Continued from last post:
The microbus was not allowed to actually get into San Juan del Sur. So we had to get all our stuff out in the burning heat of the day and walk six blocks. So we did. Backpacks, daypacks, guitars, food – everything. And mind you, we still didn’t have a place to stay. We checked hostel after hostel, trying to find an available one in our budget. I forgot to mention that prices are doubled during Holy Week. We came up with nothing. We split into groups, having no place to lay our bags, and went around town. It reminded me of Mary and Joseph finding no room at the inn.
I was laying my head upon my day bag, my entire body aching and thirsty, praying, when someone said, “You look like you’re ready to take a nap.” I looked up, and a middle-aged lady was standing there with a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other. I mumbled something and she said something in Spanish and then she asked which language we spoke and we said both. She spoke with my companion for awhile and we found out that she was currently a local but originally from Canada – which I knew would excite Katrina. She asked us if we needed help. Then, she took a couple people around the corner to ask about some hostels in our budget. Ten minutes later, Ryan came back to say she found us a hostel only slightly over our budget. Well, I heard that once we set our stuff in the rooms, the hostel owner raised the price even more. I was slightly irritated but too tired to argue. The ones who were present for this were understandably quite a bit more angry. But we took the rooms anyway.
Then, the Canadian lady showed us around the town and took us to a taco shop to eat. Well, after we paid we find out that they were out of tacos. So we went to this gyro shop and ate. She left us there and said she knew where to find us if we needed anything.
When we got back to the hostel, the owner said that the prices would be cut in half the next day, which was Easter. That made us feel better about staying there. Ryan struck up a conversation with her even though she had cheated us, and invited her to coffee and church the next morning. She said yes.
Easter Sunday, (He is risen!) we took the lady to coffee. Ryan paid because Ryan is awesome. Then we walked to the nearest church, which happened to be Catholic. The owner had asked us what denomination we were, and we had just said Christian. There is a big correlation in Central America with denominations and legalism or disunity, especially between evangelical faiths and the Catholic faith. So we don’t really advertise our denominations that much.
It was a beautiful service, and I found myself agreeing a lot with what the preacher (bishop?) said. Then, the owner’s daughter happened to live across the street from the church, and it happened to be her 22nd birthday. So we went over to wish her happy birthday, have a conversation, and sing to her. She asked me some complicated things about what our mission was for. I got that question a lot in the states and didn’t have a good answer. So I said something about showing the love of God to people wherever we went and serving them in any way I can. I felt stupid. I don’t know. I don’t think she was satisfied. And she was the second person to ask us if we were Jehovah’s witnesses. Anyway, we prayed over her for her birthday. The last time we prayed for someone, they cried. Not so here. But she seemed grateful.
Something that struck me during this exchange: people are supposed to know that we are Christians by our love, but love is hard and I think that people–like me–have trouble showing it. Especially because I am ridiculously shy and would prefer to stay in my comfort zone rather than leave it and sacrifice for the sake of others. What does love look like? What do daily decisions look like to put other people ahead of yourself? And if I don’t know, should I be studying and spending time with Christ more often?
Food for thought.
