"When it's springtime in Alaska, it's forty-below." That's not quite how it is here. March is the odd month running warm and cold. We have icy mornings and melting afternoons. The days are getting longer than the nights and Easter is closer this year than ever! I guess we really can't call March springtime, but I do think spring quite a lot these days, and there are signs appearing.
For those of us who can't wait for the crocus, and tulips to emerge from the snow, we buy daffodils at the local grocery store. The idea is to buy them tightly closed with their "brown paper wrappers" still intact. It takes them about a day to come into full bloom and then you have the sunshine yellow and smell of spring right at your desk for several days! O joy! This makes me love those little trumpeters of spring....my favorite flower of March!
Pot holes are also a sure sign of spring. The thawing and freezing reeks havoc with our streets! The road to where my children attend school crumbled this month. Yes, crumbled would be the correct term. Small breaks in the pavement soon joined with other breaks and quickly became "Pot Hole Heaven", a name so dubbed by the morning radio DJs. It's been rumored that some of these pot holes have no bottoms...and neither do the cars who have dared not slow down for them!
My son TJ recently uttered these words of wisdom to his impatient mother who accused him of wasting her time: "Time is only a measurement for growth or decay, nothing more." I have to admit, it made me think. It seems the changing of seasons makes this even more real. Not only the seasons made evident by the tilt of the earth to the sun, the dirtiness of my car or even the grass beginning to show, brown as it is, along side the roads, but in the people I know as well. Just this week I have had sad news of three, no, four people I know or are acquainted with who have passed away. One elderly gentleman was the Rev. Harold Kennedy, who was for many years my pastor. He watched me grow up on church pews, heard me plunk away at hymns and learn to play choruses by ear, he performed my wedding and dedicated my babies. Another link to my childhood laid to rest. Decay. A measurement of time. Also this month we had news a new baby girl, born to my daughter's friend. A new little bundle of spring (I voted for the name Daffodil, it was vetoed). My little grandson, Julian, has new teeth and is beginning to reach for teethers, blankies and hair! Sure signs of life continuing as it should. Growth. A measurement of time.
In my endeavor to stay as "young" as possible heath wise, I try to keep a positive and "young" outlook on life. As time inevitably passes, I try to avoid the pot holes and smell the daffodils, and yet I realize both are a part of that growth and decay that marks the passing of time. The Apostle Paul makes the comment "...We never give up. Though our bodies are dying, our spirits are being renewed every day." With the passing of time, my daffodils will surrender to decay, as did the road, and try as I may, my body is slowing losing the battle (Ouch! My ankle hurts), but my spirit can experience everlasting spring when I "fix my gaze on things that cannot be seen. For the things we see now will soon be gone, but the things we cannot see will last forever." 2 Corinthians 4:16, 18 NLT
