When You Wish You Could Skip a Season

A cold morning, a chirping bird, and a quiet reminder about the seasons we wish we could skip—and why they matter.

It felt unbearable.

Okay, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration, but it was uncomfortable enough to make me question God and His ways all over again.

I was walking to catch the bus for work on a mid-December morning. My backpack was loaded with all the winter essentials, and I was confident my giant sleeping-bag coat (I look like a black caterpillar in it) and my headband would be more than sufficient.

I was wrong.

As soon as I rounded the corner, the wind hit my face—and it hurt. Grumbling, I reached back and started digging through my bag while keeping my brisk pace. I had my mittens tucked under my chin, my bulky hood pulled up, and I was trying to wrap my scarf around my face, all while desperately attempting not to drop my mitts and do it quickly because my hands were freezing.

I may have said some not-so-great words and reminded God that He could have created winter without air that makes you cough and stings your skin.

Sigh.

I did manage to bundle up and make it to the bus stop with a few minutes to spare. I was also annoyed because my earbuds wouldn’t stay in thanks to all the layers on my head and face.

And then I heard something.

Before I even reached the stop, birds were chirping nearby. It caught me off guard enough to make me stop and shake my head.

First of all, how do birds even survive Canadian winters?

Second of all… why do you sound so happy about it?

I wanted to shout at them and tell them to fly south. Leave while you can. You can avoid this miserable season, so why are you still here?

I still have many questions about these birds. If you have any insight, I’m all ears.

Have you ever wished you could skip an entire season of life?

I don’t have to tell you I could happily go the rest of my life without another cold winter. In contrast, my oldest son would gladly skip hot, sunny summers. Yes, I shake my head too. He loves cloudy days and winter because it means snowboarding.

And don’t come at me for this one—but the baby stage wasn’t my favorite season of motherhood. I often joked that I’d prefer to receive my children once they turned one. I’m bad at sitting, and babies require a lot of it. Don’t panic. I was a stay-at-home mom and was there for every second. I’m just keeping it real.

Oh, and potty training. I ran a dayhome for twenty years, and this was hands down the hardest part of childcare. And don’t even get me started on my teenage years, filled with poems and journal entries that should never see the light of day again.

Now here I am—a forty-five-year-old empty nester in a whole new season of life—asking myself this question:

If I hadn’t lived through every season, would I be who I am today?

Back to the bird.

As I gazed up at the heavy, gray, cloud-filled sky, the thought came to me that there must be a way to whistle—or chirp—no matter what season you’re in.

Skipping entire seasons sounds appealing. But then you have to ask if you’d simply land in the same kind of season somewhere else. You know the phrase going around the mountain one more time. You can’t escape yourself. Wherever you go, your problems tend to follow.

In other words, I believe every season holds space for growth. Even here, there can be peace. And if we search for it, there can be joy.

I realize this can be a tender topic. Every person is walking through a different season, and I never want to minimize pain or hard circumstances.

Still, I’m reminded of something my mom used to say during those exhausting infant years. She would gently remind me, “This too shall pass.”

And she was right. It did.

When you find yourself in a season that feels endless—one you’d do anything to escape—remember the bird.

For whatever reason, that bird chose to stay. I imagine it has routines and survival rhythms for winter. A resilience built from knowing that, like last time, the dark season will pass and spring will come again.

We’ve all made it through hard seasons before. Some of us carry scars as proof. And yet, here we are—stronger. A little steadier on our feet. Holding onto hope. Learning how to be like that silly bird that didn’t fly south.

You’ve got this. I believe in you.

If you’d like to sit with this idea a little longer, I recently recorded a podcast episode all about seasons—why we have them and what they can grow in us.

Ep.20 Are You a Victim or in Training? How God Uses Seasons to Grow You

https://youtu.be/xK7gL4CclNQ

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