Building Hope in the Midst of Hardship in Cuba

We boarded a plane, bound for an island only 90 minutes from Miami yet worlds apart—Cuba. Our destination was Guantanamo, where our mission would unfold. Each year, we travel to minister to the congregations, pastors, and communities of this nation, bringing financial support that, though modest by our standards, has proven essential to those laboring under economic and political hardship. This year, we came with $500 for each pastor, a small offering meant to alleviate, even just a little, the weight of their burden.

The journey this time was uniquely demanding. Information before our departure had been scarce, with little clarity on current conditions or political tensions—an expected veil of silence given Cuba’s communist government and restricted communications. Upon landing at Holguín Airport, we embarked on a grueling five-and-a-half-hour drive to Guantanamo. Exhausted, we divided into two groups, settling into different accommodations. One group stayed in government housing with somewhat consistent electricity and water, while the other was housed in a location plunged into darkness for days, without power, running water, or access to a generator. Wi-Fi, always tenuous in Cuba, was now almost non-existent, forcing us into near isolation from the outside world. The lack of these everyday essentials began to strip away the outer layers of our expectations and reveal the raw reality of this mission.

Yet, in this crucible of discomfort, we found resilience and purpose. Dividing into two teams, we took to the road—some in an air-conditioned bus, others in a van with no relief from the stifling heat. As we traversed the island, traveling for hours through exhaust fumes and humidity, we felt the Holy Spirit reshaping us, refining our resolve. Each mile we covered under the searing sun was a reminder of the sacrificial nature of our calling.

Upon reaching each church, we were greeted with warmth that transcended the material poverty of our surroundings. These sanctuaries were often humble—structures of wood and tin, with roofs that barely kept out the elements. Many lacked electricity or even complete walls, yet the presence of God filled them with a richness that cannot be measured in earthly terms. We began each visit with prayer for the pastors and their families, presenting them with the financial support we’d brought. Many fell to their knees, visibly overcome by the Spirit’s presence, as though God Himself was pouring His strength into them. We saw in their eyes a gratitude so profound, it felt as if Heaven had drawn near.

At one stop, we listened as a bishop explained the extent of rationing: each family limited to four pounds of rice, a few cans of beans, and a few slices of bread each week. They carried government-issued ration books marking every portion received, a reality unimaginable in our own nation of abundance. Their resilience stirred a depth of compassion in us that words could not fully capture, as did their unwavering commitment to worship despite such scarcity. I thought of how easily we choose convenience over sacrifice in the U.S., yet here, they pressed through every obstacle to gather in the presence of God.

One church, predominantly attended by women, left a profound impression on my spirit. These women, their faces etched with both beauty and sorrow, gathered eagerly. Some wore worn flip-flops and had walked miles in sweltering heat just to be present. I shared a message about liberation and God’s refining fire—a reminder that His glory would be revealed in their trials. As I looked around, I saw eyes glistening, filled with both the weight of hardship and the light of hope. Their worship was not merely song but an offering, a sacrifice of praise rising from lives poured out before the Lord. Here, in this place, I saw the gospel alive in its purest form: humble, raw, and beautiful.

Revival seemed to pulse through each gathering, a quiet yet powerful current moving through hearts surrendered to God. One of the most transformative encounters came with a young man who, by Cuban standards, was wealthy. Observing the gratitude of the people, despite their poverty, he quietly confessed he did not know Jesus. After expressing a desire to know Him, Evangelist Rick Bonfim led him in a prayer of salvation. We watched as the Spirit began to reshape his heart; this young man became our “mission within the mission,” a living testimony of God’s power to transform a life.

In another church, filled with children, we met a pastor whose gratitude overflowed as we presented her with financial support. She fell to the floor, overcome by the Spirit’s presence. In that moment, as the congregation sang “Yeshua,” we invited the children to lay hands on her. Their small hands rested upon her, voices rising in worship so pure it sounded as if angels had joined in. A holy stillness settled in, and we all felt enveloped by a profound weight of glory, as though God’s very heart had touched the room. There, in that simplicity, heaven had drawn near.

One young boy stood in the midst of us, mesmerized, refusing to move. He lingered in God’s presence, completely captivated. Time seemed to slow as he absorbed every bit of the Spirit’s peace and joy. Suddenly, the young man who had just come to know Christ broke into an exuberant dance, reminiscent of David before the Ark. His uninhibited joy, a kind of holy freedom, swept through the room, lifting every heart. He danced with a wild, reckless abandon, filled with a joy that had broken through the chains of his past. The congregation, caught up in this wave of freedom, began to dance as well, joy displacing sorrow, freedom breaking chains, all under the power of the Holy Spirit.

This journey had one final, sacred calling. Among the churches, there was Clemencia—a humble place, poor in resources but rich in spirit. One morning, as I prepared for the day, I felt the Lord prompt me to wear a striking, radiant blue jumper. I didn’t understand why but felt compelled to follow. Upon arriving at Clemencia, I noticed something extraordinary: the entire congregation was adorned in the same shade of blue. It was as if God Himself had woven us together in this royal color, binding us as one. Clemencia, despite its simplicity and broken walls, felt like holy ground, a place where heaven touched earth.

That day, Evangelist Rick declared that someone would take on the work of building a new sanctuary for Clemencia, a place where they could worship free from the limitations of leaking roofs and broken walls. Without a second thought, my hand rose—I knew, in that moment, that God had placed this call on my heart. I am now on a journey to raise $15,000 to build a sanctuary for Clemencia—a shelter with weatherproof walls, equipped with a generator and refrigerator, a space where they can gather and experience God’s presence without earthly barriers. Clemencia will be more than a building; it will be a beacon of God’s love, a sacred refuge for all who enter.

Our mission ended amidst challenges—a hurricane on our last day, forced protests in the streets, logistical chaos with flights and changing airports. Yet, through it all, God provided shelter, opening paths in what seemed impossible circumstances, reminding us that His hand guides every step.

Looking back, I am struck by Jesus’ words: “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few.” In Cuba, I saw the fields ripe, the people thirsty, their faith purified in the fires of hardship. May the unbreakable spirit of these people ignite a revival in our own hearts. Let us bring back to the United States the hunger they carry, a relentless pursuit of God that does not yield to convenience or comfort.

In the end, Clemencia is not just a building project; it is a calling—a holy commission, a physical representation of God’s desire to draw near to His people. And for us, it is a reminder that heaven meets earth not in the abundance of things, but in the hearts that, like Cuba’s faithful, have been tested, purified, and made radiant by His presence.

Jennifer Bauman is a devoted wife to Erich, proud mother of three amazing adult children—Caleb, Chloe, and Sutton—and a grateful mother-in-law to her fantastic son-in-law, Garrison. As a full-time missionary evangelist with Rick Bonfim Ministries, Jennifer passionately shares the gospel, traveling extensively to Brazil, Cuba, and Peru. Her deep commitment to spreading the Word of God, coupled with her love for family and ministry, defines her mission to inspire faith and transformation in the lives of others.   Latterain.com

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When hearts hunger for the gospel, neither heat nor hardship can keep them away.

In Cuba, the measure of a church is not in walls or wealth, but in thirst for the Living Word.

A church rises not from human ambition but from the mandate of heaven.

Though the harshest trials, nothing can sever the eternal embrace of His love.