Seven Times a Grandma!

Vivian Lucia Jackson was born to Josh and Kari on November 28th. She weighed a healthy 7 lb. 15 oz., and is now home with sister Stella and brother Leo. 

We are so excited to meet this sweet little girl next week! 

A New Surge of the Spirit

I had the privilege of having long-time friend,
Dr. Wayne Schmidt pray over me. 

My educational requirements for ordination were completed, and I was officially approved for ordination in the Wesleyan Church. As September 14th, my ordination day, approached I knew that becoming ordained wasn't going to change my life drastically. Dennis and I have been engaged in ministry for well over 30 years. I'm not planning to launch into a new ministry position, but plan to continue to serve along side Dennis within Global Partners, amplifying the mission of the Gospel in the Wesleyan Church worldwide.

Serving God in some kind of full-time Christian service had been a teenage desire, though I wasn't sure where exactly that commitment would land. Though I was unsettled when I began college in the Nursing program, it was the only thing that made sense at the time. I worked as a nurses aide during high school years, and then after high school, completed a one-year program to become a Licensed Practical Nurse. I worked in the nursing field for a couple years, but it was a summer mission trip to Brazil where I sensed God was changing the course of my life. That trajectory began by applying to Christian universities, and I ended up at Marion College, now Indiana Wesleyan University (IWU). I met and married Dennis during those college years, eventually switching to a Christian Education degree. This made sense, too, as I knew upon college graduation we would be serving together in local church ministry. 

The thought of ordination had never crossed my mind until several years ago when I was finishing up my Bachelor's degree (with a switch in majors, I completed a two-year degree in Christian Ed. first time around). In addition to encouragement from Dennis, several Christian Ministry professors at IWU championed the pursuit of ordination. I'm so thankful to be a part of a denomination that supports women in ministry. So, as it has been in my life, it made sense to work toward ordination. It seems God unfolds my life season by season. His Spirit gives a peace that certain things make sense at particular junctures in life. 

In my last post, I shared about the dark night of my soul, a season that, thankfully, is coming to an end. The experience I had in Christchurch, NZ not only awakened my soul to the Spirit's presence again, but paved the way for ordination. Though I don't see my role changing, I have had the delightful surprise of what I call a new surge of the Spirit in my life. Something happened in me as Dr. Jo Anne Lyon (General Superintendent of the Wesleyan Church) laid her hand on my head and prayed over me. I sensed it in the moment and I've had surprises of his Spirit's voice and promptings since then. It wasn't something I expected, but I'm so grateful. I love when God decides to show up when we are unaware of what he is about to do. It's not something we can plan for. It just happens. There is no question, then, that it is not of his Spirit. I know. 

And God has given us his Spirit as proof that we live in him and he in us. 

1 John 4:13

Emerging from the Dark Night

It was only a few days into my late July visit to family in New Zealand that I walked our granddaughter to school. After getting her settled in her classroom, I continued down the street to a coffee shop. I know, surprise, surprise. I feel at home in just about any coffee shop in the world. I settled in with my journal and a latté. The last thing I wrote that day was this: I miss His Presence.

From the time I was a little girl, I could sense God’s presence so easily. It wasn’t something I had to conjure up, nor did I have to create time and space in order to feel his presence. I felt it so keenly, not only in those places and spaces where you expect to sense God, but in simply living life. Country roads, pastures, and creeks made up my world and it was there that I connected with God. House and farm chores even brought a sense of God as I went about my tasks. 

My journal entry was written out of a longing to sense his presence again. I’ve come through a fairly long season where he wasn’t present as I remember, and I missed that. I missed Him–that knowingness that he is nearby. I couldn’t sense him. My faith stayed intact, though it was a challenge and I had lots of questions. It was a faith like I had never had before, one in which my faith didn’t have an emotional or feeling side to it. I’m not a terribly expressive kind of person, more middle of the road, but this faith without feeling, without a sense of his presence, was more like abandonment, like God had left me. 

Believing, trusting, praying, worshipping, with a heart numb to his presence did not make the belief, trust, prayer or worship come easy. I wanted it to be different, to go back to what I once knew. My heart was blank, and so many times I just felt like I was going through the motions when it came to prayer, teaching, the Word. It's like telling someone you love them, but not feeling the love. Oh, there were a few times, moments really, when his presence came to me, but it was always short-lived. 

Perhaps I've been in a season that John of the Cross wrote about in the 16th century in his book, Dark Night of the Soul. He writes that the dark night is obscure. It can last for months, or even years. That has been my experience. Though there are a few who record of it lasting for decades, as in Mother Teresa, it is generally a temporary thing. While writing this post, I remembered that I had posted this blog five years ago after reading excerpts from the Dark Night of the Soul. Reading through the post again gave new understanding into this season, one that I don't think I fully grasped at the time I wrote the post. If you take the time to read it, I believe it describes the very places where God did his work in me during this dark season - spiritual greed, spiritual pride, spiritual wrath, spiritual gluttony. Interesting, isn't it, that each one begins with spiritual? 

I wonder if Jesus felt the dark night in the garden of Gethsemane the night before his death. His words, My God, my God, why have you forsaken me, lead me to believe so. I wonder if it was a dark night for Peter after the denial of his friend, Jesus, but more so, his Messiah. What a day when Jesus reaffirmed his love for him on the shores of Galilee! 

While visiting my daughter, I noticed a book lying on her bedside table entitled The Helper, by Catherine Marshall. She had recently read it, telling me the impact it had on her life. At the onset of this journey, I had been influenced by one of Catherine Marshall’s other books, Beyond Ourselves. it seemed ironic that a decade later, here laid another Marshall book at my daughter’s home in New Zealand. If I ever write a book, she would be my model to follow. Her books have brought conviction to those places where God's Spirit is at work in my life, encouragement to draw closer to the Father, and wisdom to know how to live my faith where the rubber hits the road. 

Books feed my intellectual pathway in connecting with God, and so with my longing to feel him again, I began to read The Helper, a book on the Holy Spirit’s presence and work in our lives.

Over the weeks of my visit, the book continued to speak into my heart, but one particular morning (same routine as before), I began to read a chapter entitled, “Something More.” I tuned out the peripheral noise of friends talking over coffee and the explosion of steam in the making of lattés, and leaned in with hope. It didn't take long for the words to tumble into my heart. God's presence was so evident. No doubt it was him. His presence is so tender and warm. He is always a God of loving and gracious conviction, not one of condemnation. 

I resonated with Catherine's prayer at the end of the chapter (in part): 

Lord, I do not want to waste the years left to me on this earth. Nor, do I want to go through life as a spiritual beggar, in rags, subsisting on the leftovers and the crumbs when I can be a child of the King . . . Yet Lord, I know that the gift of the Spirit is not for my joy alone; rather he is given as power for service. You alone can kindle in my heart the deep, fervent desire to be used like that . . . give me your own holy passion. Amen.

Tears immediately welled up, and right there, on August 5, in that coffee shop in Christchurch, NZ, God’s Spirit began to emerge in my heart. Something I hadn’t felt for a long time. Was the dark night over? It had been too long, this dark place in my soul, but the light of his presence began to emerge like the sun rising over the horizon.

I didn’t care that the tears ran down my face amid coffee shop patrons. I began to write feverishly at what I was feeling in my heart: 

Even now, I can feel my spirit being refreshed, renewed, as his Spirit lovingly, gently and graciously comes to me. No wonder my word for the year is “in.” It seemed so little, too small, so insignificant, but I knew it was for me and even there the Spirit was making ready my spirit for His work in my life in 2014. 

It's now late September and the sense of His presence remains - for which I am thankful. Looking back, I realize God was preparing my heart for my ordination a month later.

Long-Distance Grandma

A few years ago, I remember sitting on a plane next to a teenage girl who was going to visit her Grandma in the States. She lived in Europe where her mother was born, but over the years she would visit her father's family who lived in the States. I was curious as to how often she saw her Grandma and how close she was to her. I was encouraged to hear her share how much she loved her Grandma and that she felt very close to her even though she only saw her once a year. 

Our family is scattered from the Midwest to California to New Zealand. I get to see some of them more than others, but I do hope my growing grands can say the same about this Grandma when they are in their teens. I recently made a visit to my Kiwi grands, with an extended stop-over in CA along the way–making the above a reality. 

A 3-day stopover in Pasadena before heading to NZ.
What a joy to spend time with Josh, Kari, Stella, Leo, and Julie.
A fun afternoon at Santa Monica Beach. 

Botanical Gardens in Christchurch with Jamie, Evee, and Iris.

Keeping entertained with G'ma's phone camera in the back seat of the car on a day-trip to Hanmer Springs. 

Walking Evee to and from school, dropping Iris off at Kindy, playground fun,
Saturday mornings at the market, afternoon teas, shopping,
 doing life together. . . taking in all I can in my once a year visit. 

And last, but not least, Papa crashed the All Girls Party, but we didn't mind at all! 

Love being Grandma to Stella and Leo, GrGr to Miles, and Grammy to Evee and Iris!

Five Old Men - A Yosemite Story

Nobody really noticed them. Five old men making their way into the Curry Village Lodge for breakfast. It was the day after our Half Dome hike. Dennis and I were leisurely enjoying our coffee and a pastry. I couldn’t help watching as the men headed to a table just two down from us. One man helped another with his walker as he seated himself at the table. I watched and wondered as they chatted drinking their coffee.

You don’t see many older folk in Yosemite–lots of 20-somethings (so many passed us on the hike up to Half Dome), young families, nature and adventure seekers, but not many elderly.

The five guys fascinated me. Were they old friends? What brought them to Yosemite on this Memorial Day week? As I shared my fascination with Dennis, he finally said, Honey, if anyone could go ask them, you could. My curiosity got the best of me, and I strolled into their conversation.

The younger-looking one of the bunch paused in the conversation, looked up at me, and asked, What can we do for you?

Well, I’ve been watching you and can’t help but wonder what brings you to Yosemite. Are you friends?

They nodded in unison.

Oh, yes, the younger-looking one affirmed. We’ve been coming to Yosemite for years. We’re from the Bay Area and we come up annually around this time of year. I joined these guys back in 1973. Gesturing towards the man at the end of the table, the one with the walker, He’s been coming for 70 years.

Then, he looked across the table at the one with the gentleman’s cap. You’ve been making the reservations. How long has it been since we’ve been coming up on Memorial Day?

Oh, about 20 years, he figured. 

Directing my attention to the one who had been coming for 70 years, May I ask how old you are?

Seventy-eight.

So, you’ve been coming since you were a young boy! He nodded with a grin.

I felt at ease with these five. I think they felt at ease with my questions. I had found a treasure in the valley that was just as meaningful as standing on the top of Half Dome.

So, you've been coming for 20 years? I asked the man who made the reservations.

Well, no, he said. That's when we started coming on Memorial Day. 

Oh, sooo when did you start coming up here together?

I could tell his mind was turning back the hands of time. Some time in the 60’s, I can’t remember exactly.

My mind was calculating. That was almost 50 years ago. How old are these guys? I wondered. Do you mind if I ask how old you all are? 

My presumption was right as the younger-looking one claimed, Well, I’m the kid in the bunch. I'm 72.

He pointed directly across the table. Today’s his birthday.

Oh, wow, how old are you today? I asked.

Seventy-five, he said with a big smile on his face. 

I wished him a happy birthday and then found out the two guys on either side of him were 75 as well.  

Listening to these guys reminisce, thinking about the history they had together, almost moved me to tears.

So, have any of you hiked Half Dome?

Two nodded.

The one with the gent’s hat thought for a second when I asked how old he was when he hiked to the top.

Forty-five, maybe fifty.

Larry, with curly gray hair was the other one. He figured it had been 47 years ago, at the age of 28.

I proudly let them know that Dennis and I had hiked it the day before. The kid in the bunch was brave enough to ask me my age. As soon as I told them, they were all over it. Wow, congratulations! Good for you! That was followed by questions that only those that make it to the top would know to ask.

Are the cables still made of steel?

Yes, I answered.

Did you wear gloves?

You better believe I did. Couldn’t have done it without them.

Larry wanted to know if they still put up railroad ties to give a resting place on the ascent. 

Well, they’re not railroad ties anymore, I said wishing they had been railroad ties. Two-by-fours every 10 feet or so. Couldn’t have made the ascent without them either!

We talked about their plans for the day, if there was snow up in the High Sierras, and someone pointed out that I needed to hear about Larry's backpacking adventure on the John Muir trail when he was in his 20's. 

My curiosity needed to finish up so Dennis and I could get on with our day.

Would you mind if I take a picture of you? I asked. 

They gathered around the oldest, who promptly took off his baseball cap for the picture.

I shared of my delight to meet them, how encouraged I was to see the longevity of shared friendship and camaraderie, and the intentionality of connecting even in the later years of life. I had more than noticed them. Though it was brief, I heard their stories, felt their history, and gave honor and value to five old men who probably know Yosemite like the back of their hand.

I thanked them for their time, then I went back to finish my coffee with Dennis. Then the tears came. A Hungarian friend once told me that even if you meet people for only a moment, like having a conversation with someone on the train or on a flight, then you have enriched their life and they have enriched yours. I found those enriching moments in Yosemite with five old men. 

Fill Me For This Day

I was 19 years of age. I had finished a year of training as a Licensed Practical Nurse and was six months into a night-shift job at a county nursing home. Can't say it was the best of jobs, but it wasn't a bad first job as an LPN. Night shift called for hourly checks that included bed pans, administering medication, turning patients to avoid bed sores, addressing nightly needs, and the early morning ritual of getting patients set up for breakfast. 

Though I had graduated from LPN training, there were still State Board exams to take - a necessary requirement to receive license to practice as a nurse. Obviously the goal was to pass the first time, but if not, there was a second and third chance. Three strikes and you're out, which meant the year of training was for naught.

If you know my story, you have heard me share or read about my grade school experiences where my teachers gave me the labels of inadequate and incapable. You can imagine that day as I drove up to Harrisburg, PA for my exam; I was nervous. Would I pass? I remember the day I received the exam results in the mail. I opened the envelope with fear and trepidation. "Did Not Pass" were the words that brought immediate tears to my eyes. The labels mocked me again. Needless to say, I was humiliated (as I so often felt in the classroom). Informing the RN who managed our floor of my results was intimidating. I'm sure she was kind and gracious when she told me that I could no longer administer medication until they had knowledge that I had passed in the future.

It was a difficult time in my life. I went into isolation, not wanting to tell my friends the outcome. I was embarrassed. I didn't want to be around people. I felt like everyone was looking at me according to the labels placed on me. It was like "dumb" and "stupid" were written across my forehead.

But, it was also during this time that I found that people loved me. Period. My relationship with my friends didn't change because I hadn't passed an exam. If anything, they surrounded me with love, encouragement, and support. They built me up and encouraged me to go at it again. They believed in me.

In my despair I approached our pastor in my home church at that time. Rev. Strickler listened to me as I relayed words of worry, defeat, and fear. I have never forgotten what he told me that evening as we sat across from each other in a church pew. He told me that worry was not what God intended for me. That to worry is to not trust God. Worry produces panic and fear and anxiety, the opposite of God's peace. He encouraged me to memorize Philippians 4:6-7, which I did in the weeks ahead, and have never forgotten the words. 

Don't worry about anything. Instead, prayer about everything. Tell God your needs, and don't forget to thank him for his answers. If you do this, you will experience God's peace, which is far more wonderful than the human mind can understand. His peace will keep your thoughts and your heart quiet and at rest as you trust in Christ Jesus. 

Believe me, there have been many times in my life since then when these verses run though my head to overcome worry and anxiety.

The other suggestion my pastor shared was to pray this prayer every morning: Jesus, fill me with Your Spirit for this day. When Jesus fills me, lives in me, worry has to dissipate. The two can't dwell together. Worry evaporates in his peace. Fear vanishes in his presence. Panic is swallowed up by his belief in me.

Weeks later I took the exam for a second time. I anxiously awaited the day the results would come in the mail. When the envelope was in the mailbox, I went straight to my room to open it. My heart was pounding with an anxious curiosity. I saw the words PASSED! and cried, this time, for joy. I immediately called my best friend at the time.

I can't believe it! I passed! She celebrated with me over the phone. I knew you could do it!

Though it was a difficult time in my life, I will not forget the importance of community and the need we all have for encouragement and affirmation. I will never forget the words of my pastor who encouraged me to lean into the Lord for his peace, quietness, and strength. And, even today, it's been a good reminder to ask Jesus to fill me with his Spirit every day. 

Miles Turns Five!

The grandchildren are growing up! A quick weekend trip to Michigan to celebrate Miles was a joy. 

Like his Papa, he's a Star Wars fan, and so the theme of his party, with Joni's creative flair, was a Star Wars hit.

Miles picked out the refreshments. What do you think a 5-year-old would choose? 

Miles is a Legos engineer! 

And last, but not least, each of the kids received "lightsabers" with instructions "only to be used outdoors."
Needless to say, they were a real hit. 

Yosemite in Photos

Out of all the places that Dennis and I have been in the world, we would consider Yosemite one of the most beautiful. Yosemite is difficult to describe to anyone who has never been there. If that is true for you, I trust some photos of our visit will give you a glimpse of the natural beauty that Yosemite has been sharing for generations. 

Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul alike. - John Muir

Half Dome on the left - Dennis and I hiked to the top beginning at lower Vernal falls on the right, passing the upper Nevada falls, hiking around the back side of Half Dome to ascend the east side. Round trip took 15 hours - 6am to 9pm - consisting of 20 miles of mostly strenuous hiking. 

Rock formations that reminded us of the castle ruins we see in Europe

Upper Yosemite Falls - this falls created a distant white noise when Curry Village camp quieted down for the night.

Half Dome view from the Valley floor

Almost to the base of Half Dome

Half Dome view showing the climbing side. This gives a good idea of the 45-degree grade. Sub-dome is the first slope where there are 500 feet of granite steps (of sorts), the second slope ascent can only be done by using cables.

Half Dome Zoom -  check out the row of people going up the cables to the top (on the left). Yes! It's freaky!!

Spring Flowers

Twin Bridges hike along the Tuolumne River

Bridal Veil Falls

Up on Glacier Point

Love the sound of flowing water!

Tuolumne Meadows

The Ponderosa Pine reminded me of a giraffe's skin. Up close, the bark looks like jigsaw pieces. 

Tenaya Lake

The rain and snow come down from the heavens 

and stay on the ground to water the earth. . .  

The mountains and hills will burst into song, 

and the trees of the field will clap their hands!

Isaiah 55:10-12

Top of the World - Yosemite's Half Dome

It kept running through my head as we made the steep climb up the granite steps of Half Dome. A lighthearted song seemed to calm my fears (somewhat). A hiker was navigating the tricky steps as he passed me on his way down. I heard him tell a fellow hiker that being on the top was like standing on top of the world. Immediately the brother-sister singing duo of the 70's came to mind - the Carpenters and their 1973 #1 single hit, Top of the World. Enough so, that when we reached the top exhausted from 8+ miles of hiking, we sat on a rock and I sang the chorus to Dennis.

I'm on the top of the world, looking down on creation, and the only explanation I can find, is the love that I found ever since you've been around, your love put me at the top of the world.

Barely able to get it out, and barely able to smile about it, we were at the top of Half Dome nonetheless – at least as high as I was ever going to climb – 8,800+ feet above sea level (5,000 feet from Yosemite Valley where we camped).

We started out from Curry Village (our camping spot) at 6:00 a.m., then on to the Happy Isles trail-head that took us along the Merced River to the bridge at lower Vernal Falls, connecting us to the Mist Trail. Each of us carried a small backpack filled with healthy snacks (well, except for the Rice Krispie squares), 4 L. of water, lunch, long sleeve dry-fits, gloves for the cable climb, suntan lotion, lip balm, trash bag (carry-in, carry-out), small bottle of bleach for water purification, and a bottle of Ibprophen and Tylenol.

Eight years ago Dennis went to the top for the first time along with Josh, Kari, Mike, Clint, and Julie. Unlike then, Yosemite now requires a permit for hiking to Half Dome (as of January 2012). We didn't make the first lottery (only 225 day-hiking permits and 75 to backpackers daily), but we did make the daily lottery (about 50 daily permits available with a 2-day advance notice due to cancellations or under-use) while in the park.

We took some short video clips (6 total) from top to bottom. Here's the first (where we have great enthusiasm and energy for the hike ahead). This was done mostly for our kids, but feel free to take the time to watch  our adventure (no more than 45 secs each).

With hiking poles in hand, we started our ascent to the steep granite staircase of 600+ steps along Vernal Falls (317 ft). We love our hiking poles. They save on the body - especially the back, knees, and feet. This year's snow fall for Yosemite was only 20% of the norm, so the falls weren't flowing as strong as usual, but still enough to get wet from the mist, and to take caution going up the steps along Vernal Falls.

In 2:15 we made it to the top of Nevada Falls - a 1.5 mile trek of steep, rocky switch-backs from Upper Vernal Falls. The Merced River rushes over 594 feet of granite cliff. There have been people who foolishly go across the protective railing to get closer to the water. Unfortunately, some have met their death by doing so. All it takes is one slip.

We were pretty stoked about our time at this point. Keeping up with four young 20-somethings from Europe gave us a little pride in our stamina.

As we began hiking the 4.4 miles up to Half Dome, we welcomed a break from the steep, rocky switchbacks to the flat, sandy portion of Little Yosemite Valley that follows the Merced River. But, it wasn't long before we began the never-ending and exhausting 2,800 feet climb to the top. Over five hours later we would reach the base of the Sub-dome. At this point, it's a 900-foot-climb to the top via tricky steps and the cables.

The 500 feet of sandy, gravel coated steps are either carved out of the rock or rocks that have been set in place to create a stairs. It was the steep angle - a 45-degree ascent - that concerned me. I could see why the insanity factor for the Half Dome hike is 9 out of 10. Half way up this steep climb (with nothing to grab if you were to fall), I was beginning to wonder if we were being the foolish ones! There's no whoops! on these steps. One slip down the steep granite surface and one is likely to get severely injured or worse. It was at this level I could have turned around right then and there to head back down the mountain. But, we had come so far. So close. I had to keep going.

Once at the top of the Sub-dome, it was time to encounter the cables. There's a bit of a flat surface in the rock at this point, so we sat on a large rock to take in some nourishment, considering that we might need the extra energy to get up the cables. There were people coming down the cables while others were going up. We pulled on our work gloves that would help our hands cling tightly to the cable, mustered up our courage, and began our vertical climb up the 400 feet, 45-degree slope, of smooth granite. 

It took all the upper body strength that I had to pull myself up the steel cable from one 2x4 plank to the next, each about 10 feet apart, or so. I can see why there have been fatalities on Half Dome at this point. Over 20 deaths since the cables made public access to the top in 1919. Really not too bad for almost 100 years. One wrong move, one slip of the foot, one moment of paralyzing fright could mean an uncontrollable slide to the bottom. So, step by step, plank by plank, pull by pull, we made it up to the point where navigating the rock was doable without the help of the cables.

Phew! Once on the top, the views were amazing. We only spent about a half hour on top since it was mid-afternoon and we still had to hike down to the valley before sunset. 

We did it! At the top.

It took us a little over 5 hours to make it back down by way of the John Muir trail, returning to the same spot we began, the lower Vernal Falls, just before dark.

Bodies aching and pure exhaustion setting in, we ordered a pizza from the Curry Village pizza shop. We sat in the food pavilion reliving the day and laughing at ourselves when referring to certain points on the trail. A bed never felt so good that night when we literally crawled in. 

I now consider it a sacrifice on Dennis' part to go up with me eight years later. Having done it, I would never go up again for anybody! :) The thrill of such an accomplishment is amazing, and the beauty of Yosemite is indescribable, but the hike up Half Dome at this stage in my life, I say . . . once and done! But, I will always remember that his love did take me to the top of the world!

Cuba

When we lived in Budapest, our landlords expressed their desire to vacation in Cuba. Really? Cuba? It was a place they always wanted to visit. Later, we sat together in the living room of our flat, looking at pictures of them enjoying the sights of Havana. My American mind thought, Why would someone want to take a vacation to Cuba, a communist country? They wanted to visit while Fidel Castro was still in power; before it changes. 

I met a 20-something young lady from Cuba who was serving at the cafe in the Florida hotel we stayed at prior to the short flight to Cuba. Like many others, her family left Cuba when she was a little girl. Her take on the Castro-rule? We see the face of Raúl, but we hear the voice of Fidel. Fidel, now 87 years old, handed over the dictatorship to his 82-year-old brother Raúl in 2008.

Cuba is hemmed in by the waters of the Atlantic, isolated by the U.S. embargo put into effect after the Revolution of '59, and trapped in a time warp. Think the 1950's. Anyone who has seen photos of Cuba—maybe National Geographic or Havana souvenir postcards— has seen the old American cars on the streets. It's hard to imagine the normalcy of this, but it's true. I gawked out the van window as we drove to the pastor's home in which we stayed. Old cars all over the place. A 1951 Chevy was parked in the pastor's driveway, a car passed down through the generations, kept running and maintained over the years. It's hard to believe that one can enter a very different world in only a 90-mile flight from Key West.

The people have been under communistic rule since 1959, almost my lifetime. Although I am refraining from any details concerning our visit, it was encouraging to see the church thrive in spite of the limitations placed on them. 

Taxis in Havanna

Typical Scene

Street Corner in Havana

Not unusual to see horses or horse-drawn wagons/carriages for transportation

Doors and Windows are intriguing to me :)