Dear March

You came in like a flood.

A flood of sunshine, a flood of pollen, and a flood of new things.

Out with the old – Downton Abbey season finale tears were innumerable. What an honest-to-goodness great show.

In with the new – like running 5ks in tutus on Saturday mornings and laughing over every little thing.

Then spring came early because Groundhogs know best and allergies hit with full knock-me-down force. But sunshine, even with yellow breezes, is hard to resist.

Tiny mountain bridges became afternoon resting places, paired with cupcakes and sandwiches and donuts and best pals. Soundtracks to spring rooted themselves in throwback dance parties and the crooning of Frank and Ella, Nat and Louis.

We pushed boundaries waiting for God to show up in that little 246 space, afraid as we walked the last little wire that He’d be late, our nerves frayed and spent.
But lessons on Lazarus: He is never late, but He is never early. He is always perfectly on time. 

So they came, this little Esangalo, joy, and sang their hearts out for God before us. And my people, the ones that have been anchors in the midst of every ocean wave in the last 3 years, were prayed for and surrounded and loved into this next season of preparation and transition and Uganda. What a wild honor that was, to just pray for my people.

Mid month, the ides, I realized God’s sense of humor: tiny little mouse terrorizing my room like it’s Disney World, the one place I wanted to go so badly this year, ears and all.

March, you reminded me how much of a gift it is to celebrate great people in extravagant ways, especially on their birthdays. There’s joy in wearing green socks and weekends spent dressing up in twirly dresses and heels and red lipstick. Joy in chasing dreams and making bucket lists. Joy in first trips to Krispy Kreme and counting jokes in a friendship. Joy in finding God winks and grace notes in the smallest moments, no accidents, no coincidences. Loved, accepted, complete, known by the One who sweeps us off our feet and carries us when we think we’re spent. Joy in talking about that love – that faithful love. 

And at the end of it all, those Hosanna days and good Fridays and the sun’s rising on Easter Sunday like clockwork, continual promise, continual reminder, because we are so forgetful. He pursues us.

Two months into this new little basement world of mine, I hung pictures on the wall. March boldness. Settling into a place. And finally jumping into essential oils – y’all, this is the thing. I was already sold, but now I am so deep in how these things work that I can’t even. I sleep better, I breathe better, all the things. I.love.oils.

March taught me how way-too-easy it is to power through a pint of ice cream and that praying for something, but not nurturing opportunities for God to answer those prayers, is still living in fear and distrust of who He is and who I am in Him. So, call me an opportunity nurturer, a risk taker, because I know He will answer.

And

On the cusp of April, one of my favorite months of the year, I am full of anticipation. For fireside chats and the sound of baseballs hitting gloves. For Thursday afternoon sandwiches and group dinners. For one of my best ladies to possibly be back in this Roman home I love so dearly and for God to continue radically moving me, shaping me, in this great wide plan of His.

This time last year, I left my mountain home for something that felt like a mistake four months later on a Monday morning. But God is in the business of redemption and, though I never could have seen it 8 months ago, I am exactly where I should be.

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