This week we visited Rocky Mountain National Park. The elk were out. Their bugle echoed through the hills. Peaceful cows grazed in the meadow under the watchful eye of an antlered bull. Through winter and summer they disappear into the vast forests, but, in the fall, when the Aspen tinge the mountain slopes with yellow, they appear, bold and fearless. Rams foraged among the rocks above the tree line overlooking the vast vista in the distance. They have been doing this for thousands of years, long before humans wandered these mountains.
Our concrete, plastic and glass world insulate us from nature’s rhythms. So do our drugs. They deaden our souls and our senses. We are more alive when we connect with the rhythms God has built into nature. The changing seasons seek to awaken us, to remind us that the same creative power that painted the mountains and designed the migrations of the birds also created us.
All of life is lived in seasons, from birth to death. Each is made for celebration, for life and learning and loving: playful childhood, visionary youth, responsible adulthood, reflective old age. The seasons of life fill our souls with songs of faith, love, hope, joy and sorrow. We all experience seasons of health and seasons of illness, seasons of plenty and seasons of lack, seasons of pain and seasons of joy.