If you follow along with my blog, you may have recently read my post about bittersweet change. A few weeks ago, I wrote about moving my oldest daughter into her first apartment as she began graduate school out of state. It felt like the end of an era—one of those moments you know is coming but somehow aren’t completely prepared for when it arrives.

And then, this past weekend, we moved our youngest daughter back to Central Michigan University for her sophomore year. And just like that, the house changed again.

As I sit here writing this, the house is peacefully quiet—a stark contrast to the summer months when our household was filled with five people and three dogs.

There were people coming and going. Shoes by the door. Conversations happening in different rooms. Dogs barking because someone came home. Someone asking “what’s for dinner?” Laundry. Laughter. Schedules. Plans.

Life.

Today, we’re down to just my husband and I along with my MIL. And of course the three dogs and a new kitten. Which is still plenty of activity! But with both of our daughters living somewhere else, the house feels surprisingly calm.

And I’ve found myself thinking about seasons again.

Not just summer turning into fall—although here in Michigan, there are little reminders already that change is coming. The days are getting shorter. The evenings feel a little cooler. Before long, the leaves will begin to change.

But I’m thinking about the seasons of our lives.

There was a season when our girls were little and the house was never quiet. There were toys everywhere and bedtime routines and school lunches and permission slips. There were practices to get to, homework to finish, friends sleeping over, and endless rides somewhere.

The strange thing about seasons is while we’re living inside of them, they can feel like they’ll go on forever.

Until suddenly, something changes.

The backpacks disappear from the hallway, evenings free up, there is less noise around the house, and eventually, you realize that something you once considered your everyday life has quietly become a memory.

Maybe that’s why change can feel so complicated.

We can be incredibly proud of where our children are going and still miss having them home. We can enjoy the quiet and still miss the noise. We can appreciate having fewer people to cook for while secretly wishing someone would walk through the door and ask, “What’s for dinner?”

Two things can be true at the same time.

Part of emotional health is learning that we don’t have to choose between gratitude and grief. We can hold both.Grief isn’t reserved only for tragedy. Sometimes we grieve things that ended exactly the way they were supposed to.

Children grow up.

Relationships evolve.

Careers change.

Bodies change.

Friendships shift.

Homes become quieter.

Roles that once defined our days begin to take up less space.

And new seasons arrive.

There can be a temptation to rush through the transition—to quickly figure out what comes next, fill the empty spaces, or convince ourselves that we’re completely fine because the change is good. But maybe we don’t have to rush.

Maybe there is something sacred about standing in the space between what was and what will be. Just noticing where we are.

I think nature teaches us this beautifully. I thought about that this weekend as I laid in my hammock. Trees don’t apologize when their leaves fall. Summer doesn’t fight to stay summer. The seasons don’t seem to question whether they’re allowed to change.

They simply do.

There is an invitation for us in that. To notice what is growing in the season we’re in now. To trust that a quieter house isn’t necessarily an emptier life.

Right now, my season sounds a little different.

It’s quieter.

There are fewer shoes by the door and fewer voices coming from upstairs. My daughters are building lives of their own—which is exactly what we raised them to do.

And I’m learning how to live in the space that leaves behind. I don’t know exactly what this season will hold yet. But maybe I don’t need to. Because if life has taught me anything, it’s this:

Seasons keep changing.

And perhaps the work isn’t learning how to stop them.

It’s learning how to be fully present for each one while it’s here.

What’s changing in your life? 

💜