Cuba: Recipe for Disaster (part 1)

Posted on by Bekka

If you’ve been following along (and waiting for me to catch up from our travels so I can finish talking about our trips), then you might remember that we landed in Cuba early in the morning. Like 3:30 am, early. With three kids, including our almost nine-year-old nephew.

By the time we got to the hotel, the sky was starting to lighten. Let me go back a bit. I mentioned that our bus wouldn’t leave the airport until everyone was present and accounted for. This made for a very late arrival at our hotel.

Arriving at the hotel, after all the late night traveling and a long day prior to the flight, didn’t turn out to be the blessing we hoped. Perhaps if we didn’t have kids with us, weren’t all grumpy from lack of sleep and already too warm and drenched from the humidity, it wouldn’t have seemed so bad. But a noon check-out and a 4:00 pm check-in does not make for happy guests who arrive at 5:00 am.

And the lovely thing about families, especially extended ones, is that we see each other at our best and our worst. For the first few days, it seemed there was way more of the latter on my part. As if lack of sleep, lengthy delays for hotel rooms and cranky kids weren’t enough, add a bit of marital angst.

Tim and I learned a few years ago that “Touch” is high on the love language priority list. For Tim, it’s his primary love language and also a secondary language for me. You might think that having realized that, we would have figured out a work-around to the issues that a lack of touch creates in our marriage. Especially since Tim sometimes spends as many as four or five weeks away at a time for work. We should have.

Just before leaving for Cuba, Tim had flown into town from a four-week stint at work. And instead of doing anything about the lack of touch, we argued. We argued all the way home from the airport. We argued all morning the next day as we loaded up the kids and our stuff in the car and headed to breakfast with his parents and brother. We argued over little things, over big things, over everything.

If it weren’t for his brother in our car on the way to the airport, we probably would have argued the whole way there. We argued at the airport. We called a truce on the plane – though I secretly yelled at him in my head for not realizing that I was having panic attacks about my first flight to a foreign country that wasn’t the US. (Nevermind that I didn’t actually communicate the anxiety I was feeling…)

Almost as soon as we landed, and the humidity crashed in around us, we argued again. We argued while we waited for the bus to load up. We sat on different sides of the bus on the way to the hotel, so that put a damper on the actual arguing, but not on our moods. We argued in the hotel lobby. We argued and argued.

My panic attacks combined with general angst and anxiety essentially kept me to myself. I didn’t explore the resort like everyone else. I stayed with my baby boy in the lobby while he slept – trying to keep still so he would sleep as long as possible and eventually pretending I was asleep too, to avoid the stares of the other resort guests. Because of this, I missed breakfast when the restaurant opened at 7:30. I skipped lunch, missed out when the hotel provided a room for the kids to sleep in until our actual rooms were ready, and generally felt pretty miserable – despite the beautiful locale and the wonderful sunshine.

When we finally got our rooms, and a little bit of privacy, Tim and I resumed our arguing – at least until he walked out on me. He returned with the kids and a dinner plate for me a little while later – but it still wasn’t enough to quench the anger and fear inside.

Nathan, after he poured ice cream over his head.

On Monday, I thought we were through the worst of it. We took the bus with everyone into the market square in the morning. Abby and I had our hair braided, we bought a few trinkets to take home, and then Tim’s parents offered to take the kids back to the hotel so we could have a few hours of time to ourselves.

We did a reasonably good job of not arguing. We walked along one of the beaches in the sun. We played a game of chess. We met up with Tim’s brother and explored more of the peninsula together. We got back to the hotel just in time to see Nathan pour his ice cream over his head and have some dinner.

It seemed like I would be able to enjoy our trip, after all. At least until there was a blow-up that night.

Anticipation

Posted on by Bekka

It’s hard to believe that we’ll be heading to Denver soon. I always knew that if my all-time favourite band ever reunited – even if it was just for one show – I would be there.

What is really awesome is that my husband feels the same way, and wouldn’t you know we happen to have the same all-time favourite band!

As much as I looked forward to our trip to Cuba, there were some concerns that had me more worried than excited in the days leading up to our departure. And I can’t say that I’ve been waiting 8 years to see Cuba, but I have been waiting 8 years for Five Iron Frenzy to reunite.

Not to mention, the kids will be staying with their grandparents while we go to this concert. That eliminates two large, constantly-on-my-mind concerns right there. I know they will be in good hands while we’re travelling.

So the anticipation builds. It’s just less than two weeks until the concert – the first concert since they “quit” in 2003. And as if that wasn’t cool enough, I also get to have a personalized tour of Denver with Leanor “Jeff The Girl” Ortega Till. I probably mentioned that before. If I have, just bear with me, because I’m really really excited about it. I feel like there’s a kindred spirit just waiting to meet me. I’ve even made a gift for her (but shh! It’s a secret!).Leanor's Gift

There are some other things that I’m excited about right now too. Tim has a potential job opportunity closer to home. It may involve him having a company truck at his disposal and there’s a larger possibility of him being home on weekends – though it might not be every weekend. However, the proximity to home we’re talking about could mean that we get to visit him on the weekends he might not make it home.

It’s amazing just how God can answer prayer. Ever since the little Mazda died on March 1, we’ve been putting off buying a second vehicle. We had planned to consider looking at a vehicle after our trip to Denver because we wanted to make sure we still had some spending money for our trip. And I had to smack Tim a few times when I caught him looking at vehicles while we were in the lower mainland. Now, a second vehicle may not even be a major concern for us because of a possibility of a company truck for Tim to use to get to and from work.

I have constantly seen prayer answered in my life. I truly recognize these blessings and I am so thankful for a God who sees and who hears the desires of my heart, even when sometimes I can’t even see or hear them because the desires of my head are drowning everything out.

It’s amazing to me.

How has God answered your prayers, met the desires of your heart, lately?

Church With Kids

Posted on by Bekka

We haven’t attended a church since our resignation. Until recently.

I went to a service with the kids for Easter. It was a community service, essentially, as the other church congregations had been invited and were contributing to the service even though it was being hosted at one of the churches.

I felt like it was a waste of my time, but not because of the service itself.IMG_3328 The kids were cranky on one hand, and excited to see lots of kids on the other. Thus, they were quite the handful. I ended up staying in the nursery with them the entire time. I thought Abby probably could have handled an actual Sunday School class, but since I wasn’t sitting in the sanctuary and wasn’t able to find a program or bulletin, I didn’t even know if there was a class for her age group.

There were a couple of young girls – teenagers or fairly close to it – in the nursery as well. I’m not sure if they were actually there to watch the kids, or if they were just watching one little girl. In any event, every other parent seemed to make the assumption that they were there to watch all the kids and began leaving their kids in the nursery.

For the most part, the two girls only ever stirred themselves if the one little girl started to fuss or if she left the room. All other squabbles were settled by myself (eventually, I did wait to see if the teens would intervene first), especially if they involved my two kids. About half-way into the sermon, another teenager brought a girl in, the younger sister of another kid already in the nursery. She proceeded to commandeer the conversation and brag about her new iPhone and all the games that she has been playing. One of the kids kept going out on her own to the sanctuary, taking toys with her. Her mother brought her back to the room once and informed the third teenager that she needed to be watching her sister.

Not even five minutes later, the runaway kid left again, and the other little girl followed her out. The teens were so engrossed in their conversation, and I was busy with my own three year old (who was having an issue with a five year old throwing a fit because the younger kids kept running through her setup of toys), it was about five minutes before the first two girls realized that someone was even missing. The third teen who was the older sister of the runaway kid never even looked up from her game.

The two teens both had to leave to find the little girl. They left the door wide open. Of course Nathan made a bee-line for the door, but I managed to close it before he got there and distract him with another toy.

A little while later, a fourth teenager came in. Then, the complaints about a dirty diaper smelling up the small attached bathroom began. The teenagers were louder than the kids – even the five year old throwing a tantrum because her circle of toys was ruined.

Shortly after that, the service ended and I bundled up protesting kids and got out as fast as I could.

I can’t begin to describe how frustrated I was.

Perhaps because there was an adult in the room, the teens thought they didn’t have to pay attention to the kids in the nursery.

Perhaps they weren’t even supposed to be supervising the nursery in the first place.

Perhaps I’m too critical, or have too-high expectations.

Whatever the various reasons for the events in the nursery, it really put me off.

This kind of experience makes me not want to take my kids to church. I don’t see the point in going if I have to monitor my kids in a room apart from the rest of the service where I can’t even catch part of the sermon, where I’m so frustrated with the situation that I don’t even want to stay after the service and connect with people for fear that my anger will bleed out inappropriately.

Disclaimer of sorts: I grew up attending a large church, and I began helping out with Sunday School when I was 14. By the time I was 20, I was coordinating one of the Sunday School teams, responsible for organizing the volunteers, teaching much of the material, and running the class on Sunday mornings. I know it’s not always like my most recent experience at church. But it’s enough to make me not want to go again, at least not any time soon.

Cuba: Dinner in Cárdenas

Posted on by Bekka

I’m skipping ahead a little bit in the story of our trip to Cuba. I really wanted to share this today in honour of my little girl who has a fever and sinus/throat infection at the moment.

We made arrangements to have dinner on Wednesday night at the house of the lady who gave massages at the hotel, and some taxi driver friends of hers picked us up from the hotel and drove us to her house in Cárdenas.

I’m not sure what I was expecting. I know that Cuba, being a socialist country, doesn’t have the same kind of poverty as many other countries of a similar size and development stage. One site I looked at said that the 5-10% poorest of the country are still richer than the 5-10% poorest of many other countries in the Caribbean. I do know I was afraid of having my heart broken for the poor and down-trodden, of feeling the fool for all our blessings when there are so many who are happy without even a third of the things we have.

But what I had read held up. Most of the houses were in decent shape, kids played in the streets, despite barred windows and doors. Everyone had a home to go to at the end of the day. Despite a large number of people in this community working in the nearby tourist hotspot, Varadero, our host informed us that not everyone was so lucky to have such consistent income.

Our host, Yolinda (I think that was her name, though I heard some calling her simply “Linda”), greeted us outside her home and invited us all into her living room that had been converted to a dining room – tables pilled with food and a variety of chairs situated around them. There were eight of us that night, including three kids. My brother-in-law hadn’t been feeling very well and had opted to stay at the hotel that night.

Dinner was fantastic. There was lobster, chicken, potatoes prepared a few different ways, salad, and homemade bread, amongst other things. I’m not kidding when I say the tables were full! There almost wasn’t room for our plates! I’d never had lobster before, but it was delicious.   IMG_3117

Nathan was done eating pretty quick, but he wanted to play with our plates. Just then, Yolinda’s mother came home and she offered to take Nathan so we could eat. Once I was finished eating, I offered to take him from her – but I think she was having too much fun! She kept him busy for quite a while, and would show us the funny things he did, like try to put things into his pockets that were too big to fit.

The bible came out, a Spanish one belonging to Yolinda, and we took turns sharing our favourite verses. Our host was relatively new to her faith, but she was vibrant and joyful about it, expressing her desire to share it with her friends and family. It sort of reminded me of a song by Audio Adrenaline called “Jesus Movement”. It’s one thing to know that there are people all over the world “Moving to Jesus”, so to speak. It’s quite another to actually meet them, sometimes.

The kids had gone outside to play, and I pulled some books out of our bag that we had brought with us to give away. They were just small little books to help teach a bit of English. I felt silly giving them away, I felt like I should have tried to find some in Spanish. But I held them up to our host and she asked me to take them outside and give them to the girls playing out there.IMG_3122

I felt an excuse coming. I wanted to give them to Tim and have him take them outside. I didn’t want to go and do this myself - I preferred to be behind the scenes.

Just then, Abby came to the door. She saw the books in my hands and since she had been asking to read them ever since she saw me pack them, I decided I would help her give the books out to the girls.

I took her hand and asked her if she wanted to give the books to our friends. She told me she did. I put the books in her hands and we went outside. She handed one book to each of the girls sitting on the sidewalk outside the house. Immediately after she handed out the last one, she promptly walked over to the spot between two of the girls, sat down and said, “Hi, my name’s Abigail. What’s yours?”

I could see the confusion on the girls’ faces. They didn’t understand what she said, they didn’t understand English. Tim knew how to ask someone’s name in Spanish, so it didn’t take long before we were all on the same page. I admit the names were all foreign to me (except one, Francie) and I couldn’t for the life of me remember them now. But they were beautiful names for beautiful girls. IMG_3127

The girls really liked Abby. They rubbed her arms when she said she was cold. They tried to teach her a game or two. And when Abby decided it was time to go back in the house, she tried to invite them: “I’m too cold. Let’s go inside to cheer up!”

We had a lot of fun that night. The pictures, I’m sure, speak for themselves.

The next morning, I had my massage and Yolinda told me that the girls loved my Abigail. They told her that Abby was so friendly and kind, they had so much fun with her.IMG_3133

And I nearly cried to hear it.

I could see it that night, the way she didn’t mind that she didn’t understand what they were saying, that they had a different appearance. But to hear someone tell me that they saw it too, that I wasn’t just seeing things through rose-coloured glasses – it’s very moving.

Each night that I pray for Abby, I pray that she grows big and strong, that she is kind and considerate and compassionate and loving. When I first began praying these things, it felt like wishful thinking, like I was asking for somethingIMG_3134 that she wasn’t ready for yet.

But now I know that she already is those things. I still pray them over her – a reminder not to lose these attributes. But I know that the seed has taken deep root and that there is already fruit in this area of her life.

And I also know that I would love to go back to Cuba with more gifts and spend some time in towns like this one, where my daughter can forge friendships across language barriers. And maybe, just maybe, I won’t be such a reluctant participant.