August, sweet August.
Julius Caesar got July. Augustus Caesar got August. But, we get something better: an invitation.
August is a threshold. Not quite summer, not quite fall. The air shifts. The light changes. Kids head back to school. Work picks up again. Everything feels like it’s moving, because it is.
It’s the in-between space.
One season giving way to the next. One chapter winding down as another begins. August is a turning point disguised as a calendar month.
And, like all turning points, it demands that we pay attention.
Because, this is the season when the seeds start to speak.
The crops don’t lie. Whatever was planted in the spring is showing itself now. Harvest doesn’t care about what we meant to plant. It reveals what we actually did.
Our actions, our disciplines, our prayers, our procrastinations, they all show up now. In the field, in the mirror, in the relationships that are growing or fading.
August teaches what every farmer knows: you can’t reap what you didn’t sow.
This is not about shame. It’s about ownership. About remembering the most empowering truth of all: we get to participate. We get to shape the future with our choices.
And, every day we’re planting something. A thought. A word. A small act of courage or neglect.
August asks: are you harvesting wheat or weeds?
The good news? If you don’t like the crop, there’s still time to change the seed. The next season is already forming. This moment isn’t just about gathering. It’s about preparing. Tilling the ground. Clearing what’s dead. Making space.
Because, here’s the secret most people miss: harvest is all about preparation.
This season is what allows us to begin again. To plant with more wisdom. To steward with more clarity. It’s a moment of reflection that becomes momentum.
But, only if we’re willing to pause and look.
August says: Take stock.
What’s working? What’s not? What feels alive? What feels overgrown, neglected, or worn out?
What promises have you kept? What priorities have you forgotten?
Where have you been faithful in the small things? Because that’s where the true fruit grows.
Quiet, steady, often unseen, until now.
We love to romanticize “new seasons” like they arrive magically. But, the reality is this: seasons don’t start with fireworks. They start with decisions. With choices no one else sees. With the daily cultivation of what matters most.
If July was a party, August is a reckoning. Not a harsh one, but an honest one.
We start asking different questions.
Not: What do I want?
But: What am I really building?
Not: How do I get more?
But: What am I responsible for?
Not: What’s next?
But: What’s mine to finish?
Because, before the next season can fully begin, we have to tend to the one we’re in. We have to close some loops. We have to name what’s ending. We have to harvest, intentionally.
That means celebrating what grew. Grieving what didn’t. And, giving thanks either way.
Because, gratitude isn’t just reserved for times of abundance. It’s what makes us trustworthy with more.
August is asking us to be faithful farmers. To stand in the middle of what’s become, and have the courage to see it clearly.
This is the work of maturity.
Immature folks look for shortcuts. They chase seasons. They ignore the weeds, then complain when the field goes bare.
The mature slow down. They notice. They name. They own their role in the process. And, they stay in the field long enough to know what’s needed next.
August gives us that chance. A holy moment between heat and harvest. Between what was and what could be.
So here’s the invitation:
Walk your field. Take a lap around your life. What’s blooming? What’s dying? What needs to be pulled out, cut back, or preserved?
Have the hard conversations. Celebrate the faithful ones. Let go of what you’re not meant to carry into fall.
And, then, with hands full of this season’s wisdom, begin to scatter new seed.
Because, September is coming. And, what you plant now will become what you live with later.
This is the rhythm. The law of the land. The sacred pattern built into everything.
Sow. Wait. Reap. Repeat.
August just makes it visible.
And, if you’re paying attention, you’ll see: transition isn’t a detour. It’s the doorway.
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Steve Knox | Carmel, CA
\\\ Thanks as always for reading. Give this one another read or two. Don’t forget to forward and share with your corner of the world. Here’s to reaping and sowing in season. Much love. Be honest. Be you.