A Dios le pido

This morning I went to church with Mercedes. She attends a Catholic church right around the corner. She warned me that she attends the early service (10 a.m.), which is full of only old people. Los jovenes sleep in until the noon service.

After we sat down, the priest came over and told me, “You have the perfect face for reading the lecture today.” Mercedes’s protective mother instinct immediately kicked in, as she leaned in front of me and explained I would not be able to read out of the Spanish bible because I am “Americana.”  After he left, she told me he’s desperate for young people to read at the early service because the old people are hard to hear.

Anyways, church was very interesting. I listened to the Lord’s Prayer in español. It felt a lot like going to church with Aunt Dot in the mountains.. they took communion and kissed their neighbors good day.

The sermon was about the importance of family and building a stable home to come back to. I was reminded of how lucky I was to grow up in 6120 Pin Oak Lane as he preached on the necessity of having a place to feel safe and loved amidst the hardships of life.

Afterwards, we went back to the apartment to have coffee with four of her sisters. The sisters all come to church together on the first Sunday of every month to honor the memory of their parents, though two of the sisters and the brother weren't able to make it this week.

I absolutely loved sitting around with the sisters. They talk a hundred miles a minute, but I could still understand what was going on! It was easy because it was basically the same thing as when I hang out with my aunts – they talked about bargain hunting for things for their house, dieting, and what they did this weekend.

One very big difference though was the etiquette amongst the sisters. As we walked through Maria Jesus’s front door, Rosa bluntly said, “I really don’t like this lamp. They other one is pretty, but this is ugly.” I imagined how my mom would react if one of her sisters said that, and I actually laughed out loud.

When we were all leaving the building to go shopping, they turned around and said, “Where’s the fat one?” I was shocked that’s their nickname for their sister, but she took no offense. She is, in fact, the fattest one. Personally, I think Cheese and Kickstand are much better nicknames though.