Winds of change
It’s fall in Alaska and the mist rises on the lake outside our cabin door, bringing winds of change. We sense the change as much as we see it, feeling the crisp cool air, smelling the decaying leaves, and hearing the cries of the departing loons, ducks and sandhill cranes.
Navigating life change in general often feels much like the lake, like swirling in a mist. And somehow navigating change during a pandemic feels even more “swirly.”
The winds of change are big and small
This year, I’m holding space for many changes in my life. I’m experiencing major life changes, including losing my father, a daughter’s wedding, the other daughter buying a home, and my husband and I buying the cabin that sits on this beautiful lake.
And, like everyone else in the world, I’m living with a pandemic that brings so many big and little changes to our lives. I’m traveling way less, doing more virtually, socializing with friends in different ways — and wearing a mask everywhere I go.
So how does this relate to the lake?
Bear with a little science. Weather experts tell us that the fall lake mist is a fog, essentially a cloud made up of tiny liquid water droplets. This steam fog forms when cold air comes across the warmer lake water, evaporating into the air above the surface and forming fog.
The beautiful lake mist transforms into movement with turbulence created by the formation process and local winds. The wind swirls and moves the fog, creating an ever-changing panorama.
Similarly, winds of change refine us
The lake fog reminds me of life, constantly swirling. We live with change always, but 2020 … so much change! The turbulence of our communities, our country, even our world, makes it difficult to maintain the shape of our lives, to find our footing.
As with the lake, sometimes we can hardly distinguish the life we used to know, now obscured by the swirling mists of change! During seasons of change, while the wind seemingly swirls around us, we can learn much by observing the winds of change on a lake.
What strategies can we learn from the lake?
The lake and its changing mist have much to teach us.
- First, we can maintain our basic shape. Like the lake, my life’s still here, solid underneath. While at times, I can hardly see the lake, or my life, for the swirls of change, the basic shape remains, still there. My feet are on the ground, I’m breathing air and I’m connected to my people.
- The swirl doesn’t (have to) consume us. While technically some droplets of the lake do become part of the mist, much of the condensation actually returns to the lake. Winds of change often transform, as the season naturally brings freezing ice to a lake in the fall.
- We can change our form without compromising our value. A lake is still a lake no matter if the water’s warm, cool, or ice. The basic properties of the lake are unchanging, yet transformed to a new look and feel. Similarly, we can adapt and grow, staying true to ourselves.
- Some of what leaves often returns, though it might not be exactly the same. The migratory birds pack up and leave, but you can bet they’ll be back in the spring. Baby birds will have separated from their parents, finding their own mates. And sometimes a new pair replaces an older one. We’ll find new rhythms, do many of the same things, though our patterns may change.
- We can be a safe haven for others during times of change. The lake is an ecosystem, an interconnected web of life in and around it. Similarly, we need each other, particularly in times of change. When our world feels different, looks different, is in fact different, we need the firm footing of connection to others. And others need us to be a haven of comfort and encouragement.
And ultimately, our lives are but winds of change
It’s always good to keep life in perspective. Ultimately, these winds of change are a small part of our lives. James 4:14 says, “Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes (NIV).
But the wind can make a difference. And so can we.
