I feel like we’ve boarded that long rollercoaster ride from winter to spring. It’s rainy and warm one minute, sunny and biting cold the next. My daffodils are blooming, but the heat’s on high and I’m writing with a blanket wrapped around me like a grandma shawl. I’ve got an ice cold can of fizzy water and a hot cup of coffee next to me, and I’m alternating between them.
Cheeto’s pretty calm this morning, but yesterday he aggravated the stew out of me because he couldn’t make up his mind whether he wanted to be inside or out, so he kept pawing at the door from both sides—wanting in when he was out and wanting out when he was in. But then, I sort of feel that way myself so I cut him some slack and obliged his indecision. We just have to accept that we’re in a state of transition I guess.
Seasonal changes tend to make me think of bigger transitions, like the ones they talk about in that "Kevin" commercial. The Kevin changes aren't easy. And they aren't always smooth. Sometimes you don’t even realize you're in the midst of one until, well, you're in the midst of it. But change is a natural part of life. (Not an original thought, but the one that's on my mind this morning.)
When I was a young writer, eager for my first big story at Southern Living, you never could’ve convinced me that, one day, I would get just as much joy out of helping other new writers with their first pieces in the magazine. But I do. Their excitement is contagious, and it reminds me of all the seasoned editors who coached me when I was as green as green could be. Conversely, I’ve had to embrace the digital world, patiently guided by the same young crew just venturing into print. I like to think we’re helping each other navigate our respective learning curves.
Yesterday, Dave and I were laughing about the area in our house that’s most crowded with stuff and most prone to clutter—it's the U-shaped space around the television. Are we becoming that old couple who stop everything to watch “our programs” together? Yikes. That’s a transition we’re going to fight a little longer—even though we sometimes discuss the need to eat more fruit, there’s a blood pressure cuff in the living room, and Advil has become a food group.
Transitions.
Here’s the thing about them: They’re only scary on the front end. Once you’ve completed the move from one place in your life to another, or at least accepted it, you’re fine. It’s the movement that feels uncertain, the first step that’s the hardest. Sometimes, you can’t make it all by yourself, and that’s okay. Most of us can’t.
This was the daily Scripture I found on Bible Gateway this morning:
Humble yourselves before the Lord, and He will lift you up.
James 4:10
I used to think that “humble yourselves” meant to acknowledge that God is greater than we are. True. But it also means “admit that we need help and trust God to provide what we can’t.”
Humility isn't a weakness. Humility before God is the gateway to courage.
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