It's that time of the year when you see spring peeking around the corner; when you are secretly wishing for another snow, but also ready for warmer weather; when you are tired of the short days but grateful that the last light fades away at 6pm instead of 5; when January is over but the new year feels like it's just beginning. Life is stirring and bubbling, pushing its way out of the dormant earth. Longing for growth and life is a divine thing. And that longing is amplified by the season in rest and dormancy.
I don't know how to define the season I was in. It didn't feel like rest—I was constantly busy, nor did it feel dormant either because I was creating in the spurts of energy I had. However, I was not thriving. I did grow with the support of everyone around me. They were my trellises. And the growth I did have is due to God.
But I feel myself stepping into a different season. The other night, I made a new dish for dinner, and it turned out soo good. And the next night, I did another dish and I had so much fun. That's when I realized that I haven't felt this creativity in a long time. 2023 composed of the same three dishes on rotation (sorry, family). And most times, I had no desire to cook and would ask Ben to cook, invite myself to my parent's, or count on our meal train (thank God for meal train). So, when I finally started feeling the excitement preparing meals, I rejoiced.
I don't know what season you are in right now, but I hope this is an encouragement to you that you are not alone. Seasons come and seasons go. The daffodil does not bloom when the cosmos does. The figs do not ripen when the strawberries do. One bush can bear abundant fruit in one season, while another may be blossoming, and another may be dormant waiting to sprout.
