My mind is now vacated. My Spanish is upgraded (or down-graded if you think Puerto Rican Spanish is a bit south of the King’s Spanish) and I found out that Ponce De Leon is buried, not in Ponce, as I thought, but in San Juan, in the cathedral, no less.
I didn’t tell you about my hope for this visit which was underlying all of the above: I prayed that Our Lord would reveal some aspect of His face to me there. It’s a prayer I often pray because I seem to be more impressionable when I am watching and listening.
I sought Him in churches and in the faces of those who knelt there.
I thought maybe he would show up while I prayed at quiet places outside and inside the hotels.
No, I didn’t see Him in either place.
I listened for Him in talk, the talk of those who were with me on this trip. My companions did not sound like Him, though they were for the most part kind and agreeable. I wonder if he passed by and I did not recognize Him. Maybe he spoke to me and I didn’t listen or even recognize his voice.
However, I did see something of Him when sparrows came and, like me, searched and twittered. They stayed awhile each day, moving around to catch my attention. Every once in a while they sang.