The Church That Called Me Back

The road from our resort to the main highway became our daily routine. My 18-year-old daughter and I making trips for supplies, excursions, and errands during our week celebrating Abuela's 99th birthday. It wasn't a fast road, just a quiet stretch winding through Puerto Rico's neighborhoods, giving me plenty of time to notice details.

And there was one detail I couldn't ignore: an abandoned church tucked between homes, its weathered walls telling stories I couldn't quite read while driving toward the main highway.

I'd packed deliberately light for this trip. Just a Canon SL2 with just two lenses, the compact 24mm f/2.8 pancake lens and my reliable 50mm f/1.8. This was meant to be a vacation with my daughter, not a photography expedition. I wanted her to have fun exploring the island without getting bogged down while Dad disappeared behind a camera at every turn. Yet something about that church whispered to me each time we passed.

What drew me wasn't just the obvious decay or the tropical setting, though the palm tree standing sentinel beside those worn walls created a striking contrast. It was something deeper. There was something about the way the morning light caught the statue in its weathered shrine, how the building seemed to hold its dignity despite the peeling paint and time-stained concrete.

There was a story here, framed perfectly in those few seconds of highway speed glimpses. I wanted to capture whatever it was that made me slow down each day, that made my photographer's eye linger even when family obligations pulled me forward.

But this wasn't a photography trip. It was precious time with my daughter in a beautiful place. Every day brought new adventures we could share: beach time, local food discoveries, and those little vacation moments that become lifelong memories. How could I justify making her wait in the car while I chased some random photo opportunity?

Each morning I'd tell myself, "Tomorrow, maybe tomorrow I'll stop." But I also knew the parent-photographer dilemma all too well. My daughter was being incredibly patient with my occasional creative detours, but I didn't want to push it. This trip was about us, not my portfolio.

Then came the reality check: what if I never got another chance? What if the next storm knocked it down, or developers finally claimed the lot? The photographer in me recognized the brutal truth--beautiful decay doesn't wait for convenient timing, and neither do family vacations.

On our last morning, as we made that familiar drive one final time, something shifted. Maybe it was knowing I wouldn't pass this way again soon, or maybe the light was different. But when the church appeared around the bend, I didn't hesitate. I pulled over onto the quiet roadside.

"Just give me one minute," I told my daughter, already reaching for my camera. She nodded with the patience of someone who'd grown up with a photographer parent, settling back into her seat as I grabbed my camera for a quick shot.

The decision felt both impulsive and inevitable, like I'd been building toward this moment all week.

In those rushed sixty seconds, with my daughter waiting patiently in the car, I captured more than just two photos. I caught a glimpse of something that had been calling to me all week. The quiet dignity of a place touched by time, where sacred and secular coexisted in tropical harmony. The worn paint and weathered concrete weren't just decay. They were proof of endurance, of beauty that persists even when purpose has shifted.

Looking at these images now, I understand what my gut knew all along. This wasn't just about documenting an abandoned building. It was about honoring the moments that tug at us, even when we can't immediately explain why, and doing so without losing sight of what matters most.

Maybe that's my reason to come back. Not just for better photos or more time to explore, but to find that balance between following creative instincts and being present for the people who matter. Sometimes the best shots happen when you learn to capture beauty quickly, respectfully, and without making anyone wait too long in the car.

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Behind the Shot

• Canon EOS SL2 - Compact enough for travel without overwhelming vacation luggage, but discontinued (Refurbished)
• Canon EOS SL3 - Newer Version of the SL2, but still discontinued (Refurbished)
• Canon EOS R50 - Closest replacement to the SL Series, now mirrorless (New)
• Canon 24mm f/2.8 STM (Pancake) - Ultra-portable for quick family shots
• Canon 50mm f/1.8 STM (Nifty Fifty) - The lens that captured this moment with natural perspective

Sometimes the best photography happens when you travel light and stay ready for unexpected opportunities