Granted, my knowledge, or lack thereof, of Godâ€™s Wordâ€”limited by my own â€śfear,â€ť thus certainly not by Godâ€™s â€świllâ€ťâ€”has kept me in bondage and in the shadows for most of my life. Instead of being a host for God, I chose to be a host for my ego. Uninformed and wanting, I cherry-picked my judgments and imparted my morals and my grand self to lift me up and take â€ścontrolâ€ť of my journey. I lived apart from God; it was my season; it was my life, and it was my backbone, at stake, was it not? I was thorough and mindful of hiding my deep, dark, and trembling insecurities. My outward appearance, my backward cloak, was a calculated force to behold, or so I thought.
The Book of Ecclesiastes does not identify its author. However, most biblical scholars and pundits attribute Ecclesiastes to King Solomon. After doing some â€śdiggingâ€ť of my own, it seems that Solomon was a wise man of God, and was at a point of reflection in his life, fellowshipping with his Father and guiding us through his vault of secularism to understand better, seeking significance, in the mysterious wonders of this world, and to have a relationship with God.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 reads as follows:
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.
Clearly, I, we, must not be as free as we thought. We are not in control of anything. â€śSomeoneâ€ť much larger and grander than you, and I, is in charge, calling the shots, if you will. It is all in the â€śtimingâ€ť peopleâ€” Godâ€™s timing, not ours; Godâ€™s season, not ours.
After reading Ecclesiastes, rereading, and reading it yet again, I finally let go of trying to control what â€śI thinkâ€ť God is trying to tell me, and let Him do His job.
I still stumble over my own character; all the time . . . foolish pride and hanging on to my shattered, worn, and veiled ego, but there are those rare moments, like today, when I experience the â€śstillnessâ€ť of His Power and His Love and His Forgiveness and His Mercy.
Further reading of Chapter 3 of Ecclesiastes only solidifies just how helpless I really am. Verse 11 reads: â€śHe hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that God maketh from the beginning to the end.â€ť There are, obviously, more â€śwhys?â€ť in our experiences of life than we can ever hope to find answers for, not merely apart from God but even in the closest relationship with Him.
Oh! The irony and sarcasm of life; God has a sense of humor, a serious and dry one, too, perfect and loving and beautiful.
Thanks, Mike, for allowing me to enjoy a good and peaceful Sunday â€śdiggingâ€ť through the most beautiful Book ever written. "Turn! Turn! Turn!"
The word "season" is used to define an arbritary (time for). It could be related to weather patterns (spring or rainy) or holidays (Christmas-Easter)."Season" is probably the word translated from the Hebrew "Ona".