Embracing the Rhythm of the Seasons

Finding contentment in the repetition of church celebrations and natural seasons.

By Amanda Hildebrand, Ontario Program Manager

April 2, 2026

I was struck today by a conversation about the weather, that ubiquitous Canadian small talk: “Cold day today. It was so warm yesterday. I wish it would just make up its mind.”

And I found myself thinking, isn’t this exactly what spring is always like?

It’s funny how easily we become critical of the seasons for simply being what they are. We want spring to hurry up and settle into warmth, forgetting that, at least where I live, it’s almost always a mix of cool, rainy days, and brief stretches of sunshine.

Around this time each year, I begin to ache for change. I long for trees in bloom and green grass. I grow tired of the in-between, that stretch after the snow has melted but the earth remains bare and brown. I know life is coming, but it’s not quite here yet, and I am so ready.

And yet, when summer finally arrives, I feel a different kind of restlessness. I worry I won’t be able to take it all in before it slips away. The season of beaches, gardens, and butterflies feels fleeting, as though it’s gone almost as soon as it begins.

I’m noticing how often I live at odds with the seasons, wishing them forward or fretting over their brevity, rather than receiving them as they are.

But there is a quiet contentment to be found in living with the seasons instead of resisting them. So I pause, take a breath, and remember: they come and go in a steady, faithful rhythm. I find myself asking God, “What does this season have for me?” As I learn to align my inner world with the created one, I begin to slow down. I begin to notice. I begin to rest in the cyclical nature of time.

This year, I’m paying closer attention to the small, unfolding details of early spring. The snowdrops push through the ground first. The willows turn golden as the maples begin to bud, while the oaks still wait. In the evenings, I hear the spring peepers calling. The robins arrive first, followed closely by the red-winged blackbirds and turkey vultures. Soon the violets and stinging nettle will appear, and I’ll be making violet tea again for my birthday.

Even as we celebrate Easter this weekend, I’m reminded that the church calendar mirrors this same rhythm. It, too, moves in seasons of waiting, of reflection, of celebration, of growth. And just like the natural world, each season carries something we need. 

This cyclical rhythm is not arbitrary, but intentional. We need to return to the same stories, the same truths, the same gospel again and again. 

There is a kind of rest in this, deep and steady. I don’t have to grasp at a season or try to hold it in place. I don’t have to fear that I’ve missed it, or that it won’t come again. It will return. The story will be told again. Grace will meet me here, and then meet me again.

I need the reminder of grace and the gospel, over and over. And I need the unique beauty of each earthly season too. So I’m leaning into the rhythm and paying attention to the season as it is, letting it be what it is, and then releasing what is passing, knowing it will come again next year. 

In that practice I find both peace for today and hope for what is still to come. Will you step outside and ask God what he wants to show you this season, too?