Seasons and Horizons

When I was younger, I had a pretty good idea of what I thought life was supposed to look like.

You worked. You built a career. You got married. You raised a family. You bought a house, maybe a little land if you were fortunate enough to do it. You worked hard enough and long enough to pay everything off, saved for retirement, and someday you reached the point where you could finally slow down and enjoy what you had built.

That was the pitch I expected.

It just wasn’t the pitch that came.

When Your World Feels Like the Whole World

I spent my earliest years in Southern California. It was fast-paced, warm, crowded and always moving. I didn’t think of it as a particular way of living. It was simply life because it was all I knew.

Then we moved to Missouri.

It was a culture shock.

Things were slower. There were actual cold seasons. The social environment was different. At times, especially when I was young, it seemed like everybody already knew everybody and where they belonged. I didn’t.

Eventually, though, I found friends. I found my place.

Missouri became home.

And something interesting happens when you finally become comfortable somewhere. The world immediately around you can begin to feel like the whole world.

I knew intellectually that there was more beyond it. Of course I did. But knowing something exists isn’t the same as experiencing enough of it to understand just how big life really is.

I Thought I Knew What Came Next

Eventually I found the electrical trade.

I built a career. I married. I had children. And for a long time I thought I knew what the rest of my life would look like.

Work. Family. A home. Maybe some land. Raise the kids. Hunt. Spend time with family. Grow older with someone beside me.

There was nothing wrong with that dream.

In fact, I think I could have been very happy living it.

But life doesn’t ask us which pitch we’d prefer.

Things changed. Relationships changed. Careers changed. People came into my life and left it. Plans I thought were permanent turned out to be temporary.

There were disappointments I never expected and experiences I never would have chosen.

There were curveballs.

Somewhere Along the Way, I Learned to Swing

Some people spend their entire lives angry because they didn’t get the pitch they expected.

I understand that.

It’s easy to stand there thinking about the fastball you prepared for while the curveball sails past you.

But somewhere along the way, I learned something about myself.

I learned to adjust my swing.

I’ve lived in Southern California and felt comfortable there. I’ve lived in small-town Missouri and felt comfortable there. I’ve been in cities, suburbs and places well out into the country.

I’ve traveled internationally and found myself comfortable in places that once would have seemed impossibly far away.

The more of the world I’ve experienced, the more I’ve realized that I don’t have to fit into only one place.

There is some city in me.

There is some country in me.

And there is apparently a part of me that is perfectly comfortable standing halfway around the world looking around and thinking, I could do this.

Maybe that’s one of the unexpected gifts the curveballs gave me.

Home Doesn’t Have to Look One Way

For much of my life, “home” had a very specific picture attached to it.

Today it doesn’t.

I still love peace and quiet. I still appreciate land, nature and the simplicity of getting away from everything. But I’ve also discovered countries, cultures and ways of living that I couldn’t have imagined when I was younger.

My world got bigger.

And perhaps more importantly, my understanding of what my life could become got bigger with it.

I’m approaching another major season now.

I’m thinking seriously about retirement. I’m thinking about living abroad. I’m building Seasons and Horizons without knowing exactly where it will lead. I’m trying to prepare financially while also recognizing that money cannot tell me what tomorrow holds.

There was a time when I thought I knew exactly what the next 30 years would look like.

I don’t anymore.

Strangely enough, that doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it once would have.

Stay in the Batter’s Box

There is another part of this that matters to me.

I don’t believe I’m the pitcher.

I don’t control everything that comes toward me, and I certainly don’t know what the Lord has planned for the years I have left.

I can prepare.

I can save.

I can make plans.

I can learn.

I can try to make wise decisions with what I’ve been given.

But I can’t demand a particular pitch.

Maybe faith isn’t knowing what’s coming next.

Maybe part of faith is trusting God enough to stay in the batter’s box.

To watch.

To wait.

To adjust.

And when the pitch comes, to swing at the ball that was actually thrown instead of spending the rest of my life angry about the one I thought I deserved.

I don’t know exactly what my next season will look like.

I don’t know which country I’ll eventually call home, how Seasons and Horizons will evolve, who will be part of my life, or what unexpected turns are still ahead.

But I’ve learned something over these years.

There is more to life than the little piece of the world we can see from wherever we’re standing today.

Sometimes the horizon only becomes visible after life changes our direction.

And sometimes the pitch you never wanted teaches you how to become a better hitter.