There’s Something About September

I always breathe a sigh of relief when I turn the calendar to September. It feels refreshing and new, but also like an old, familiar, well-worn sweatshirt that instantly makes you feel comfortable and cozy. And I know you might be laughing because it’s still in the upper 90s here in Vegas, but this morning was (slightly) cooler, the sun seems to have shifted, and I can sense a change of seasons on the horizon.

I love September. Of course, it’s my son’s birth month and mine, which are reasons enough, but there’s something more. I love the transition to this time of year—what some people call the “ber” months—and all that comes with it: back to school, crockpots filled with soup, pumpkin spice in the diffuser, knee-high boots, and winter holidays on the horizon.

September reminds me that every season does have an end—even if we can’t see when that is.

There were seasons that I never wanted to end, like when my son was a baby and I got to experience all of his “firsts” and see the world through his sweet, innocent eyes. And seasons that felt like they’d last forever, as I prayed for circumstances to change, like when my mother was sick and suffering from an incurable disease called ALS. Seasons I tried to hurry through, like that excruciating season of going through my divorce. Seasons I worried through, like when my son was diagnosed with autism and my plans for our future were suddenly scattered around like a box of puzzle pieces spilled across the kitchen table.

I’m sitting here grateful for another September, realizing that seasons I once thought would last forever actually didn’t. Just like the endless Southwestern summers that linger on and on—at some point, the mornings cool down, the earth shifts, the days get shorter, and autumn shows up with a nip in the evening air.

I’ve spent much of this year revisiting old seasons as I’ve prepared Chosen For This for publication. Some of them I remember fondly and with deep nostalgia, and others I would have gladly fast-forwarded through.

But looking back from my vantage point now, I can see something that wasn’t always clear while I was living them: God was present in every one. Some seasons were filled with suffering that I couldn’t understand, and some with incredible joy. Some I gritted my teeth and endured, and some I never wanted to end—staying up way too late, basking in the moment, and taking lots of pictures so I’d never forget.

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.” — Ecclesiastes 3:1 (NIV)

Some seasons are meant to change us, and some are meant to change the world around us. And sometimes we just don’t know why a season happened until we get some distance between us and it, and can look back with perspective.

But even though we don’t get to choose how long a season lasts, we can absolutely trust that God is with us in every season.

As I look forward to a month where I’ll celebrate another year on God’s beautiful earth, I think one of life’s greatest gifts is that wisdom really does come with age. I realize now that seasons aren’t something to try and control. We can’t cling tightly enough to keep the beautiful ones from changing, or rush quickly enough through the painful ones to make them disappear.

But every season has something to teach us if we’re willing to pay attention.

So this September I’m not rushing into fall (even though I already have the clove and cinnamon essential oils pumping through the diffuser, and I’m more than ready to trade in my flip-flops for boots). I’m simply aware … noticing … staying present. Seeing what I can learn.

Another birthday for me. A life that’s busy and full.

My son’s birthday too—who only yesterday, it seemed, was a chubby baby and is now on the brink of adulthood.

A book that once existed only as a private story between me and God—that I wasn’t sure I’d ever share with anyone else—is slowly making its way into the world.

Another season. Another September. And another reminder that God is faithful in each one.