Jun. 22nd, 2014

Trying to find a church that she fitted into had become one of Catalina's most important pre-occupations, especially since she had made the decision to marry Ciaran. They needed somewhere to wed that would support them, somewhere that would become their home with people who would become their family. They had come to this church last Sunday, although this morning Ciaran had been unwell and said he couldn't make it along. Catalina had sent her love and said she'd pray for a quick recovery from whatever cold had knocked him down.

She'd spoken with some of the other members of the congregation last week, but not many as she would have liked, and she had spoken in depth with the Father as well, explaining her search for a church in the area but not talking about her fall from grace. If he asked, however, she would not keep it from him.

This week as people gathered just outside after the service to chat with friends, Catalina stood a little awkwardly and smiled at anyone who met her eye. She wasn't sure where to even begin with a new church, not really. It had been hard enough coming to London in the first place and starting at a new one, and in truth she still missed so much of her church back in Chile. There were ways things were done, and words that were said, and just little differences in the running and worship that she felt she had lost. It wasn't big things, it never was, but it sometimes made her feel a sense of isolation just to be so far from the place where she had first fallen in love with God.

She held a cup of tea in her hand - most had tea or coffee or juice, a few moments to turn themselves from the world inside the church and back to the one outside - and she blew on it softly before taking a sip.

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