Herradura, Cuba has a rich history in missions. It was the site of the Methodist missions training center in Cuba in the 50's. The land was donated by some American missionaries named Root. The center is being reestablished as you read this. There are approximately 30 American missionary graves in the local cemetery. God has not forgotten His great destiny for this small village.

Black beans and rice, yucca, sliced tomatoes, malanga, a bit of pork, sometimes.

You can taste the earth in these Cuban foods. Nothing from a can or freezer. The food still glows with the sunshine that grew it. Its simple and healthy, like it's people.

I hear the rock of a pressure cooker as it prepares tonight's portion of beans

An ox cart goes by being pulled by two giant beasts with ropes threaded through their noses. The cart is made from the corpse of an old military truck.

I hear the hogs begin to grunt as sundown approaches. They know its about time to receive their portions of leftover rice and beans. The ribs of these pigs tell you there hasn't been much left for them.

Someone bangs on a piece of metal with a hammer, forcing it into shape and use it was never intended for. They find a use for everything. Sometimes its comical. We would be embarrassed, they are not, just grateful. An interesting contraption drives by, is it a tricycle? No, its, a gasoline water pump converted into a three wheeled cart!

The pigs wish dinner would hurry.

Belching black smoke, a tractor chugs down the street with people stuck all over it like bugs, a strange family car.

A man rides by on a bicycle balancing a 20ft piece of metal like a trapeze act. He has found a treasure he can fashion into some useful gadget for his family. Cubans are intrigued with the latest electronic gizmos they see. They try to master them and pride themselves in knowing all about these things even if they're clueless. Cubans are simple people, but not ignorant or uneducated.

We ride the "Spider", a homemade horse cart to a village. Its a small place in the countryside. An old chapel has been reclaimed from invisibility. The chapel fell down in 1974 and the government would not let them rebuild it. Until now, they've rebuilt it anyway. A man named Luis speaks. He tells of when the government closed the church. They moved the services to his house. This could have cost him everything. Despite his 5'2" frame, this man is pillar. I'm honored to be in his presence. The pastor is a "campesino", a farmer, a country boy. A simple man that still thinks God can do anything. I try to share my heart for Cuba, I cry, I can't speak.

They live closer to the earth than we do. Their food is only one step removed from the soil. They reality of death and life are obvious to the Cuban. The pig must die for us to eat tomorrow. Perhaps the pigs are grunting, "Pick him, pick him, he's much fatter!" When God is worshipped He is worshipped as the giver of life. For us their is little cost to serve Jesus. For them, it may cost their jobs, their homes, their future, their lives.

We treat faith like a candy machine, just put in the rights words and out pops the candy. So often, we misuse the gifts of God for things that don't really matter. We rub the genie's lamp of faith expecting the latest Christian fad of blessing to come out like smoke. Luis saw the old foundation of the chapel in the village. Faith said, "Lets rebuild the church" and even in desperate poverty, up it grew.

These earthy people have a good handle on reality. They understand the impossibilities. They are not spiritual fantasizers but rather are people that hear the voice of God and simple believe that He can and will do what He says.

God has inspired me, by these Cuban believers, to not just believe Him, but to set out and start doing exploits for Him, even if every wind and voice is contrary.

Written in Herradura, Cuba
Jim Waldron