remind me your name. . .

We hadn't visited the church in Cuautempan in 20 year. I  peeked in the window of the church building on Thursday, market day- just a peek into an empty building.

We returned to Cuautempan on Sunday. I wondered if the real church would be there in the building? Would there be preaching from the Bible and true worship? Would people remember us, would my Spanish work, would I feel awkward?
And from the start Adolfo and Angela greeted us, then Juan and Maria with 3 daughters, grown up . . .an entire generation grows up in 20 years.
"Brother, I know your face, remind me your name!" I asked a tall young man..
"Don't you remember my name?  just like my father's," he smiled .
"Ahh, Adolfito, of course." I said.
Men and women  sit on short benches on separate sides of the church-still; Naomi, Selma and I slid onto the bench with Felicites and she shared her hymnal and huge Bible.
The teaching was true to God's Word, the worship sweet and earnest. . .I didn't remember such lovely singing.
Felicites requested the hymn  Bienvendos (Welcome).  She held my hand and cried.  Then I cried.
Afterwards there were lots more greetings and embraces and invitations for meals. And there were stories.
I know your face, remind me your name. . .