November 22, 2011

I had a unique experience yesterday.

I headed off to do a couple of errands sans kids.

My first stop was church.

I was looking for candles for my advent table display and I wanted to sign my Nana's name in the Book of the Deceased.

As I approached the sidewalk, I crossed paths with a man carrying a missal and a rosary.

Even though I've made great strides since things happened at school, being alone with unfamiliar people is still scary to me. 

But I was at church. . .I had spent the weekend in great debate about the Catholic church community and their welcoming arms or lack thereof according to my husband.

I needed to be different.

I made it a point to smile.

He said, "Como estas?"

I responded, "Muy bien, y tu?

(This is my most basic conversation Spanish.)

In the text books, his response should have been, "Asi, asi."

However, in this real conversation with a real person--I understood "mal" and "triste."

He was bad and sad. . .and he kept talking, FAST.

"Despacio, por favor. . .mi Espanol es no bueno."

He smiled in spite of his sad eyes.

Our conversation continued and he struggled to find words in English when I couldn't understand.

All that I knew for sure was that he was a man in need.

He was spending his time in the chapel open twenty-four hours a day, praying his devotions, praying the rosary--all by memory. 

His prayers were so constant he had memorized every word.

Besides my listening ear, I could only give him the twenty dollars I had in my wallet.

He asked my name, had me write it down and then he did the one thing he could do in return for me.

He prayed.
 We walked towards the church together.

Here I ran into the priest who had married us.

He has had the most special place in my heart since my grade school years.

He made a comment about the beauty of the gospel in action.

Me.

Me?
Me, in spite of my initial fear.
I smiled and told Father about my time off of work and what had happened.

"You should have called me."

I cry as I write this because he is right.

I should have.  

In my deepest, most fearful place--I didn't turn to my church for help.  

Some days I didn't even turn to God.

I appreciate the time this priest took to listen to me, the wisdom he imparted, and the prayers I know he will say for me.

Our conversation was interrupted by this most grateful man, Geraldo again.

I struggled to understand this new request. 

He wanted me to translate for him in the office to get a change of shoes and pants.
Me.
Yes, me.

 I hugged Father good bye and headed into the church office with him to find someone who could help us. 

As I struggled to relay this man's needs to the secretary. . .he kept talking and pointing to the church and I wasn't sure what he was saying...at all.

Then in walks a God send--The U.P.S. man.

I asked him if he spoke Spanish and HE DID!!!!

He told us Geraldo didn't want to go through the bags of clothes in the back of the church without permission.

Somehow, language barrier and all we were able to get this man what he needed.
Love speaks the same language.

God in action.

Gospel at work.

All it takes sometimes is a listening ear, an open heart.

Might I ask you to pray for Geraldo who has hit some hard times.

22.  Today I am thankful for my church . 

P.S.  Although I forgot about my original mission to sign my Nana's name in the book--I went by at eight pm. and was able to do so then.  
Geraldo wasn't there.
Love speaks the same language. Always...