To everything (turn, turn, turn) There is a season (turn, turn, turn) And a time for every purpose, under heaven
The Byrds, with their catchy tune, make this changing of seasons sound like so much fun.
But look at Solomon’s actual words
A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep
Oh, yeah, real fun. Dying, killing, weeping. There are seasons for all those things.
A time to build up,a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together
Seasons for breaking down. Seasons for mourning.
To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time for every purpose, under heaven
Even though it’s got a beat you can dance to, the words are a little hard to swallow.
A time of love, a time of hate
A time of war, a time of peace
A time you may embrace, a time to refrain from embracing
Turn, turn, turn.
A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time to love, a time to hate
Turn, turn, turn. Seasons of war. Seasons of loss. Seasons of tearing apart. Painful seasons side by side with the laughing and building and sewing and planting and dancing and peace.
Some seasons are just no fun. We don’t want to stay long in these seasons. I find the tearing apart seasons especially difficult. When Father tears apart my plans, my expectations, my ideas about what is best for me, I resist. At least, that’s my first reaction. Sometimes, I resist way too long. It’s painful to be torn apart. It’s not nearly as twirly and boppy and fun as The Byrds make it sound.
My brain knows that Father has to tear apart all of my plans so that He can sew together His plans. I have to endure one season in order to move on to the next. But knowing that doesn’t always make it any easier to be torn apart. I suppose some people don’t have to endure this tearing apart. Maybe they’ve learned to hold their hands up to Father, empty — without any plans of their own — and ask Him to give them His plans. Maybe they’ve learned to do that first. I’m still working on that.
Recently, I have taken God’s plan for me for a specific time and I’ve held so tightly to it, imagining and planning what this plan would look like in my future; but God didn’t intend for this specific plan to last for my whole life. He never intended for this season to last as long as I imagined it would. I took His plan and I held tightly to it and made it my own plan. And when He said, “OK, new season,” I resisted and insisted on my own version of His plan. I wanted to plot and plan and force my ways. Gently He whispered questions into my ear until finally I heard, “How far will you go to get what you want?” Broken, I cried, “You aren’t going to let me do this, are you?” He has assured me He has something better planned, though to be honest, I have a difficult time imagining that. I suppose that’s what faith is for.
Right now, I’m coming out of the tearing apart season. The sewing season has barely begun, and it’s too soon for me to see much of what He’s making. I don’t feel much like dancing to this beat of changing seasons. If I didn’t know the Season-Changer and believe that He has something good planned for this next season, I wouldn’t have much hope. But I do have the faith He has given me, and I do trust Father to sew something beautiful in this next season. I trust that after breaking down my plans, He will build up something great, something beyond my imagination. Turn, turn, turn