I go to a Spanish group on Monday nights. We're an informal group, grown by word of mouth. People who want to practice speaking Spanish gather for dinner and conversation.
I'm part of the single largest contingent within the group (thanks to my friend Nancy whom I've mentioned earlier): Nancy, me, our pastor, and a lady who grew up in Mexico. Maggie is a very patient teacher with all our mistakes and mispronunciations. Students, teachers, and tourists round out the group.
Last Monday, Maggie insisted I tell her the story of my novella, The Face of Mary "en Español": La Cara de Maria. So by the time I arrived at the restaurant, my Spanish pump was primed. We chatter, loudly, enthusiastically, full of laughter and humor, with lots of appeals to a dictionary or to Maggie. We sense the people around us listening to our conversation. We have to remember to switch back to English for the staff, none of whom speak Spanish.
By the time we depart, we are in Spanish mode and only slow slip back into English. For a few short hours, I leave Oklahoma City behind and travel in my mind and heart to Mexico.
This week my poor critique partner made the mistake of choosing a Mexican character. She knows French, but her knowledge of Spanish is about the same as my level of French: next to nothing. For instance, she gave Patrillo a nickname of "Trill." I said, "His name would be pronounced pah-TREE-yo." And so on.
Occasionally we hear rumors of heaven the same way. We visit among people where we catch a glimpse of the sounds and images and feelings of heaven. We have a "mountain top" experience.
When we return to the real world--let's hold on to those echoes of heaven in our hearts.
You have until Tuesday night to leave a comment for the August book drawings: it looks like I will be giving away five of my books as well as one copy of Surrender the Heart by MaryLu Tyndall. Leave a comment on any or all of the posts during August to increase your chances to win. A new drawing begins on September 1.