By Kiran Sigmon

We have a partner church in Camaguey, Cuba. The pastor is my friend. She is in her sixties, a mother and grandmother, and a retired school teacher. I am in my forties, a mother of two young girls, and a medical doctor with eager yet unpolished Spanish. She speaks faster than any person in Cuba that I have met. I have a tendency to put my foot in my mouth on a regular basis while I am around her. We lean close and whisper sometimes, like sisters. “She is just like me” I think to myself.

I am ashamed to admit how little I knew about Cuba. Yet never before have I felt God within and around me as I have during my time there. I like the fact that I learned much of Cuba’s history from the adults and children I talked to while I was there. I like that I learned about their heroes from them and about their important historical dates by seeing them painted on rocks on the side of the highway. Ashamed? Yes I was, more than once on my trips there. Fearful? Never.

I like the fact that my faith deepened because of the stories I listened to. I like the fact that I overcame some of my deepest insecurities while I was there. In Cuba there was just no room for them—carrying them around was too burdensome, and letting them go was so obvious. The relationships I was drawn to required my true self, all of it—the messy imperfect parts especially.

We have made five trips to Cuba since 2005. Twenty two Circle of Mercy members have traveled there. Five of our youth have been there. Our groups have toured old and new Havana, as well as well as worshiped in churches large and small all across the country. Our ultimate destination is always Camaguey. After two or three days of travel, we arrive ready to share the communion of orange or lemon soda, rice and beans, and a common table.

This exchange is one of the best and hardest things in my life. It is hard to write and keep in touch. It is hard to know how to read between the lines of what they say and write. It is hard to know how to share our stories, when we return, to those in our communities. It is hard to see the on-going suffering the embargo creates and imagine the changes that will unfold when the embargo ends.

None the less, I do believe that the fast-paced train to which my working-mom life is attached longs for the grace and generosity that Cuba offers.

Our partner-church relationship is all about trying, again and again, to get right with one another. I believe it is about taking risks and reaching out.  How else would I, could I deal with the unbearable shame? Let it be wiped away by the gentle hand of our loving God, who brought us together to feast and love.