There’s a rhythm to everything God created. The earth turns, the sun rises and sets, and the seasons come and go in their appointed time. Just as the soil on the homestead rests, blooms, and produces, so do our relationships, our faith, and our own hearts. Gary Chapman called it The Four Seasons of Marriage, but I’ve come to see that these same cycles play out across every corner of life and land.

​This week, I want to explore those seasons—Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall—and how each one shows up both in marriage and on the homestead. Right now, I’m standing in the heart of Winter. A judge’s gavel recently declared that I can have no contact with my family. It’s cold, quiet, and still. Yet even now, I wear my wedding ring, not as a denial of what’s happened, but as a declaration of faith that Spring is coming. Because just as surely as the seasons shift, God makes all things new.

Gary Chapman described marriage as moving through four distinct seasons:

No marriage stays in one season forever. And no homestead does either. The difference between a dying marriage and one that endures often comes down to whether we learn to work with the seasons rather than fight against them. The same is true for the land. The farmer who tries to plant in January or harvest in March will grow nothing but frustration. The wise steward, however, knows how to rest, prepare, and trust the process.

​On the homestead, Spring doesn’t come all at once. It sneaks in slowly—first with longer daylight, then a hint of green on the pasture, then the sound of a single bird returning to the trees. So too, in marriage or personal growth, the signs of renewal begin small. But they’re there if you know how to look for them.

Over the years, I’ve learned that homesteading is more than growing food—it’s growing people. It teaches patience, faith, and stewardship. Some years, the tomatoes thrive. Other years, the soil struggles. But each season prepares you for the next. The same truth applies to marriage and faith.

Spring is the season of beginnings. When everything feels fresh and full of possibility, it’s easy to believe love will last forever. Like the first sprouts in the garden, it’s tender, new, and exciting. But without care, weeds of pride or neglect can choke it out.

Summer brings abundance but also work. The heat tests your endurance. The weeds grow faster than you can pull them. It’s the time to stay committed, to water daily, to protect what’s been planted.

Fall is the season of harvest and gratitude. You begin to see the fruit of your labor, but you also recognize that everything has its time. Some plants wither. Some fruit spoils. It’s a season of humility—of acknowledging both success and loss.

​Winter, though, is the hardest. The fields lie bare. The air feels heavy and quiet. Yet Winter isn’t death—it’s rest. It’s where the roots deepen and the soil heals. It’s God’s way of preparing the ground for new life.

Right now, I’m learning to see the beauty in Winter. It’s not the season I would have chosen, but it’s the one I’ve been given. The silence has forced me to listen. The stillness has taught me to wait. I’m learning that healing doesn’t happen in the noise of Summer—it happens in the hush of Winter nights when you finally stop striving and start surrendering.

There’s a kind of pruning that only happens when everything else is stripped away. You discover what really matters. You learn to trust the God who keeps His promises even when you can’t feel His presence. You start to believe that this isn’t the end of the story—just the turning of a page.

​Homesteaders know that under every patch of snow, there’s life waiting to emerge. Seeds need cold to germinate. Fruit trees need frost to bear well the next year. So perhaps the same is true for love, for faith, and for the human heart.

The homestead has always been a mirror for me—a reflection of what’s going on inside. When I neglect it, weeds show up fast. When I tend it faithfully, it rewards me with beauty and abundance. Marriage works the same way. It’s not about perfection—it’s about presence. It’s about showing up, even when you don’t feel like it.

In these coming posts, I’ll be exploring each season in more depth. Tomorrow, we’ll talk about Winter—what it means to sit in the silence without losing hope. Then, as the week unfolds, we’ll walk through Spring, Summer, and Fall, discovering how each season offers its own lessons in love, faith, and stewardship.

But today, I want to leave you with this truth: God is the Lord of the seasons. He’s in the pruning and the planting, the frost and the fruit. No matter what season you’re in, He hasn’t left you. The soil may look barren, but His work is hidden beneath the surface.

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Take a few moments today to consider: What season are you in? Are you fighting it, or are you learning from it? Every season has a purpose. Every storm prepares the ground for growth.

If you’re in Winter, rest. If you’re in Spring, plant. If you’re in Summer, persevere. If you’re in Fall, give thanks. And through it all, keep trusting the One who brings the rain and the sunshine in their season.

Gratefully,


Scott Alan Westhoff
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​Create A Great Day.

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