The Communist official, though cordial, was shrouded in a cloak of stoicism. His politeness, while professional, was a stark contrast to the setting of his den and the casual conversation among friends. Retirement had left him deeply disillusioned, a sentiment he would likely never openly admit.

It was historical to learn he’d been led into two monumental battles, one by Fidel Castro and the other by Che Guevara. The elderly gentleman had witnessed much throughout his life spent exclusively on one island. Political paybacks and high hopes for Cuba’s future had been promised way back in 1959. Farms and factories produced goods exclusively from within, Nationalism reigned supreme, outsiders must stay out, and economic upturns were in.

By our visit in 2019, all of them had sadly disappeared. To find one fully operational factory for every fifty that remains is a rarity. Government rations of food intended to feed people for thirty days can be stretched to about five. The five-day “provision” for each citizen includes some rice and beans, an occasional piece of tasteless bread, maybe an egg or two, and possibly yuka. No cheese. No vegetables. No milk. No meat. What do people do to eat the other 25 days of the month? Get creative.

As for this particular story, the occasion was a late Sunday afternoon in March, Spring Break for the American college kids, three to be exact, who at present littered his den. My wife Jill was there, along with a translator and Lia, a local house-church leader.

The beauty of evangelism in Cuba is twofold: First, the starting point is super clear. If you were to ask, "Are you a Christian" in America, a “yes” is by no means assured; it could signify nothing more than a cultural affirmation devoid of any real substance, or it may be entirely sincere. Usually, a subsequent conversation is needed to make any decisive determination. In Cuba, a "yes, I am a Christian" can only mean one thing: he or she is undeniably united with the Living Christ.

Bladimir, the official referenced above, hasn’t been mentioned yet by name. A fact that will shortly come into play. Commander Bladimir (Spanish for Vladimir in Russian) responded when asked that he was not a Christian. Not that he had a problem with the notion of religion; it just wasn't for him. "Not necessary," he added. Somewhat stubbornly, I guess, one of the college kids asked if they could share the Gospel. "Share all you want," replied Bladimir, "But it's not going to do you any good. Like I said, 'It's not necessary,'" whatever that meant. A good 30 minutes into their Gospel presentation, Bladimir interrupted, not rudely, but hospitably so: "I'd like to make espresso for you," he blurted out. "It will take only a minute," and off Commander Bladimir went to his kitchen.

Lia, the local house church leader who’d sat attentively all along but said very little, perked right up. “Do not worry,” she addressed the ladies, “As soon as Bladimir says “yes” to receiving Jesus, I have everything planned out from there.” Easing out a Spanish Bible underneath her own, she continued, “This is for Bladimir. I wrote his name in the ‘To:’ section inside the front cover and my name in the ‘From:’ section with today’s date. I’ll schedule times for us to meet so I can disciple him and study God’s word.”

Jill couldn’t help but think significant gaps got lost in translation. Bladimir’s “no” didn’t align with Lia’s anticipated “yes.” Something was off. Before the girls could reconcile these seemingly contradictory statements, their host returned carrying a tray with 5 porcelain cups full of Cuban espresso. That’s when everything changed. Much like when Communism’s Iron Curtain was torn down in 1991, Bladi’s more rigid outer shell that the girl’s gospel presentation couldn’t penetrate was gone, like it had collapsed. His demeanor was different; his gait was lighter, the squared military shoulders took on a softer slope, and a gentle receptivity replaced the stoic air.

"Thank you, Mr. Bladimir," politely said one of the girls. This evoked a unique response as it felt to them like he heard his name being called for the first time, like a foretaste of things to come, "The sheep listen to His voice, and He calls His own sheep by name and leads them out" (John 10:3).

A queue by which the girls resumed their thoughts. After reading verses from Zephaniah 3:17 “The Lord your God is in your midst, a victorious warrior. He will rejoice over you with joy, He will be quiet in His love, He will rejoice over you with shouts of joy,” and Luke 15:7 “There will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent,” one girl gave a summary statement—“When a man or woman says “yes” to Jesus, it’s like a birthday party takes place for them in heaven.”

The tray almost fell from his hand, shattering all 5 porcelain cups. But he steadied it just in time, although his hand was somewhat shaky. “Could you please repeat that?”

“Sure. If you say “yes” to Jesus, there will be a birthday party in heaven just for you.”

To witness a battle-toughened veteran collapse to the ground on all fours, sobbing uncontrollably and exclaiming over and over again, “Yes Jesus! Yes Jesus! Yes Jesus! Yes Jesus!” was a once-in-a-lifetime Holy Spirit site to see.

Why did it happen like this? After a while, quite some time, Mr. Bladimir could relay a deep wound from his childhood. It had plagued him all his life. Not once had his parents ever celebrated his birthday. No party, gifts, singing Happy Birthday, or even an acknowledgment.

The Holy Spirit, strategically, moved the right people to say the right thing at the right time to the right person, in a way only He could masterfully orchestrate. Praise Jesus from Whom all blessing flow!

Jesus said, for those who have ears to hear, let them hear.

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