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There. I said it.
Brace yourselves, friends, ’cause I’m going to say it again: I hate spring.

I realize this puts me in the minority. That most people associate springtime with new life, re-birth, and beauty blooming all around us… but that’s just it. All that beauty bloomin’ is what’s got me wanting to bang my head against the wall right now. I  appreciate the pretty parts of spring as much as the next guy–landscapes in full bloom, trees in all their glory, the animals scattering about all twitterpated and chirpy. But I’m pretty sure I’m allergic to air. I know I’m allergic to tree pollen. And lucky for me, the pollen advisory is on “high alert” today meaning I won’t be breathing in any of that beautiful, fresh, spring air any time soon. I won’t be breathing well at all.

This is a season in life–literally, a season–that I do not enjoy. At all.
I would take a winter day over a spring day any day. (Say that 10x fast.)

None of this is blog worthy, I know. Just wanted to get that off my chest.

In all seriousness, I was sitting here, biting my tongue every time I sneeze and cursing the very essence of spring, thinking about the changing of seasons on a deeper level. (Blame the allergy meds.) I found myself asking, why do we so often resist the change in our seasons of life? Maybe it’s for fear of the unknown. Too much change, too quickly. Or maybe it’s because we’re in a really good season and don’t want it to end, ever! You hear me, God? NEVER! I like things just as they are right now!  We grow comfortable in our current seasons and don’t always give much thought to new ones ahead. I know I don’t, anyway. New seasons require growth. Necessary growth. Sometimes painful growth. No one likes change like that, amiright? Better to just keep the status quo. It doesn’t hurt as much that way.

Unfortunately, it’s impossible to control the changing of seasons. We can’t skip over springtime and head straight into summer just because spring is rough. (Speaking both literally and metaphorically here.) But what if we’re on the brink of leaving one season and find ourselves fighting the onset of the next; does that mean we’re stuck somewhere in between? Can we control, on some level, the rate in which our personal seasons change?

This is on my mind because it’s a dilemma the protagonist, Macy Knox, faces in my debut novel. Only I’m not sure she’s fully aware of how hard she fights to keep things the same. The walls she builds. The people she turns away. The opportunities she misses. She’s just going from day to day in survival mode, not even realizing that the seasons are changing around her and it’s time for her to change, too. Oh that we all could control the seasons we go through; which ones we’d skip, which ones we’d savor.

Which ones we’d ignore.

It’s a hard lesson to learn, that of being unable to control our seasons.
It means painful growth.
Half the time I bet we’re completely unaware of it at all. And yet…. we resist. We fight.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens:
a time to be born and a time to die,

a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.
(Ecclesiastes 3:1-8)

When it comes to a season of life, I am in the spring. I’m growing, my kids are growing (too quickly–make them stop, I hate it), there’s a lot happening, new things coming into play in our lives. There’s some tearing down and some rebuilding, some mourning and some dancing. Sure, parts of it are kind of exciting, but for the most part it’s stressful, it’s a little bit ugly, and it’s scary as hell. Springtime sucks.

Can’t skip it.
Can’t ignore it.

I’m usually a winter gal, but you heard it here first:  I’m ready for Summer.