The father had planned a day full of fun activities for he and his son to do together, and the day came together perfectly. So perfectly, in fact, that the little boy started crying because he didn’t want his fun day to end. That’s me. I’m terrible with change when it involves a goodbye. Especially when that goodbye is to my sister.

My sister leaves for college this weekend, and I feel kind of numb about the whole thing. It feels like standing on the precipice of a harbor, watching her get on a ship it feels like I should be on too.

My sister is my best friend, and she’s one of the best people I know. There is no one else who could ever hold the place that she holds. She’s been there since the beginning, from playing paper dolls at 5AM to middle school crushes to all my freak outs about friends and the future. She’s younger than me but much wiser, and I look up to her in so many ways (one of which is because she’s taller). We’ve had countless random misadventures together, from going to a sewing camp to joy rides in the autumn, road trips up to Massachusetts and Maine and plane rides to Texas. She’s given me advice about boys, clothes, and which Andy Stanley sermon to listen to. And she exhibits an unmatched maturity, kindness, patience, and compassion. She’s going to do amazing things in college.

But the only thing running through my brain is how much I’ll miss seeing her every day. We’ve slept in the same room for almost twenty years. What if that never happens again?

Already I know that’s just me being overdramatic. I’ll visit and sleep on her floor and she’ll come over to my apartment and we’ll both go home for Christmases. We will always be sisters and friends.

And I think it’s that reminder that fall brings me. As I was sitting on the back of my car today, looking out over the wildflowers nodding their heads in crowns of gold and white, and the wind folding and shaking out the grass, I thought, How sad it is that all this has to end. All this sunshine and the long hours of warm day.

And then I remembered the fall—the auburn and gold and chestnut colors the trees turn, the liveliness upon the crisp air, the sound of the wind, and the blue sky against the orange of a sugar maple. I love fall, and I’m really excited for it. I do really like spring, summer, and winter, but fall is the only season with the ability to make me cry.

Looking out over the wildflowers, I felt a peace nestle down over my heart. It was as if Jesus were whispering to me, like he had come up behind me and wrapped his arms right around scared little me. “See?” he seemed to say, “Change can be beautiful and good.”

Seasons are cyclical too, aren’t they? It’s not the actual trees and fields and houses that get up and move, just the landscape. The nature of my relationship with my sister won’t change—it’s too deep for that. Just the details. I can live with that.

It’s not the end. Nothing is ceasing to be. It’s just the start of a new day.