Seasons and Horizons

Sometimes we need to change the homepage in our life.

That thought came to me after making changes to the homepage of Seasons & Horizons. I had reached 80 posts, and as I looked at how visitors were moving through the site, I noticed where the page was directing them.

The first things they encountered were about rebuilding after chaos. The buttons at the top, the introduction, and the invitation to “Start Here” all pointed toward a painful season of my life.

Those stories belong here. Writing them helped me work through things I needed to understand.

But by the time I reached 80 posts, I had shared much more than that. There were stories about family, faith, work, hiking, history, and discovering new places. Yet the homepage still gave one part of my life most of the attention.

It was time to make room for the rest.

As I changed the page, I began thinking about how easily we can do something similar in our lives. A difficult experience can have such a grip that we keep returning to it when we explain who we are. We may have other things happening—good things, interesting things, things we’re grateful for—but the painful part keeps getting the introduction.

I don’t know what every visitor thought when they saw my site. I do know that I wanted them to see more of the life I’m actually living.

I enjoy getting outside. I like walking a trail, visiting somewhere I’ve never been, and learning the history behind a place. I like the exercise, the conversations, and the freedom to stop and look at something that catches my attention.

Last weekend, that meant driving to Shenandoah and walking down to Rapidan Camp. I crossed the water several times, took pictures, looked for fish, and tried to imagine what the place had been like when President Hoover stayed there.

I didn’t see any fish. But I enjoyed looking.

There are probably places close to home that I’ve barely explored, too. Some I visited before I started blogging, when I wasn’t thinking about taking pictures or writing about what I noticed. I can return to those places and find something worth sharing.

There is still so much I haven’t seen.

I’ve enjoyed experiences in Costa Rica, Panama, Turkey, Seychelles, Georgia, Armenia, and the Philippines. Each place offered something different. There are many more places I hope to visit, even knowing I’ll never see everything.

And wherever I go, I can still be me.

I can be myself at home in Missouri, in Maryland, or somewhere much farther away. I carry my faith, my experiences, and my curiosity with me. There is room to keep discovering what interests me and what I enjoy.

Painful seasons are part of that life, too. We each go through winters. Some last longer than we expect, and sometimes their effects stay with us even as other parts of life begin to grow.

But spring deserves our attention when it comes.

I want to notice the opportunities to get outside, learn something, meet someone, or simply enjoy an ordinary day. I want to give those experiences time and space instead of always returning to what hurt.

My faith is part of learning to do that. I’m grateful for the ways God has helped me through difficult times, and I want to pay attention to the quiet gifts He is giving me now.

Changing the website was a practical step. The links are simpler. Recent writing is easier to find. The earlier essays are still there, but visitors have a fuller introduction to Seasons & Horizons.

Seeing it finished felt good. It felt more like the life I’ve been sharing across all those posts.

Maybe that is a question worth asking occasionally: does the homepage we offer people still reflect the life we’re living?

We don’t have to become somebody else to update it. Sometimes we simply need to give more room to the interests, joys, and hopes that have been there all along.

As I begin post 81, I’m looking forward to sharing more of those things.

There are trails I haven’t walked, stories I haven’t heard, and ordinary moments I haven’t yet stopped to appreciate.

I want to make room for them.