Seasons

March 20 - the first day of spring. This date will forever hold a space in my heart.

Two years ago I walked away from my final cancer treatment, certificate of completion in hand.

What exactly had I accomplished?

Surviving.

It’s surreal to be acknowledged for this.

Little did I know that two days later the whole world would shut down. Or that the end of treatment is when the real work begins.

When the dust finally settled, I was faced with sorting through what was left.

Who am I and where do I go from here?

How do I get beyond “no evidence of disease?”

Some seasons are harsher than others. Some linger longer than they should. And some, like cancer, I wish could have just passed me by.

Most days, I don’t look any different than I did two years ago, but I’m learning a lot can shift during those seemingly dead seasons.

Just like you would never guess from these photos that it was spring. You have to take someone at their word that it is. And yet, there is so much hovering beneath the surface, preparing for its time.

I’ve come farther than most people recognize on the surface, farther than I usually give myself credit for.

I’ve caught glimmers of a purpose that is greater than the sum of these dark seasons.

I just don’t have a visual on it yet.

This is where faith steps in and bridges the gaps. It’s our handle on what we cannot see (Hebrews 11:1, MSG).

That when God says he’s still writing my story, I take him at his word. His fingerprints will be all over it - they already have been.

And I’ve never read a story of his that ends in ashes.