What’s Next?

March is truly a month of transition. All sorts of good things happen in March. Flocks of robins occupy the front yard, which is just beginning to green up. Daffodils, crocuses, and hyacinths lift cheery blooms of yellow and purple. Spring Peepers are heralding a change of season in a loud chorus of high-pitched croaks. The calendar tells us that Daylight Savings begins March 9th, and on the twentieth, we can kick winter to the curb and bring spring in the door.

As my friend, Carolyn, says, ‘It always snows on the daffodils.’

This colloquialism tells us that spring will conquer winter; hope will rise above despair; beauty will win over ugliness. Or maybe it means that winter is a grumpy miser that resents the sunshine.

“Snow on the daffodils” is the reason that March is my least favorite month of the year. Just when you think you can put away the sweaters, here comes another blast of winter. One day you’re enjoying a pink cascade of weeping cherry blossoms. The next, the blooms have all blown away and the neighbor’s trash litters your yard. The empty floral containers on my deck beg to be filled with fresh dirt and spring flowers; but wait! Snow flurries are in the forecast. The month of March hides the promise of spring deep in its coat pocket.

March is my least favorite month because it doesn’t live up to my expectations.

Isn’t that often the case with transitions? We tend to fix in our minds the way we think things should go, then when we’re living in the reality of the situation, we can feel disappointed. Change can be exhilarating. It can also be scary, confusing, even traumatic.

My first big transition happened when I was six years old, and our family moved to Mt. Airy from the flat region of North Carolina. We moved the day before school started, and as I recall, the moving van arrived after dark. Since there was no public kindergarten back then, I was starting first grade the next day, never having been in a classroom. I walked to school from a house I’d slept in one night, to a building I’d never seen before, with a teacher I’d never met, among kids who were strangers. And yet, I don’t remember it as a traumatic experience. Because the move had been presented to me as an adventure— Backyard playhouse! New friends! Mountains! Wintertime sledding! I  approached the change with a childlike expectancy of a good outcome.

Another life transition for most people is marriage. My friend, Melanie, says, “If God offered me another year of life but it had to be my first year of marriage, I’d tell Him, ‘That’s okay; I’m good.’” Perhaps you can relate.

Clyde and I married as soon as he graduated college and found a job.  For me, this meant transferring from a state university to a private college on a work-study grant. Think about what this meant– new husband, new town, first apartment, new school, first job that wasn’t fast food, not to mention laundry, cooking, and paying bills. Whatever picture I might have had of starry nights and mints on my pillow dissolved amid the reality of newlywed life. Determination got us through.

Fast forward a few decades through navigating parenthood and running a couple of businesses. We officially retired in January of 2020. That’s right, THAT year. Let’s pause for a lamentation of all our expectations for retired life. We expected retirement to give us more time for travel; gathering with people we love; volunteering; creative projects; joining a gym. We had plenty of time in 2020 to dodge the COVID virus and not much else. Now, five years later, our bodies are getting older, creakier, and sometimes downright cranky. We hold our expectations loosely these days.

A couple of days ago, as I was gingerly walking the dog through three inches of snow, I recalled carefree times in the past when playing in the snow was a delight. My favorite thing used to be walking through the woods behind our house, the falling snow creating a serene veil that blocked out all sound except the crunch of my boots in the snow. Back then, it never occurred to me that I could slip, land on my backside, and get hurt. Now as the dog and I navigate the snow, the wisdom that comes with this season of life keeps me watching my step.

Transitions. Every one of us will go through many in life. Some of us will have our high expectations dashed. Remember this: expectancy is not the same as expectations. With expectancy, we hold hands and hearts open for whatever goodness may come. Expectancy asks, ‘What’s next?’ with faith that whatever life brings us may not be what we pictured, but it can still be good.