Janice Crow

March 07 Reflections

Okay, I’ll admit it. March is just one of those months that it’s hard to write about. Except for the birthdays of two of my favorite people, my mom and my brother Don, it would be nearly uneventful. Apparently I’m not alone, for you don’t see many literary allusions to it, unless you count the vague Shakespearean reference to “the ides of March”. And when was the last time you heard a song about the joys or the beauty of March? I can’t think of a single one. Are there any March brides? You never hear of a March-December romance. There are cute little rhymes about other months. April showers bring May flowers. What does March bring?

There is no gift-giving commonly associated with March, and I suspect if it weren’t for St. Patrick and the wearin’ of the green, there would be little commercial impact whatsoever. There will be some, like Bruce and I, who will do a ceremonial viewing of Maureen O’Hara and John Wayne in “The Quiet Man”, and then spend a few days practicing a pathetic Irish accent. But other than that, March will barely register a ripple on the pond of emotion.

It seems to be just a stringer filling the gap between Valentines Day and Easter. The wind is harsh and the weather is unpredictable. Should I pack the sweaters away? Maybe. No, wait. Winter seems to drone on while spring teases us with an occasional fifty-ish day. Trees may bud only to be blanketed in snow a day later. I’m tired of the cold, gray skies and dead grass. I want to see daffodils and peonies. I want clear, blue skies and smooth sailin’. I just want winter to end and spring to take hold - now.

What’s going on anyway? Transition. Oooh, that’s a scary word. Slow, gradual, painstaking change. Nature is readying itself for the growing season. And although I want winter to end, change frightens me because then comes the stormy season.

Anyone that’s known me longer than a week knows I really don’t like change. I have a comfort zone and I don’t like it disturbed. I go to the same restaurant nearly everyday for lunch where the same waitresses know within two or three choices what I’ll have and how I’ll have it. They see me walking across the parking lot and go fill a glass with iced tea, plop a lemon in it, and take it to “my” table. When Bruce and I go to our favorite steak place, I can leave the room and he knows what to order for me right down to the croutons. One evening we were both surprised at our old Chinese restaurant when we were greeted by a smiling Oriental hostess who pointed first to Bruce and then to me and said, “Okay. You have Hunan chicken wit mushroom and exra bean sprout and you have Moo Goo Gai Pan and I-tea.” Were we that predictable? Apparently so.

I guess you could say patience is not a strong suit either. I’d rather drive five miles out of the way than sit two minutes in traffic. I want to keep moving. I’ll bob from one checkout line to the next to find the shortest line, only to be inevitably trapped between the price check in front of me and the screaming “I want some candy!” behind me. Please, Scotty, just beam me up. (But then even matter-energy transport takes time.)

I would never have made it on the farm with my mother. I would have planted the little seedlings and come back ten minutes later and said, “Okay, where’s my tomatoes?”, and then walk away muttering, “This farming stuff doesn’t work.”

Although I know patience is a virtue, I’ve never quite gotten there. I remember an evangelist coming to our church when I was younger. He asked how many of us would like mercy and we all dutifully raised our hands. He asked how many of us would like to be kind and we all raised our hands. He asked how many of us would like to have patience and we all raised our hands and then some, including me, quickly jerked them back down. It apparently occurred to us simultaneously that “tribulations worketh patience”, and I had all the tribulations I could stand at that time.

The Christian walk is all about change, patience, and growth. It’s about transition and process. Transition literally means passing over or passing through from one state to another. It’s not always easy. It can be uncomfortable, unpredictable and downright scary. We like our paths clearly marked. Had the Lord asked us like He did Abraham to leave our homeland for a place He would “show” us, we would say, “Nope. I want the itinerary. I’ll need to make reservations at the Dromedary Inn.” We would have missed the blessing God had in store down the road.

It takes patience to endure the process and become what we’re supposed to be. We can’t rush through the processes God has set in motion for us anymore than the butterfly can rush metamorphosis.

I think David would have liked to skip the part of his life where he continued to watch sheep after he was anointed to be king, and I’m certain he would have preferred to just ascend to the throne God promised him instead of continue to elude Saul. Joseph spent years in captivity when he was destined to be a ruler all along. Moses spent years on the back side of the desert when it was God’s intention to make him a deliverer. Why all the waiting? God has lessons planned for us along the way to teach us, strengthen us, and ultimately help us become the people He intended us to be.

The apostle said in 1 John 3:2, “Beloved, now we are the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be: but we know that, when he shall appear, we shall be like him; for we shall see him as he is.”

His intent is to complete us, to perfect us, if we will be patient. We are being transformed into His likeness and we have God’s promise that, “…he which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.”

I’m getting better about the whole issue of change and I’m still working on the patience thing, so if you hear me singing Joel Hemphill’s song, “He’s Still Working on Me”, don’t be surprised.

Wishing you joy for the journey. Happy Transit.
Janice “O’Crow” (Just one of the Illinois Irish)