*Written by Fidgit*

She was what made me acknowledge that we needed to go home. It wasn’t quite time yet but this was the moment I acknowledged that it would have to happen.

We had already begun team discussions about precautions and concerns in light of the virus sweeping our population.

• Safety of those we meet
• Possibility of civil unrest, fear, and resulting violence/nationalist sentiments
• Resource shortages

We were weary from reasoning and not inclined to succumb to the fear which invited us to stay in our hotel room, fretting at our phones and biting our nails. So Neon and I wandered out to explore Zacatecas.

We ambled through the main cathedral where I explained to Neon what I understood of the stations of the cross. We began to head back toward the hotel, discussing our growing to-do lists and security plans. We both acknowledged we weren’t prepared to leave the trail yet. We needed to be sure we had truly tried everything we could to preserve the integrity of the undertaking, without putting ourselves and others at risk. At this point we were discussing a “thread the needle” maneuver by which we could miss the first round of pandemonium in the US and also get out before it set in in Mexico. We were weighing logistics and guesstimating time windows.

Our minds being consumed in conversation, my feet led the way. They turned us up an alley and out onto a triangular plaza. The awkward angle of the ground and the warmth of the sun on the baroque portico of the Parish of Santo Domingo in mid-morning caught our attention.  It had been built in a mere 3 years by the Jesuits and subsequently closed down when they were expelled. Then occupied by the Dominican order.  We decided to wander in.

Inside, the chapel was cool. Narrow wooden floorboards creaked under every slow step. The walls were eight retablos, religious carvings of wood gilded in gold foil. The main one dedicated to the Virgin of Guadalupe, the image of which has become a national symbol of Mexico.

The story goes (per Britannica):

Mary appeared twice to Juan Diego, an Aztec converted to Christianity. The first time she requested that a shrine to her be built on the spot where she appeared, Tepeyac Hill. When Juan relayed this to the Bishop, the bishop demanded a sign before he would approve construction of a church. Mary appeared a second time to Juan Diego and ordered him to collect roses. In a second audience with the bishop, Juan Diego opened his cloak, letting dozens of roses fall to the floor and revealing the image of Mary imprinted on the inside of the cloak—the image that is now venerated in the Basilica of Guadalupe.

I dropped into one of the pews and stared into the chancel. Neon came to sit beside me. For a time, we simply sat. Taking a moment as everything, world events and our thoughts alike swirled and rushed around and through us. One of those moments when you physically feel how fast the world is spinning and the best you can do is hold on. We both knew things were about to change and we would have to take uncomfortable and disruptive action. But when? How? Would it be too much? Would it be enough? I let the worries flit past, departing as quickly as they came.

She hobbled in to this eddy and stood a few feet in front of us. She is maybe all of four feet tall. Has a grand total of four teeth. Long, thick, straight hair with streaks of glorious gray. She was the human embodiment of Grandmother Willow from Pocahontas. I wondered whether she was homeless and was about to ask for alms.

“It pleases me deeply to greet you and welcome you to our illustrious city,” I was awestruck at her formality, “that you be committed to caring for your souls that you bring them here gives me joy and I wish you well. You have come to the right place to pray,” she nods at the space around us. She went on to tell us a bit of history of the building, then excused herself, saying, “I don’t work here, I just volunteer. I’d better go see what they need me to do today,” she bowed and shuffled off.

Amidst the barrel vaulted ceiling, walls coated in gold, sacred relics… it could have been all the riches in the world for all I cared, she stood out as the most beautiful, sacred, and glorious creation.
I loved her.
I would do whatever I could to protect her.
So she could keep showing up to volunteer.
Until the day she was called to show up before her God.
To shuffle through the gates of eternity and say, “what do you need me to do today?”