I did go to church on Sunday, just not the one I hoped to attend. Instead of locating the Iglesia Presbiteriana Reformada, that I dutifully hunted for over a half hour (after walking more than an hour), I went to another church; nameless, it would seem, other than the fact it was evangélica. As I walked in squares looking for a certain street, having followed people's directions which led me various ways, I passed by this church a few times. When I say church, you may envision a church building, perhaps even a steeple of sorts, but forget that image. This was just a doorway on the average city block here, located in a rather run down part of town, and nearly identical to the many stores next to it. The door was propped open, with people greeting each other as they entered. I heard a guitar playing and singing inside. I was pretty discouraged by this point of the morning, as well as exhausted, and I decided that there was no way I was going to spend over three hours walking Sunday morning for no reason. So, after giving up on the first church, I walked back for the third or fourth time, asked a woman near the door if the service was over (almost hoping it was so I could just give up on the day and feel justified) but she told me it hadn't begun yet. Well then. I walked right in.

I did not allow myself time to worry--nor did Lupe: this cheery, kind woman walked up to me immediately, said ¡hola hermana! (hello sister!) and kissed me on both cheeks, the usual Spanish greeting. Little did I know I would soon be smothered in kisses and welcoming love. Though feeling--and looking--rather out of place, I quickly grew more comfortable as people came up and greeted me. I just stood by Lupe and let them come, observing the small room with a small platform and simple pulpit, several rows of chairs and little kids scampering about before they noticed me and stared. People kept coming at me, so I did my best to forget my exhaustion (because of my rather un-wise life choice the night before) stumble through some sentences explaining why I was there, how I got lost, had wanted to find a different church, but decided to come to theirs, yes I speak Spanish, no I'm a student, I'll be here for four months, etc.

I was flooded with Dios te bendiga's and besos and one woman greeted me, introduced herself and then announced she was Mexican. The next told me her name, that she was Puerto Rican (I find it intriguing that their non-Spanish nationality was the second fact to share about themselves) and then after a minute of chatting, asked me if I spoke English. I said I did, and to my surprise, she responded, "So do I." Whoa! Apparently, she and her husband are from Puerto Rico and moved to Orlando FL. Then they lived on the Canary Islands for a year as missionaries and have now transferred their mission work to assisting this church. It was nice to speak with her, yet confusing when someone would come up and address me in Spanish while we were speaking: my already scrambled brain was a bit overwhelmed. At least I have a connection with someone here who can help me with any troubles bridging the cultural gap and frequent misunderstandings between the American and Spanish life. I'm not sure I'll need her for that, thankfully I find myself getting along quite easily (I think I have my Costa Rica experience to thank) but I know some friends of mine here who might benefit from her counsel. It appears getting lost was a blessing! The metro station happened to be on the way to Lupe's house so after the three-hour church service ended, I was heading home alone on the metro, happy, hungry and tired.

I plan to stay in contact with Lupe and Evelyn, the puertorriqueña and others, but I am still determined to find that church.