What I Want This Next Season to Feel Like

Fall has always felt like a beginning to me, even as the natural world begins to let go. This year, I feel both anticipation and responsibility. My mother turns 93 in September. One grandbaby is due in October and another in January. Jenelle needs me in ways that are uniquely hers, and work continues to claim its share of my time and energy.

I am standing in the middle of several generations, deeply grateful to be needed, and often unsure how to be enough for everyone.

Perhaps what I want from this next season is not balance. Balance suggests that everything can be given equal weight, and I already know that will not be possible. I want something gentler; the wisdom to recognize what needs me most in each moment, the courage to let something else wait, and the grace not to fell guilty about either choice.

I want this season to feel present. I do not want to spend each moment thinking about the next obligation or mentally rearranging everything still waiting for me. I want to notice the person in front of me and trust that, for the moment, being there is enough.

I want it to feel spacious, even when the calendar is full. Space may not mean empty days. It may simply mean leaving enough room to breathe, to change plans, or to sit a little longer when the moment matters.

I want it to feel tender. Mom’s 93rd birthday is a milestone that makes time feel especially precious. I do not want to hurry through our conversations or take ordinary moments with her for granted.

I want it to feel expectant. One grandbaby is due in October and another in January. Our family is growing again, and I want to make room for the wonder of that, not only the preparations, but the joy of waiting for two new lives to arrive.

Most of all, I want this season to feel faithful and alive. I want to trust that I do not have to hold everything together alone. And in caring for the people I love, I do not want to disappear from my own life. I still want room for recovery, marriage, creativity, laughter, and joy.

This next season may not be quiet. It may ask more of me than I expect. But I do not want to rush through my mother’s 93rd birthday, Jenelle’s everyday moments or the anticipation of two new grandchildren because my mind is already at work, or onto the next thing that needs to be done.

I want to be present for the life that is here now. I want to meet this season with open hands: willing to help, willing to receive, and willing to trust that God never asked me to be everything to everyone, only to be faithful with the moment in front of me.

What do you want your next season to feel like, and what might you need to release to make room for it? I would love to hear what this season is asking of you. Join the conversation below.