Romero

When I was 22, I was not young enough to think I could change the world.

But I was young enough to think I could at least help it.

And so I flew off to the other side of the country to live in a house with seven other people and eat off mismatched plates and rock tired babies to sleep while their mothers fought for a better life. The others gave clean socks to people who were homeless and stocked the pantries of those who were hungry.

The name of our house – a Jesuit Volunteer Corps House – was Romero, after the man who was shot as he said the mass. Died as he gave bread to eat.

Oscar Romero becomes a saint today. A saint who, with his time on earth, built a better world for those he served. A future that he never lived to see.

Last week, I got drunk in the middle of the day.

Not on whiskey, mind you. That buzz would come later as I fought off a cough and my husband wisely suggested a hot toddy.

I was drunk on the glorious ness of fall. In October, there is such a short window where everything is positively exquisite. The air is refreshing, a sweater is sufficient, and the trees practically erupt in color.

I spent the day glancing out the window whenever I could. It wasn’t a particularly good day, either. The baby wouldn’t take her morning nap, or her afternoon nap. I was sick. But the sheer beauty of the world filled me with joy.

We have ten years to solve climate change, they say. Ten years to dramatically turn our world around. My oldest is nearly six years old and I have barely caught my breath from him being born. He held my hand when we walked home from school that day. He won’t do that in ten years.

Ten years is another lifetime away. Ten years is tomorrow.

As much as I love autumn, it fills me almost with a sense of panic. I feel the need appreciate every moment before it fades and we are plunged into winter. The beauty is a reminder of the long cold days ahead. This reminder pushes me outside in attempt to store away all the waning sunlight before the frost.

I don’t want to look back in ten years and wonder if I could have done more.

I didn’t live in that house very long. I became less concerned about helping the world and more concerned about making sure my own babies got enough sleep and what the hell was that weird stain on my carpet. (Truth: I’m not that concerned about my carpet stains).

It seemed so easy then, that maybe if we all just tried a little harder the world would be a better place. Turns out it’ll take more than that.

But, you know.

Might as well try.