Connection

 November 16, 2022

At least we can talk now. When I first began going to Cuba, there was no internet. No one walked around with their nose in a cell phone, which was refreshing, but I didn’t like not being able to all with Linda for whatever time I was there. The authorities tried, and for years succeeded in keeping information from the outside world from getting to the people, but family and friends in the US were traveling back and forth and bringing news and information that the government wasn’t able to control. Bit by bit, things loosened up till now, nearly everyone has a cell phone. The government still controls the narrative, but people know life elsewhere is better.

But I digress. Soon after arriving in Cuba, we were able to buy temporary SIM cards that enabled us to use internet messaging to call and even video chat with family back home. Unfortunately, the service is spotty and intermittent. The lightning strike that in July torched four 850,000 gallon oil storage tanks in Matanzas only added to the difficulties caused by the government’s response to the pandemic. Almost all Cuba’s electricity is generated by oil, and the loss of those tanks was keenly felt. Then hurricane Ian hit, completely knocking out the power grid for the entire country. Back in September, the electric was only on for about an hour a day. Now, the rolling blackouts are only for four or five hours.

So there were times especially in the mornings when I desperately wanted to talk with Linda and was unable to connect. Which got me to thinking…Why is it I am more desperate to talk to Linda than with God? Why do I so often rush through prayer as if it were a chore instead of a spirit-filling joy? What if I were as diligent in seeking God as I was in trying to connect with my wife? 

I wish I could say with the psalmist, “My soul longs for Thee, as the deer pants for the water,” but it wouldn’t be entirely true. There are times when I can speak those words, but not always. What I do know is this: If I don’t seek God with desperation, eventually I don’t seek him at all. Love neglected soon cools; the fire goes out. The logs of prayer and meditation must be regularly added to the fire if there is to be any heat or light. There is no other way. And unlike the fire in my stove where I can quickly toss in another log, stoking the fires of love requires time; much time. 

I think that’s one of the lessons of Cuba. Life is slower there. People walk most everywhere; few have cars. Feet are the most common mode of transportation. Walking takes time, as does everything else in Cuba. There are no fast foods, few canned and no frozen items. Cooking is a slow process, and with supplies of everything being in short supply, everything takes longer. No one is in a hurry, and any given day has large blocks of time that can be wasted or invested. I chose to invest more than waste, so prayers are not so truncated as they tend to be here. The trick now is to incorporate Cuban time into American life. It’s a challenge worth the taking, and as the rewards are great, I am ready for it.