Some People Share a Season. Some Share a Life

Some relationships last a few months. Others last a lifetime.

As we move through different seasons of life, the people around us often change. Friendships evolve. Circumstances shift. Some relationships naturally drift apart, while others grow deeper with time.

In this episode, Kim reflects on the people who have walked through some of life's most significant chapters—from infertility and adoption to brain surgery, special needs parenting, grief, church transitions, and finding community again. Along the way, she explores what it means to build deep relationships, why some people are meant for a season, and how God often cares for us through the people He places in our lives.

If you've ever grieved a friendship, wondered why certain relationships changed, or found yourself grateful for the people who continue showing up year after year, this conversation is for you.

Because sometimes the relationships that shaped us weren't meant to last forever.

And sometimes the people who become family weren't family to begin with.

In This Episode

• Why some relationships are meant for a season 
• The difference between seasonal and lifelong friendships 
• The isolation that can come with difficult life seasons 
• Finding community after church hurt and life transitions 
• How God uses people to help carry us through hard chapters 
• Why grief and gratitude can exist together 
• The importance of building deep, meaningful relationships 
• What it means to be created for community rather than isolation 

Key Takeaway

Just because a relationship ended doesn't mean it failed.

Sometimes it simply means the season changed.

Some people share a season. Some share a life. Both are gifts.

Continue the Journey

Download the companion guide:

Who Helps Carry Your Life?

A reflective companion designed to help you identify the people who have shaped your story, supported you through difficult seasons, and helped carry your life along the way.

Explore this and other resources at:

HealerHopeGiver.com

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:14

Hey friends, I used to think pruning looked a lot like loss. You spend months watering a plant, caring for it, watching it grow, getting excited about every new bloom, and then one day someone comes along with a pair of pruning shears and starts cutting. And at first it feels wrong, counterproductive, almost cruel. Why would you remove something that is alive? Why would you cut back something that has already grown? Why would you take away branches that took so much time and energy to create? But gardeners understand something that most of us don't. Growth and health are not always the same thing. Sometimes a plant can keep growing while becoming less healthy. Sometimes it can become overcrowded. Sometimes one branch begins taking resources away from the rest of the plant. And sometimes what looks like abundance is actually preventing future growth. And every now and then, something has to be trimmed back so the whole plant can flourish. The older I get, the more I think relationships can be a little bit like that. Not because people are branches and not because relationships are disposable, but because life has seasons. And different seasons often bring different people. When I was younger, I thought every meaningful relationship was supposed to last forever. I didn't know, or I don't know if anyone actually taught me that. I just think I assumed it. If someone mattered, they would always be there. If a friendship was real, it would never change. If people drifted apart, something must have gone wrong. But life has a way of teaching us things that we couldn't have learned in any other way. And one of the things that life has taught me is this: some people share a season and some people share a life. And both of those are gifts. That wasn't always easy for me to understand. Because I've always been someone who forms deep, rooted relationships. I've never been particularly good at surface-level connection. I've never been interested in collecting acquaintances, and I've always been drawn to relationships that go deeper than that. The kind where people know your story, the kind where they know what you're carrying, the kind where they celebrate your victories and sit beside you in your losses, the kind where they start feeling less like friends and more like family. And over the course of my life, God has given me many of those friendships. For some for a season and some for much longer. Looking back now, I can see that every one of them has left a piece of something behind. Every one of them has shaped me in some way. Every one of them helped carry part of the journey, even the ones that eventually ended. When I look back over life or my life, I can almost see it in chapters. Not because the transitions were always clear in the moment, because most of them weren't. At the time, they felt just like it felt just like life. And then one day turned into the next, one season blending into another. But years later, when I you look back, you can start to see the chapters. And with each chapter came people. Some stayed for only a few pages, some stayed for entire sections of the story, and some are still here today. One of the hardest seasons of my life was our infertility journey. And if you've walked through infertility, you know it has a way of touching everything. Your marriage, your faith, your hopes, your plans, your sense of timing, even your understanding of yourself. There were people who walked through that season with us, people who prayed, people who listened, people who sat with us in disappointment, people who celebrated every bit of hope and grieved every setback. At the time I couldn't have imagined that one day many of those relationships would look different. Not because anything bad happened, and not because anyone failed. Life simply kept moving. The chapter changed, and then came another chapter: adoption, a surprise pregnancy, two baby boys who arrived only six months apart. A move, a husband working in another city during the week, a full-time job, two infants, and a life that felt like it was being held together with coffee, prayer, and whatever sleep I could find. Looking back now, I laugh when I say I was in survival mode because I don't think there is a stronger phrase for that season. I wasn't building a social life, I wasn't attending ladies' lunches, I wasn't creating margin, I was simply trying to keep everyone alive and reasonably happy. And for many moms listening, you know exactly what I mean. Life becomes diapers and bottles and schedules and exhaustion and trying to remember what day of the week it even is. That season had people too. People who understood it, people who helped carry it, people who made it a little bit lighter, and then came Memphis, and then came moving home, and then came brain surgery, then special needs parenting and anxiety struggles, then years where church became complicated, and if I'm honest, those years were incredibly isolating. One of our boys has autism and ADHD, both connected to a neurofibromatosis diagnosis, and our other son struggled deeply with anxiety and separation when he was younger. My brain surgeries happened when they were only three and a half and four years old, and now they don't really remember that season, at least not consciously, but I've often wondered how much those experiences shaped them, how much of the uncertainty they absorbed, and how much of the fear they carried. As parents, we know our children experience things even when they don't have the words for them yet. And when you're navigating special needs, anxiety, medical issues, work, marriage, and all the normal demands of life, it can become very easy to feel like everyone else is gathering while you're simply trying to get through the day. There are seasons when community felt more complicated than comforting, seasons when showing up was hard, seasons when surviving took most of the energy that we had. And that's part of why the relationships that stayed connected during those years matter so much. Not because they fixed anything, but because they reminded us that we were care weren't carrying it alone. Eventually, something started to change. Not overnight, not all at once, but slowly. After years away from church, there came a moment that is still difficult to explain. The best word I have for it is home. Not because we walked into a perfect church, not because every question was suddenly answered, not because life suddenly became easy, but because something inside us recognized what we had been missing. During COVID, we started watching services online. And then later I saw a posting that that church was looking for a children's ministry leader. So I applied. At the time, I couldn't have known how much that decision was would change our lives. That's when we met Rachel and Mike, and that's when we met Quincy. At the time, Quincy was a single dad raising two incredible kids, and I had the opportunity to serve alongside them in children's ministry. The friendships that would eventually become some of the most important relationships in our lives were just beginning. And looking back now, I can see something that I couldn't see then. God wasn't leading us to a church. At the time, it felt like finding a church, and now years later, it feels more like God was bringing us home. And maybe that's one of the reasons I think differently about relationships now. Because when I look back across all the chapters of my life, I don't just remember the events. I remember the people. The people who shared a season, the people who shared a life, and the God who used both. And if I'm honest, those years taught me something important. Sometimes relationships don't end because someone did something wrong. Sometimes they end because life changes. The people who understood one chapter may not be the people who understand the next one. And that doesn't make the relationship less meaningful? In fact, I think one of the mistakes we make is assuming that every meaningful relationship is supposed to last forever. But what if that was never the assignment? What if some people were sent to help in one very specific chapter? What if some friends were designed for a season? Not because they were temporary, but because they were purposeful, because they gave exactly what was needed during that time. And maybe that's why I don't look back at those relationships with regret anymore. There are people I haven't spoken to in years that I still feel grateful for. People whose names can still make me smile. People who's who helped shape who I became, people who carried part of the story. That chapter ended, but the gift remains. And I think that's something we don't say often enough. Just because a relationship ended doesn't mean that it failed. Sometimes it simply means that the season changed. I think one of the reasons relationship changes can be so painful is because we rarely see them coming. Most friendships don't end with a dramatic conversation. Most relationships don't come with a closing ceremony. There isn't a graduation, there isn't a certificate, there isn't a moment where someone stands up and says, Well, this chapter's been completed. Most of the time we life just keeps moving. A text message takes a little longer to answer, schedules become harder to coordinate, kids get older, jobs change, people move, responsibilities increase, and one day you realize it's been months since you talked to someone who once knew every detail of your life. I think that's part of what makes these transitions difficult. There's often no clear ending, just distance. And because there's no obvious ending, we sometimes create explanations. We assume that someone is upset, we assume that we did something wrong, we assume we weren't important, or maybe we assume the relationship wasn't real. But over the years I've learned that life is usually more complicated than that. Sometimes people are simply carrying different things. Sometimes they're in a season that requires their attention to be somewhere else. Sometimes their responsibilities have changed, and sometimes yours have. Sometimes two good people are simply walking different roads than they were before. And while that doesn't remove the sadness, it does change the way we interpret it. Because not every ending is a rejection, not every drift is abandonment, not every relationship that changes has failed. Sometimes the season changed. And that can be hard to accept when you're someone who loves deeply. I know it has been for me at times. Because when I care about people, I really care. I don't tend to relationships or I don't tend to do relationships halfway. I don't really tend to do anything halfway. But I invest, I show up, I remember things, I celebrate victories, I grieve losses, I carry burdens. That's just how I'm wired. So when a relationship change changes, there have been absolutely moments where I've wondered what happened? What did I miss? Could I have done something differently? But maturity has taught me something that younger versions of myself struggled to understand. Not every relationship is meant to look the same forever, and that's okay. In fact, I think God built cre I think God built creation to remind us of this. Every year, trees lose leaves, not because the tree is dying, but because the season is changing. The leaves were real, the shade was real, the beauty was real, and the growth was real too. But the season was never meant to remain exactly as it was. And somehow we understand that in nature, we understand it in parenting, we understand it in careers, and we understand it in almost every other area of life. Yet when it comes to relationships, we often expect permanence where God may have intended seasons. That doesn't mean people are disposable. Quite the opposite, actually. I think it means we learn to appreciate relationships while we have them, to be fully present in them in the season that we're in, to say thank you more often, tell people we love them, to stop assuming there will always be another opportunity, because there won't always be that other opportunity. Some chapters close, people move, and some relationships simply change. And while there is grief in that, there can also be gratitude, because I would rather have a meaningful season that eventually ended than never experience that relationship at all. The pain of losing something meaningful doesn't diminish its value, it confirms it. In fact, if I'm being totally honest, some of the relationships that hurt the most when they changed were also some of the relationships that helped me grow the most. They taught me things, encouraged me, supported me, shaped me, helped carry me through specific chapters in life. The chapter ended, but their impact didn't. And maybe that's another way that God cares for us, not only through the people who stay forever, but through the people he sends for exactly the season that we need them. Sometimes we recognize it in the moment, most of the time we don't. Most of the time we only see it when we look back and realize they were exactly what we needed for that chapter. And I think that's worth being grateful for, even when the chapter eventually ends. While some people are here to share a season, there are others, there are also those rare relationships that seem to weave themselves through multiple chapters. The people who somehow keep showing up. Not because life has been easy and not because every season has looked the same, but because the relationship keeps growing alongside those changes. The older I get, the more I realize what a true gift that is. Because life has a way of changing all of us. The person I was 20 years ago is not the person that I am today. And honestly, I hope that's true for all of us. Life is supposed to shape us. Marriage shapes us, parenting shapes us, loss shapes us, faith shapes us, and healing also shapes us. And one of the most beautiful things in the world is finding people who are willing to keep growing alongside you. Not because they need you to stay exactly the same, but because they're willing to learn each new version of you as life unfolds. And I've been blessed with people like that. Some are family, some are friends, most have become both. When I think about my sisters, I think about relationships that had to be intentionally built. People often assume siblings automatically become close because they grew up together, but that's not always how life works. Relationships still require investment. They still require time. They require choosing each other. With my older sisters, those friendships really grew during adulthood. And with my younger siblings, who are 25 years younger than I am, the relationship started from an entirely different place. We don't share the experience of growing up together under the same roof. We don't share the same childhood memories, but we share something different. We share our dad. We share love, we share stories, we share the choice to keep building the relationships. And over time, those relationships became something incredibly beautiful. Not just a family, but friends too. The kind of friends who understand the parts of your story that no one else can. The same is true for Lynn, and the same is true for my in-laws. The same is true for so many people who have become part of the fabric of our lives. And then there are the friendships that become family, the people who may not share your last name, but have earned a permanent place in your story, the people who know what you've been through, the people who know your strengths and weaknesses, the people who know your history and still choose to stay close. And I think about Debbie when I think about that. From the moment we met, she simply has been there, not in a flashy way and not in the way that draws attention to itself, just consistently, faithfully, over and over again, through good seasons, through difficult seasons, through losses that have changed us, through moments when showing up mattered more than having perfect words. And I think about Rachel and Mike, Kevin and Patricia, and the entire region family. And what strikes me isn't that they are perfect people, it's the way they keep showing up. When my dad passed away, I learned something I think many people eventually learn. In seasons of grief, you discover who your people are. Not because others don't care. Most people do care. But grief has a way of revealing who is willing to step into the hard places with you, who will sit in silence, who will carry practical burdens, who will pray when you don't know what to pray, who will keep checking on you long after everyone else has returned to normal life. And what I remember most from that season isn't one grand gesture, it's dozens of small ones. The texts, the phone calls, meals, conversations, hugs, presents. People quietly helping carry something that was too heavy to carry alone. And maybe that's one of the greatest gifts that God gives us. Not lives without hardship, not lives without grief, and not lives without struggle, but people. People who help carry what was never meant to be carried alone. People who remind us that strength isn't independence. Strength isn't pretending that we don't need anyone. Strength isn't carrying every burden by ourselves. Real strength often looks like allowing ourselves to be loved, allowing ourselves to be supported, allowing ourselves to lean on the people that God has placed around us. And if I'm honest, I think that's one of the greatest lessons that I've learned over the years. The strongest people I know aren't people who never need help. They're people who have learned how to give and receive it. They're people who understand that relationships aren't interruptions to life. They are part of the way that God sustains us through it. As I've thought about this episode, I realized that what we're talking about really isn't just friendship, at least not only friendship. We're talking about one of the ways that God cares for us. Because if I look back across the major chapters of my life, I can see his fingerprints everywhere. Not just in circumstances, not just in opportunities, not just in answered prayers, but through people. People who appeared at exactly the right time, people who understood things that others couldn't, people who offered wisdom when I needed direction, people who carried hope when I was struggling to find it myself, people who walked beside me when the road felt long. And the interesting thing is that they weren't always the same people. Some were here for a chapter, and some were here for several, and some became part of the foundation of my life, but all of them mattered, every single one. When I was younger, I think I viewed relationships. A little differently. I thought the goal was to keep everyone, to somehow preserve the friendship exactly as it was, to prevent change, to avoid endings, but life doesn't work that way. People move, families grow, careers change, children grow up, and responsibilities shift. Health changes, circumstances change, and sometimes relationships change too. The goal was never to keep every season from ending. The goal was to recognize the gift while it was happening, to be fully present in it, to love people well while they were a part of the story, and to receive what God is giving through that relationship. And then when necessary, to release it with gratitude instead of bitterness. I think that is one of the most freeing things that I've learned. Not every friendship that changes is a loss. Not every ending is a failure. Not every goodbye means something went wrong. Sometimes it simply means that that chapter is complete. And because of that, I can look back at relationships from different seasons of my life with gratitude instead of regret. I can appreciate what they gave. I can appreciate who they helped me to become, and I can appreciate the way that God used them, even if we no longer share daily life, even if our paths look different now. And at the same time, I can appreciate the people who continue to walk beside me, the people who have grown with me, the people who have seen multiple versions of me, the people who knew me before some of the biggest chapters and are still here after them. There's something incredibly beautiful about that kind of a relationship, because over time those relationships stop being built on circumstances and they become built on commitment, shared history, trust, love, faithfulness. And I think that's one of the reasons they begin to feel like family, not because blood makes family, because life does, because years of showing up does, because carrying others bur another's carrying one another's burdens does. Because celebrating one another's victories does. Because choosing each other over and over again absolutely does. And when we look around, when I look around at my life today, that's what I see. I see family. Some related by blood, some related by marriage, some related by friendship, some related by shared faith, some related simply by walking through enough life together that the distinction no longer matters very much. And honestly, I think that's one of God's kindest gifts. Not because, or not that we would have to walk the life alone, but that he would place people along the path, people who encourage us, challenge us, people who support us, who help to carry us when we can't carry ourselves, people who remind us who we are when we've forgotten, people that point us back to Christ, people who help us become who God created us to be. And maybe that's why relationships matter so much, because healing doesn't happen in isolation. Growth doesn't happen in isolation. Strength doesn't happen in isolation. Some of the most important things God does in our lives happen through people He places around us. And when we recognize that, it changes the way we view the relationships in our story. The ones that stayed, the ones that changed, the ones that lasted a season, and the ones that lasted a lifetime. All of them become reminders of God's faithfulness. All of them become evidence that we were never meant to walk this journey alone. As I've been reflecting on all of this, I found myself thinking less about the people who aren't here anymore and more about the people who are. Not because those past relationships don't matter, they absolutely do. But because sometimes we become so focused on what we've lost that we missed what we miss what we've been given. And maybe that's true in relationships too. Maybe there are people sitting at your table right now that you've become so accustomed to that you've stopped noticing what a gift they are. The friend who always answers the phone or the text in my case, because if you know me, you know me. The sibling who checks in, the spouse who keeps showing up, the church member who quietly prays for you, the coworker who encourages you, the neighbor who notices when you're struggling, the person who remembers your important dates, the person who asks how you're really doing and waits for the answer, the people who make life lighter simply because they're part of it. I think one of the dangers of adulthood is that we can become so busy managing life that we stop appreciating the people helping us to live it. We start assuming that they'll always be there. We postpone the phone call, we postpone the thank you, we postpone telling them what they mean to us. And then one day we realize how precious those relationships really are. Not because something happened, but because we finally stopped long enough to see them. The older I get, the more convinced I am that relationships are one of God's greatest gifts to us. Not perfect relationships, not always easy relationships, but real relationships, the kind built over years, the kind built through shared experiences, the kind built through showing up again and again and again. And if this episode reminded me of anything, it's that I don't want to take those people for granted. I want the people in my life to know that they're loved, I want them to know that they're appreciated, I want them to know that their presence matters, because every one of us is helping to carry someone else's story. And most of the time we don't even realize how much. As I think about, or as I was thinking about this episode, I kept coming back to a simple realization. None of the most important moments in my life were meant to be carried alone, not infertility, not adoption, not raising babies, not brain surgery, not special needs parenting, not grief, not ministry, not healing, not any of it. And yet, if I'm honest, there have been plenty of times when I've tried, plenty of times when I've convinced myself that strength meant handling things on my own, that needing people was a weakness, that asking for help was burdening others, that if I could just carry a little more, push a little harder, and need a little less, somehow I would be stronger. But the older I get, the more I think that that's backwards. Because from the very beginning of creation, God didn't design us for isolation. He designed us for relationship, for community. He designed us to need each other. Long before there were churches, long before there were ministries, and certainly long before there were podcasts, there were people. People created to live in relationship with God and with one another. People created to celebrate together, to grieve together, to grow together, to carry one another's burdens and to encourage one another, to remind one another of truth, to help one another keep going when the roads get difficult. And when I look back across my life, I can see that reality everywhere. I see it in the people who walked with us through infertility. I see it in the people who carried us through surgeries and health scares. I see it in the people who showed up when my father-in-law passed away, and I see it in the people that showed up when my dad passed away. I see it in my siblings, in-law, in my in-laws, in Lynn, in Debbie, in the people of region, in my husband, and the friends who became family. And I see it in people who only shared a chapter but still shaped the story. Every one of them left something behind. Every one of them helped carry a piece of the journey. Every one of them was part of God's provision. And maybe that's what I want you to think about today. Who are the people who helped carry your life, not just now, but across the whole story? The people who encouraged you, who challenged you, the people who prayed for you, the people who sat with you in grief, the people who have celebrated your victories, the people who pointed you back to Jesus, the people who helped you become who you are today. Some shared a season, some shared a life, and both are gifts. And maybe what maybe one of the best things we can simply do is recognize them. Thank God for them, and love the people who are sitting at your table today, because none of us are meant to walk this journey alone. And honestly, that's one of the things I love most about where life has brought me today. I don't need a stadium full of people, I don't need a mega church, I don't need everyone to know my name. But I am deeply grateful for the people that God has gathered around our table. The people who laugh with us, cry with us, pray with us, tease us, serve alongside us, and show up when life gets hard and celebrate when life is good. And if I'm honest, I think there's still room for a full a few more chairs. Not because of what what we have isn't enough, but because God's family always has a way of making room for one more. One more story, one more friendship, one more person looking for a place to belong. And maybe that's part of the beauty of community. The table keeps growing, the story keeps unfolding, and God keeps using people to help carry us home. This week I'd like to invite you to spend a little time thinking about the people who have helped carry your life. The people who shared a season, the people who shared your life, the people who encouraged you, challenged you, prayed for you, loved you, and helped shape who you became. Maybe make a list, maybe send a text, maybe write a note, maybe simply spend a few minutes thanking God for them. Because one of the easiest gifts to overlook is the gift of people who have been faithfully present. And if you'd like to explore this idea a little more deeply, I've created a companion guide called Who Helps Carry Your Life. Inside, you'll find reflection exercises designed to help you identify the people who have shaped your story, the relationships that helped you to grow, and the community that God has placed around you in this season. You can find that guide along with other resources, episodes, and devotionals at healerhopegiver.com. Friend, thank you for spending this time with me today. One of the things I love most about this podcast is that every week we're reminded of something important. Healing was never meant to happen alone. Whether we're talking about grief, identity, faith, health, relationships, or hope, God often works through people. And if you're listening today, I hope this episode reminds you that you're not meant to carry everything by yourself either. If this conversation encouraged you, I'd love for you to share it with someone who has helped carry a part of your story. Or maybe with someone who needs a reminder that their presence matters more than they realize. As always, thank you for being here. Thank you for allowing me to be a small part of your journey. And until next time, and if I'm honest, there are people missing from my table now. Some because of life carried us in different directions, some because seasons changed, some because they're no longer here. There are chairs that sit empty because the people who once occupied them are now with Jesus. I think about my father-in-law, I think about my dad, I think about people who helped shape my story and whose absence I still feel. And there are moments when that absence hurts. Moments when I wish for one more conversation, one more meal, one more story, one more ordinary day together. But somewhere along the way I've learned something beautiful. When I look around the table today, I don't just see who's absent, I see who's present. I see the people who continue to show up, the people who continue to love, the people who continue to carry and be carried. And instead of allowing those empty chairs to be the entire story, I've learned to be grateful for the chairs that are still full. For both matter. The grief matters, the gratitude matters. Somehow they can exist together. Take a moment to look around your table and notice the people that God has placed there. Thank Him for them, love them well, and remember, some people share a season and some people share a life. Both of those are gifts. I'll see you Thursday.