Solstice Season
It’s been about four and a half months since I retired from formal employment. I make this particular distinction of “formal employment” because I want to be clear I have, in no way, retired from life. Regardless, walking away from job, career - from a particular identity - is not an easy transition. Not that I regret the decision, by no means! It has been a refreshing change, but a change nonetheless. And one that has brought about far more self-introspection than I expected.
I am no stranger to change. I’ve changed careers several times - the most notable was leaving behind a fairly successful position as a healthcare administrator in 1993, and going to law school to become an attorney. Even though I felt strongly called by God to do so, I had no clue what lay ahead as I navigated the ever-turbulent waters of returning to school, learning a new way of thinking, and determining what God had in store for me once I shut the books and passed the exams. It took about five years to walk that road of discovery and transition to reach that point of seeing what God was up to. Indeed, the change resulted in a fruitful, 25-year career as a medical malpractice and health law attorney.
In 2009, my husband and I felt the call to walk out in faith yet again; to sell our 26-year-long family home and relocate to Connecticut, leaving behind family, friends and much hometown history. All we knew was that we were being called to a new church, a new ministry; the rest was murky at best, but we followed the call and moved. And again, it wasn’t clear for 3 or 4 years exactly what the plan was, but we walked that road of change and discovery. We were eventually richly rewarded with service opportunities and relationships we’d never have experienced had it not been for our willingness to simply go. We grew as individuals, as a couple, and in our faith. Looking back, it’s clear that God had a plan.
I’ve come to see these times as”Solstice Seasons”.
For us in the Northern Hemisphere, it’s been several weeks since the Winter Solstice, which occurred this year on December 22nd. As you know, the Winter Solstice marks the shortest day of the year, with sunrise close to 7:15 am and sunset at about 4:45 pm, depending on the year. That’s a lot of darkness!
For years, I assumed that the days following the solstice would start to elongate quickly - at least enough for me to notice the difference and appreciate the lengthening of days. I soon realized, however, that for a couple of weeks following the solstice, nothing seemed to happen! A little research showed me that the solstice itself is actually a brief moment in time when the sun is tilted away from the earth at its maximum tilt for a mere second or two, at which point the cycle reverses and the days begin to lengthen. However, what shocked me was that in those first few weeks, the lengthening of days was not noticeable at all; it was like the sky stood still. (Hence the term “Winter Solstice”, from the Latin for “sun stood still”. ) After the solstice, the days begin to lengthen, oh! so slowlyat first— for just a fraction of a second, then gaining a second or two for the next few days, and then gingerly picking up speed until about mid-January, when one can discern with the naked eye the ever-slowly lengthening of days.
Understanding my own life changes as akin to the winter solstice was really an ‘aha’ moment for me. Thinking of my life transitions as “solstice seasons” puts the journey into perspective for me. We make a decision; we are drawn to make a change, to enter into a transition, but the initial changes can be so minute as to be indecipherable, imperceptible. This suspension can lead to questioning our decisions, to wondering if we actually did hear the call to make a change, to enter into a new thing, to embrace a transition into a new territory.
Understanding the solstice as a metaphor for transition has helped me immensely in making sense of this season of transition. I have made the decision to move into the new, but there is also a time of “standing still”, where nothing seems to happen. All my plans for the “next thing” simply hang in space; there is no momentum, no movement forward, no discernible path that reveals itself; inertia is the call of the day.
And so, this season of “solstice” then, is a time I’ve come to see as a time during which the call for transition is allowed to ripen. Instead of questioning if the decision to move forward was premature, I have come to accept that this sense of “standing still” is simply part of God’s preparation time. God often works best in the dark, silent spaces of our hearts and soul, shaping, moulding, sculpting, cleansing. It can be a fruitful time.
Instead of forcing my way forward into new places or ways of being, I am learning to lean into the season, to go slow, to accept the perceived darkness of the season, and recognize that the meaning, the posture, the light has not disappeared. I’ve just not yet reached that point in the journey where I am properly “titled” toward the Divine plan.
There is wisdom in accepting the solstice season, I think. During this season, my transition will ripen into transformation into what God has prepared for me. This is a time to prepare for a new engagement, a new assignment, that next holy call.
After all, the spring equinox is a few short weeks away— and we all know that spring is truly the season of hope, transformation and rebirth. I’m getting ready.