Rekindling Joy When Seasons Change

Many years ago, I purchased a woodstove for our home. Each year after that, I’d order firewood, and the boys and I would spend hours stacking it in preparation for the cold winter days ahead. On many occasions, kind friends came alongside us to help with what could feel like an overwhelming task. Whether a snowstorm was raging or the day was simply cold and damp, I was always grateful for that woodstove and the supply of firewood that kept our home warm and cozy.

A few years ago, I stopped ordering firewood. I waited too long to call our usual supplier and didn’t pursue other options. We still had some wood left from the previous year, so I told myself we’d make do. Carrying wood was starting to bother my back anyway. That winter, we enjoyed fewer fires, but I told myself it was fine.

By the following year, my back pain had worsened, and the thought of stacking and carrying firewood felt daunting. Convinced I couldn’t manage it, I chose not to order wood again. We went without, saving a small remaining supply in case we lost heat.

Then this fall, on a chilly day, I decided to start a fire using that last bit of wood. Almost immediately, I was reminded of how much I loved sitting by the fire. It took the chill from the air and wrapped the room in warmth and comfort. I’d forgotten how much I missed it. As I sat there, a quiet question surfaced in my heart. Why had I denied myself this simple joy?

The answer was mostly fear. I was afraid I couldn’t handle the work the way I once had. But fear has a way of whispering lies, and one of them was that I wasn’t worth the effort. If I couldn’t do it the same way, it wasn’t worth doing at all.

This realization led me to order firewood. When I called, I was told I’d be placed on a waiting list. A small part of me hoped I’d remain there. But a few weeks later, the firewood arrived. To my surprise, stacking and carrying it has been manageable. I do a little at a time and stop when I feel discomfort. Sometimes I don’t stop soon enough, suffer the consequences, and become frustrated. But, I’m gradually learning to be patient with myself. Each time I light the stove and watch the gentle glow of the fire, I’m reminded I don’t have to abandon what brings me joy simply because life has changed. I just need to adjust how I approach it.

So often, we fall into an all or nothing mindset. If we can’t do something the way we once did, whether because of physical limitations, changing responsibilities, or shifting circumstances, we choose not to do it at all. We allow life’s waves to knock us down instead of learning how to move with them. The truth is, we can’t return to what once was. That reality can be painful, but it’s unavoidable.

Still, we have a choice. We can stay miserable, clinging tightly to a preconceived idea of how we think life should look, or we can appreciate each precious day we’ve been given and make the most of it. We can release our tight grip on expectations that no longer fit and ask God to show us a new way forward. There’s freedom in accepting that joy may look different in each season, but it doesn’t have to disappear.

If there’s something you once enjoyed that you’ve set aside because you believe you can no longer manage it, or you think it’s not worth doing, I encourage you to pause and reconsider. Ask yourself if there might be another way to approach it, a way that honors who and where you are today.

God meets us in each season of change, not asking us to be who we once were, but inviting us to trust Him with who we are now. Sometimes, that trust is rewarded with unexpected warmth, quiet comfort, and the simple gift of joy rekindled.