Our youth went to Cuba with at least a few anxieties and anticipated danger.

They trusted that their leadership would make their trip safe for them.
The first night, the trip leader fell down a flight of stairs and was taken to hospital for 16 stitches to the face. Their security was rattled.

They learned their leadership needed them.
The group pulled together, formed a circle (literally and figuratively), and met every challenge that emerged thereafter.

They went wondering, "What are we going to do on this mission trip?"

They found they needed only to be present as Christ is and the most amazing connections jumped from heart to heart across language hurdles.

They went not knowing the depth of prayer and found themselves volunteering words of prayer that leapt from the soul.

They went wondering what Cuba would be like and left agreeing with Christopher Columbus who said in 1492,
"It is paradise. The fairest on earth."

They went to Santa Clara on Pentecost Sunday and found that differing tongues cannot hinder the Holy Spirit's workings in hearts, even in three-hour long services.

They went with a degree of openness and found themselves deluged with welcome, love, laughs, sharing, touch, and, finally, deep sobs of parting.

They went curious about the "oppressed" people of Cuba and found laughter, warmth, transfixing eyes that speak and hold you, music, and touching everywhere.

They went wondering how Americans might be received and never imagined they'd have to pry themselves away from their new friends.

They went unaware of themselves as agents of justice. But, when confronted with the choice of staying in a "lovely" hotel where the group's Cuban translator and Cuban driver were denied accommodation (because they are "not foreigners"), they found principle more important than pleasure. They voted unanimously to do the right thing and check out of the hotel just as this community has modeled for them.

They went wondering about being a representative of "Baptists" and learned about the rich meanings of water.

They went to a baptism at the beach thinking they were to observe an ancient rite from the shore.

They found themselves standing

-- some ankle deep; some waist deep; some shoulder deep, hand-in-hand with new friends, part of a circle nudged to and fro by the gentle motion of the Caribbean, witnesses to the faithful journey of six sisters and brothers, participants in that celebration of life.

We went to be with our friends in Santa Clara on your behalf. We promised to share some of your stories with them, and we did. We also promised to share the stories of our time there with you, and we will. But as we tell you stories of this rich experience, all of us confess, "Words will fail us." Perhaps, though, you will see in our eyes, sense in our smiles and hear in the cracking of our voices what words cannot convey.