Missing my church - Part II

So I miss my Vineyard. Or as my grandma calls it, "The Winery". She can never remember the name. And she is hard-core Catholic so she thinks we are a bunch of loons.

I know where this feeling of homesickness for my church started, and when. Last summer. That's when I met Cruz Estaban.

Because of the hurricane that hit here in the DC area the year before last, BGE had tree trimming crews out all over the area trimming back from the power lines. We had tree guys in our neighborhood for a few weeks. One day, I came home to find 11 or so Latino guys sitting in our front yard - under one squatty little tree - eating their lunch. It was 90+ degrees and I noticed that none of them had anything to drink. We had a bunch of pop (no "soda" for me, thanks) left over from a picnic the week before so Liam and I gathered it up and took it outside. Ha! You couldn't get much more "Vineyard" than giving away free pop (unless you clean toilets. But that wasn't an option.) Anyway, I'm not sure if the guys were more shocked by the free drinks or the fact that we were talking to them. We got a round of "Gracias" and then the crew leader came up. He asked, with a heavy accent, if I spoke Spanish. **Insert laughter here**

**Not only do I not speak Spanish, I dropped it three times at the University of Maryland. I considered it a gift from God when the university gave me a diploma without me having completed my language requirements. Now, being the honest person that I am, I took the diploma into the school office, told them they'd made a mistake and showed them my most recent transcripts. They thanked me for my honesty. Then proceeded to send me another diploma two weeks later. My knowledge of Spanish is limited to anything I've ever heard on Sesame Street or Dora. And "The Song of the Cucumber" by Veggie Tales. I can say "like butter on a bald monkey" with the most authentic accent imaginable.** Back to the post.

Anyway, the crew leader asked if I spoke Spanish and I had to reply that no, I didn't, silently cursing my collegiate self. He pointed to the American flag tangled up on itself outside the house -- tangled in just the right way so that it looked like the Puerto Rican flag. He had thought we shared a common language. Regardless of the language barrier, he introduced himself -- his name was Cruz. He gave me a business card for his landscaping service. He asked how old the boys were and said Liam was a very good boy. Then he thanked us again and he and the crew climbed back up into the trees.

The next day was just as hot as the day before, so late morning I took out some bottles of water in the cooler and a big pitcher of lemonade. I told Cruz that his guys could sit at the patio table under the umbrella in the shade of the house to eat if they wanted and ten minutes later the lemonade was gone. When I went out to get the pitcher to refill it, I was greeted with a few "Hola" and "Gracias" from the tree tops and some head nods or waves as well. We kept the water and lemonade flowing for the next few days as the crew worked up and down the street.

One morning I caught Cruz as they passed through the backyard from the school where they were parking the truck. I let him know that I was going to church to do some painting and that the guys could feel free to use the backyard for lunch. I had set out the cooler again and when it was empty, they could refill their water from the hose if they wanted. The word "church" seemed to strike a chord with him, and I ended up learning that he went to a Spanish speaking church in Annapolis, where he lived with his family which included boys Liam and Sean's age. The heavy accent and lack of language on both sides made the conversation hard, but he was very interested in where we went to church, what kind of church it was, what they taught. That's when it hit me.

I started to say, "My church has all kinds of things they do, and they do it in Spanish..." when I realized my church didn't have all of that. I realized that I had been taking in all of what the Vineyard had to teach about service and showing God's love in a practical way... and now felt like I was left alone with no way to further that small relationship that had started. I wanted to ask if Cruz's family needed anything. If they had good friends to help them in their walk with Christ. If they had a walk with Christ. If they missed their home. If they had a place here where they felt at home. But I was afraid of the answer. What if they did need a church home? Or resources for language classes? I had nothing. I didn't know where to point him, so I didn't ask.

I'm not faulting our current church here in Maryland for not being "The Vineyard". But I want to know what I'm supposed to do with these convictions that I carry. Like I admitted above, I have never been good with foreign languages. Never really had an interest in the Latin American culture. But lately, I feel like there is an invisible sub-culture that is largely ignored by many of us. The people who clean the floors where we shop, bus the tables where we dine, and trim the trees where we live... many of them have left their homes, their families, everything that is familiar to them. And have come here and live in many of the places that we don't think are good enough for us to raise our families.

For now, I smile and wave to Cruz and his tree guys when we see them in the neighborhood. I try to buy flowers from the guys at the intersection near our house when it's raining or snowing. They don't speak any English except "Five dollars" but I hope looking them in the eye while I say "Thank you" makes some little impact (and if it snows, I'm taking hot chocolate down there tomorrow!). My heart hurts that I feel so inadequate when there is so much need. And for more than stupid things like a "Thank you" or a wave or hot chocolate. But I don't know what else to do with it. So I'm still praying.