I saw God in the eyes of a Mayan woman

Yesterday I went to the Catholic church to think. I was tired of walking around town and wanted to sit somewhere peaceful, somewhere besides the Internet Cafe or Norm´s casita and the church is the most beautiful place in all of Comalapa, the pale yellow exterior walls, with a poor mans version of repoussee plaster painted white adorning the walls. Comalapa has beautiful churches unlike many of the churches of the north which are an attempt at a mission style front reminiscent of the Alamo in San Antonio. The interior walls had been freshly whitewashed and the pews, sturdy and stained dark cherry, were the perfect contrast to the starkness of the room. I looked up and noticed a raised wooden plank ceiling that matched the stain and gloss of the pews and clerestory windows nesteled underneath it. I made my way in past the Mayan women sweeping the entry way and took my seat about nine rows from the front. I sat and stared for what might have been ten minutes at this rather large angel surrounded by paper mache at the front of the church. She wasn´t the Virgin Mary or of Guadalupe, she was just an angel, standing there surrounded by rings of red tissue paper roses, which reminded me how my sister always whispers "Sleep with the Angels" as she closes my nephews door before he falls asleep. In the church the people were scurrying about pulling out of the vases near dead flowers and replacing them with fresh pale pink, peach and yellow gladiolas. The flowers I assumed served as decoration because as far as I could tell they were placed next to the Santos grouped in clusters around the walls. Some of the Santos had been placed carefully in nichos behind lock and key, some of them in small portals, others resting against walls or raised on tables. Their faces tarnished and chipped from years of being removed from their cases and carried through religious processions and a myriad of other pagan celebrations. I envisioned them one day being replaced by newer versions and retiring to a store not unlike Cierras in Austin. I imagined them with toe tags that read $1000.00 to be taken off after finding their way to some urban cowboys ranch house, placed among the other treasures, sitting on clean terracotta tile floors, keeping watch over empty sofas and sturdy wooden tables adorned with expensive coffee table books of the wild west or Frida Kahlo's artwork. After sitting a while and enjoying the peace within this welcoming sanctuary I began to walk around to find a Santos that I could light a candle for my grandfather under (a ritual started by my sister while traveling through Europe and visiting many Catholic churches). As I started walking around I began thinking about a book I recently read and about my family. I watched as women came in, often with children, picked their patron saint du jour and knelt bowing their heads in silence. I enjoyed the ritual I was witnessing, one I had witnessed so many times at St. Anthony's church, the rosary, the kneeling, the cross, head to heart shoulder to shoulder. I found comfort in the ritual, I have seen it done so many times, it reminded me of being a child, of watching Italian and Spanish soccer, American football, hearing the Pope speak, weddings, funerals, baptisms, confirmations. I finally found a portal that had three very large Santos placed behind finger-smudged glass. They were all three women, and I always find myself pulled to the female saints. A few candles were burning on the iron table placed in front of the glass, yet this room was different, around the candles were rose petals torn from their stem and scattered about, hot pinks and reds, colors that had a delicious contrast next to the yellow candles burning in this dimly lit room. I decided I had found the room. As I walked closer I noticed a woman in the room, kneeling and praying in the corner, her Mayan shawl draped over her head and body. I decided to give her time so I continued walking around admiring the Santos, their size, their humble faces, their contemplative gaze carved for eternity. I noticed how the light floated in from the clerestory windows bathing the room in a warm glow. I suddenly noticed something that I had not paid any attention to before, as I looked down I almost tripped over the rudimentary boxes placed on the floor. These wooden boxes with a slit big enough for a coin were siting next to many of the saints, some had a lock that could easily be opened with the force of ones hand and some only had a latch guarded by the Saint who's feet they accompanied, I leaned over and dropped in the three quetzales I had in my pocket. Wondering if the woman was finished I walked back to the portal I had choosen earlier, the woman was now standing and about to walk out, she gathered her things, called to her daughter, and as she turned she looked at me and I saw that her eyes were filled with tears. I wondered briefly what must be going on in her head and realized that she was doing the same as I was, she was looking for clarity, answers, help with decisions that sometimes seem to big to make.