Few things stir my soul like watching the seasons change.

Perhaps it’s because I’ve lived so many places and never remember experiencing four seasons quite like we do in Virginia.

Arizona has one season: hot.

Florida has two: wet and “dry” (aka green and greener).

Colorado makes me laugh. It kind of has four seasons. Winter (snow), spring (soooo beautiful! but watch out, it still might snow), summer (hot!), and fall (don’t blink or you might miss it before the snow). Ahhhh, the Rockies. Best skiing in the world. 😉

Virginia is different. The seasons here are long and lazy. They transition slowly and sometimes hang on weeks longer than expected, teasing us–like an unanswered question.

Some changes are obvious. It’s easy to point out the first autumn leaves or winter snowflakes or spring blossoms. But what in nature signifies the start of summer? The first hot day? We can’t see it. We feel it.

The beginning of summer is something in the air, unseen, more elusive than all the other seasons.

You know the feeling. The one you got as a kid, sitting at your desk staring out the classroom window at fresh green grass near the end of the year. And your pulse raced a bit thinking about bare feet, lemonade, fireworks, and swimming pools–almost within your grasp.

I’ve felt it this week, watching my kiddos jump on the trampoline after school. We wink at each other as the days grow longer, because later sunsets mean more time on the swing set after dinner.

Before we know it, we’ll be hunting for fireflies.

Right now, after my recent surgery, I’m still an observer. Today I am homebound, watching the world through my bedroom window. But during my recovery, something is happening that I didn’t anticipate.

Something is different. Actually, everything is different. I feel different.

I’m not exactly sure what happened to me on that operating table–besides the fact that the surgery was complicated and the recovery has been even more so. All I know is that I am waking up from more than just a few hours of anesthesia.

A new season in my life is beginning, and my pulse races as I consider the possibilities.

I have a dear friend who loves to surf. During our beach retreat (can’t believe that was TWO years ago!) she was in transition, and I’ll never forget the analogy she used to explain how she felt.

You know the feeling you have right before you catch a really sweet wave? You get your board into position, climb on, and then you are hanging there, right at the top. Heaven and earth stand still for a fraction of a second, and you hold your breath in anticipation, feeling the power and energy of the wave building up behind you …

That’s where I am in my life right now. Something big is about to happen.

I don’t know what’s on the other side of my wave. But I am excited! I can feel it! I sense the momentum building.

And when I slide over the top it’s going to be a sweet ride!

That’s me! Catching a wave in St. Lucia, on our honeymoon.

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