Wherein I am helped by Jehovah's Witnesses

I'm a big ball of joy right now.
After I went through the pinball machine-like journey of grabbing the Metro from the airport, then catching the Cercania (regional rail train) to Alcalá plus a wonderful jaunt through old neighborhoods, some communication with my host wasn't clear and I ended up waiting in the lobby of my soon-to-be apartment building. I asked an elderly lady and her granddaughter if they'd send a text to my host. Praise the Lord, this solved the communication issue and in half an hour I was in my piso. But during that half hour (they were kind enough to wait with me), I found that they were Jehovah's Witnesses, canvassing the neighborhood. I wish I could've added more to the discussion, but we talked about the person/divinity of Jesus. As is customary, they left me with some tracts. Please pray for these kind yet lost ladies, Brigida and Sarai.

One of the weirdest things about being back is what I've forgotten - whether language or cultural nuances. I can understand and make myself understood, but my pride jabs me because I keep forgetting details. God's been teaching me a lot in the past few hours - and the people I've spoken to have given me grace (even if I can tell they're amused by my grammatical fumblings!).

My roomie in the piso is named Sophie. She's Hungarian and here studying for a semester, then working in Madrid. The only way we can communicate is in Spanish, so it's great practice for us!

I'm so incredibly thankful for how the Lord has allowed me to return to Spain, if just for a week. All praise to Him.