HAVANA – Life always seems to be an adventure, at least for me. My latest adventure put me in Havana, Cuba, when former President Fidel Castro died.

I was part of a team from First Baptist Church, of Medina, in Cuba on a mission trip. We got word of Castro’s passing the morning after we arrived in Havana.

While the rest of the world reacted, life carried on as normal in Havana. Short of flags at half-staff, there were no signs that marked his passing. It was surreal. Havana, a city frozen in time, still bustled with everyday activity.

But when we attended a service at a house church, we were informed there would be no singing due to the government-imposed period of mourning. On Monday, Nov. 28, people flocked to the Palaza de la Revolucion to pay their respects. We had to wonder, given that this is a country where basic rights of free expression are denied, if the mourning was genuine or not.

While it was memorable to be there when Castro died, what struck me most was the stark contrast between Havana and the rest of Cuba. Most people who visit Havana think the capital city reflects Cuba, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. The real Cuba is impoverished and oppressed.

For the last four years, First Baptist Church has sent a team to a small rural town in Eastern Cuba to minister to a local church. There, the classic cars found in Havana are replaced with bicycles and horse-drawn carts. The colonial and baroque architecture is substituted with the run-down homes and dirt roads one expects to see in a third-world country. But this village is where my heart is. This village is Cuba to me.

But it wasn’t always that way.

When First Baptist sent its first team to Cuba in 2012, we were the first Americans that small town had ever seen. Fed by years of propaganda, they only knew what they were told. My husband recalls seeing a cartoon on Cuban television showing Uncle Sam in Florida, spying on the Cuban Olympic team as they prepared for the games.

No wonder the Cubans were suspicious of Americans.

That first trip was about breaking down the walls and building closer relationships with fellow Christians. Now suspicion has been replaced with love. We are greeted with open arms and are considered family. They actually call us “pioneers.”

I think what impresses me most about the people at the Cuban church is their joy, despite their circumstances. They don’t have much, considering the average monthly income is about 20 U.S. dollars. Many in this village are deaf or blind, yet they always have smiles on their faces. It’s a joy that’s rooted in their faith and love for God.

I think we can all learn something from the lovely people of this Cuban village: to have joy in all circumstances, to be grateful for what God has provided, to share what little we each have and to find ways to bless others.