‘In like a lion, out like a lamb.’ This is the folklore adage concerning weather in this month of March and is often cited in the Farmer’s Almanac. Growing up in Canada, March was one of those maddeningly unpredictable months. Cold winds, snowstorms, spring rains, mud everywhere, it was all possible in the span of thirty-one days. But which would we get? The only thing one could do was wait and see. Focusing on the magical 21st , the official launch of the spring season, was one way to cope with the in-between vagaries of this end-of-winter, debut-of-spring, month. While a Canadian March was never exactly what you would call warm, there would, infrequently, be those tantalizingly sunny, if biting cold, days which, in spite of yourself, would have you entertaining thoughts of balmy breezes, sandy beaches, relaxing vacations and, of course, renewing acquaintances with Mr. Harley & Mr. Davidson and friends.
Life, sometimes, contains jolts not unlike potholes in March (I just lost a wheel cover off my car as confirmation). Financial setbacks, disappointments, illnesses, deaths in the family, these are all unwelcome, too soon, often out-of-nowhere, intruders of peaceful rhythms, happy days, and hope-filled, future plans. Being creatures of habit, we can find these turbulent waters startling, unfair, grievous. But once the initial shock wears off, the “Why me? Why now?” demands have been made, we catch, ever so faintly at first, familiar strains of a love song that, surprisingly, is still playing, still wafting through our souls, still inviting. It’s continued throughout the storm having not taken a break, waiting patiently for our inner clamor to die down in order to restore order to our frazzled senses, our ragged, raw emotions, to once again be the lifter of our heads. March, after doling out is allotment of thirty-one days, is always obliged to cede to April. Spring always circles back to jump start new growth, another delicious maple syrup season, new blossomings of daffodils and crocus (croci?) and vibrant green shoots on trees, reaffirming the unfailing, unchanging goodness of our Father. Jesus, through tears, declared how often he, like a mother hen, had desired to gather Jerusalem under his wings to protect her from the coming storm. He still invites us into that same, safe, sheltering presence – till the storm passes by. PD
