Winter's Spring

Walking outside, I loosen my coat and scarf, take the extra blanket off the baby. The western wind buffets my face, and I breathe in the smell of spring. Wet ground, humid air, new grass. A smile spreads over my face as I breathe deeply and watch my child blink against the strength of the wind. And in a second, the smile is gone, replaced with concern.

It is January 31st in Chicago, Illinois. The wonderful 60 degree day began with bright sunshine, which has faded now. Even as I take joy in the warmth and the promise of spring, I am aware that this weather is wrong. A mild winter is one thing; snow one day and 60 degree weather a few days later is another. I'm not a scientist. It has been explained to me that global climate change isn't about "warming," exactly, but about greater energy in the atmosphere that results in greater temperature extremes. So while I praise God for the quick, gentle smile in my heart when reminded of spring, I also recognize that this reminder is coming too early this year, and it's likely that the weather will again become cold before spring comes again. The promise kept remains far off.

Today, I find that my concern about global climate change is different than the last time I thought about it. Instead of wanting to leave the earth "better for our children," some vague group of people I know little about, I find myself wanting to leave a legacy of hope for my child. I imagine her future in this world and wonder how her fair skin will fare under a hotter, seemingly brighter sun. I wonder what her lungs will breathe, and if her luck of being born into a middle-class, white, suburbanite family will significantly decrease her odds of getting asthma, or serious allergies, or environmental cancer. I wonder what I can do, should be doing, to protect this child in my care.

I've read that people often do nothing about environmental concerns because the task appears too large. Indeed, the task to leave a healthier, better planet looms large. Yet, small decisions make a difference too. I know that my baby will lift her head first, then push herself up on her arms, then crawl, then pull herself up on her feet, then take cautious steps, then run. Today, she's working on the crawling part -- frustrated that she goes nowhere, but I know she's building the muscles she needs to push up and move. Perhaps that is what God calls me to do today; not to run today, but to begin by lifting my head, looking around, noticing what small choices I can make that affect a healthier planet. Eat less meat (no, that's more like those first cautious steps -- I LOVE red meat). What about buying local? I can do this. I can buy organic. I can pray for strength and willingness to take the next steps, whatever they are. I gave up red meat for my child when I was pregnant, to ensure a healthy future for my baby. One day I'll cut back to give a healthy future to my adult child, I'm just not there yet. I'm not quite at the giving up my car part, yet, but I can be careful about how I drive. I'm not quite at pestering my elected officials about EPA rules and standards, but I will vote for people for whom climate change and a healthy environment are priorities. Tiny little muscle building exercises, so I can live into a better future for my child.

I breathe in the warm air, again, thankful for the reminder of spring. The promise of hope for the future, the promise of resurrection, of life. I hear God calling me into a future of hope and grace. I feel it on the wind. And, thankful for the reminder that I can do something. I must do something. The promise of hope, resurrection, life, grace remains unfulfilled. It is up to me, to us, to ensure that it comes to fruition. And all of this, only by God's grace.