March

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The bulk of March slid in cold and gray. When the sun did flash, it felt like the gift it was, and we dropped the unimportant to throw open our arms and take it in. March also was, for us as for you, unlike any March we'd ever experienced. Worldwide quarantine is a once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon for which one cannot prepare and an experience for which one often feels unequal. To add to mental and emotional vertigo, this is the only time in history when a veritable ocean of data and information is a few darting fingers away, and the fruit of that easy access is not always good.

Still, regular rhythms hum under and through all the newer noise. Wind, rain, and sun; the first signs of winter giving way; the hope of birdsong and the faintest flush of red-bud maples against brown. God is the author of all. Within the maelstrom, He waits, a rock firm and steady.

So, as we did in March, we continue making messes and making weak attempts to clean them, playing board games by the dozen (upon dozen) with John, picking up long-neglected pens to draw cards for long-neglected people, taking walks, waving with more fervor than normal to neighbors driving by, and waiting, while we pray for those we know and love who work in hospitals, who are physically weak, and who may be worn down with fear and sorrow.

May your peace be in Him.


[Since I only took a fraction of the snapshots I just downloaded from the memory card, I've made the executive decision to steal some of Mildred's to plump up the month of March. Any snapshot with an asterisk (*) underneath is one I purloined from Mildred (which, since she purloined my camera, is only fair). And nearly all the pictures I took feature puppies. This will change in a few weeks when they, Lord willing, move along to new homes. Until then, Shotsnaps is Puppy City, all the time. There. You've been warned.]