To Every Thing There Is A Season
“To Every Thing There Is A Season”
Written by Joy Mathis Chadwick
The view from my back porch this morning is one of retrospect.
As a child, I loved nothing better than when my mom would surprise me with a promise of a picnic as soon as the chores were done. It didn’t really matter if it was spring, summer, fall or winter; my mom loved the beauty of God’s creation and we both looked forward to every opportunity to enjoy our little corner of the world in south Arkansas.
But we had to do the chores first, and of course I would try every excuse known to a child to avoid work of any kind. There was always something to be done, and it was never anything that I looked forward to. I would usually rush through my assigned chores, trying my best to hasten the promised picnic; but of course if the dreaded chores weren’t done right the first time, they had to be redone until the work met with my mom’s approval. Country life just seemed too hard for a kid who just wanted to skip through the day with no responsibilities.
Country life as we knew it then was quite challenging at best. Chores were honest-to-goodness hard work, especially for a child who might have had just a bit of a lazy streak. We were poor by most people’s standards; we had no running water, and actually had to carry water in buckets from our closest neighbor; we had no bathroom but we did have a top of the line outhouse. We had no telephone. Our little three room house was cold in the winter and hot in the summer. (In the cold wintertime we heated with a wood stove; hot Arkansas summers were spent underneath the shade trees in the backyard.) Trips to the grocery store were few and far between because in addition to having a large garden, my dad loved to hunt and fish, and that, along with vegetables from the garden ensured us of meals fit for a king (thanks to my queen mom). My dad worked hard to make ends meet, and usually they didn’t, but somehow God always provided. My mom was the hardest working woman I have ever known, and everything she did was a labor of love. Summers kept her busy canning homegrown fruits and vegetables. She made quilts to keep us warm in the winter. She had flower beds that were the envy of all who knew her. She could put together a meal at a moment’s notice that was second to none. I always knew that her God-given “gift” was her kindness and hospitality; not one single person ever left our little home without hearing about Jesus.
Typical chores for me included weeding the garden, carrying water from the well, keeping the woodpile neatly stacked, mowing, raking leaves – anything that involved being outside, rain or shine; I avoided inside chores at all costs. (Or did my mom assign me the outside chores to keep from hearing my constant reasons why I couldn’t possibly be expected to do all that work? I think I know the answer to that one.) I didn’t quite understand then that the picnics would be so much more enjoyable unless and until the chores were finished; getting the chores done was never optional.
As I look out my back door now, out across the fields that are just beginning to sprout new grass with the promise of spring, I can’t help but remember those special times of picnicking with my mom. In the springtime, we would look for wild flowers that were just beginning to bloom; honeysuckle and jasmine were my favorites because we could always smell them before we saw them. In the summer we would sit with our feet in the cool stream while we ate our bologna sandwiches. In the fall we would gather pretty leaves and look for acorns to bring home to our pet squirrels. In the winter we would tromp across the pasture, walking as fast as we could because it was so very cold. We rarely ate our lunch that we took, but instead we would donate it to the birds because it looked like there couldn’t possibly be any bugs or worms for them in the harshness of winter. Regardless of the season, regardless of the path that we took, my mom would always remind me that we could enjoy our picnic so much more after finishing our chores before we left the house; we were free to enjoy the time spent with each other without having to worry about unfinished business. And she was right, as usual.
Several months ago my passion for writing began to change; it no longer felt like the exciting and unexpected blessing that God had originally placed on my heart. My focus had somehow shifted from words from my heart to just plain words. I had replaced the joy of the Lord with the joy of doing something I loved. I had somehow forgotten that there were specific “chores” to be done before I could truly enjoy the gift that had been entrusted to me. Every single word became a struggle; I felt that I was just going through the motions. I truly sensed that I was on the verge of a new season in my life, but as with the picnics that I enjoyed as a child, I knew that there were chores to be done before I could possibly be a blessing to someone else. So my absence from the magazine has been spent in retrospect and prayer, and I come back to you now in this new season of my life hoping to enthusiastically share with you some of the things the Lord has impressed upon me during this time.
My grandson will be here with us for the weekend and I can’t wait to take him on a walk out through the pasture. I pray that I see each detail through the innocent eyes of a child. I pray that he teaches me far more than I can teach him. I pray that regardless of how old I may become that I never ever take the beauty of God’s creation for granted. We will have a new grandchild soon and I’m already planning lots of picnics with my littles. I’ll tell them about my picnics as a child, walking through the fields with my mom as we looked at clouds and hunted for spring flowers. I’ll tell them about growing up as a poor kid who had to do chores. I’ll tell them about Jesus.
Thank you for letting me share with you the reasons for my seasons. I come to you now with a renewed and revived passion for telling you about Jesus through my humble attempts of the stories I’ll be sharing with you from my heart. Although I may never understand why God has placed a new season in the heart of someone my age, I am so very thankful and blessed that He cares enough to keep using me. Thank you for being a part of my journey and I pray that somehow these words can be a blessing to you. I look forward to bringing you many more stories about my view from my back porch here in the beautiful Arkansas Ozarks.
“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.”
Ecclesiastes 3:1 KJV
