The boy Samuel ministered before the Lord under Eli. In those days the word of the Lord was rare; there were not many visions.
1 Samuel 3:1 (NIV)

Wendy and I were away on Tuesday night, visiting with dear friends we’d not seen for a few years. As we drove home yesterday morning I marveled at the ever changing Iowa landscape. Trees have exploded into bloom in all their variations of greenish hues. The rolling fields that have lain desolate in the grays and browns of winter’s annual slumber of death are suddenly resurrected. Everywhere, the landscape itself was being transformed by the resurgent life of spring.

Along my life journey, I’ve observed that it is easy for me to miss the simple spiritual lessons that God wove into creation itself. Paul wrote to the followers of Jesus in Rome that “since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made.” (Rom 1:20) The more technology sucks me into screens, and the more life keeps me inside on the couch, the more apt I become to miss the obvious spiritual lessons God is perpetually sharing around me all the time.

I thought about this as I read the beginning of today’s chapter. As Samuel is growing up as an apprentice in God’s Tabernacle it is spiritually a season of winter.

The system is going through the motions — yet hollow, drained of life.

God has been silent.

For as long as people remember life has spiritually been a desolate landscape barren of color — perpetually draped in drab brown and gray.

That’s about to change.

The apprentice hears God’s voice.
He learns how to both listen — and hear.
Seeds of the Spirit begin to germinate beneath the surface.

As I look back on my life journey, I recognize that even my life contains seasons.

Seasons of planting, cultivating, and weeding.
Seasons of heat and sun—of explosive summer growth.
Seasons of fruitfulness—the deep satisfaction of harvest.
Seasons of silence… and the chill of winter’s death.

Like Samuel hearing God’s voice but not understanding, it’s taken me decades to recognize that I am perpetually in a season of life — and to learn to be content.

As I meditated on this, my mind wandered back to our recent chapter-a-day trek through Luke’s version of Jesus’ story. From chapter nine on, Jesus repeatedly tells His followers that his suffering and death are imminent like the mantra of the Stark family in Game of Thrones — “Winter is coming.”

But after winter’s death comes the new life of spring. Jesus asks His followers on the road to Emmaus, “Did not the Messiah have to suffer these things and then enter his glory?”

New life springs out of death’s desolation. This spiritual truth is woven into creation itself.

And in the quiet this morning, my heart is leaning into these simple truths.

Life contains seasons.
Seasons have purpose.
My struggling against the season I am in has always been wasted energy.
I can embrace the season I am in, find contentment…

…and trust the Story being written.

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