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In Santiago de Cuba, Pastor Franklin and his wife, Dayana, lead a vibrant church called Colina del Carmelo. Their mission is rooted in faith, prayer, and a deep compassion for those they serve and those they may never meet. When they first heard about Madison, a young girl in the U.S. facing the challenges of epilepsy, they didn’t hesitate to pray fervently for her healing—even though they didn’t personally know her or her family. Their prayers were a testament to the unity of the global Church and their unwavering belief in the power of God to heal and restore.
This is the story of Matt, a mission trip participant who came to Cuba thinking he was there to serve but left knowing he had been deeply served by the prayers and faith of others. It’s a story of faith without borders, prayer without limitations, and the unifying love of Christ.
"You never expect a stranger in a foreign country to call you by name.
It was a warm afternoon during a visit to a home church in Cuba. Our mission wasn’t to preach to a congregation or run a service. Instead, we were visiting local pastors and their families — listening to their stories, encouraging them, and praying together.
Our group had already gone inside to greet the pastor and his wife. I stayed behind at the van with my friend Craig to search for the water filters we had brought to give to this home church. It was a simple task, something that didn’t seem significant at the time. I was focused on finding the supplies and hadn’t given much thought to what was happening inside.
Then I heard a voice from behind me.
“Dios te bendiga.”
I glanced up, half-expecting to see a beggar or someone looking for help. But this man wasn’t asking for anything. He was standing on the street, looking directly at me and Craig. Then he said something that stopped me in my tracks:
“Matt?”
I froze. My first thought was, How does he know my name? I was in a foreign country, standing on a street with people I’d never met before. It felt like a scene from a story, not something you experience in real life.
At first, he didn’t seem entirely sure he had the right person. He had called my name, but it wasn’t until I nodded and acknowledged him that he knew he was right.
That’s when I realized — this wasn’t a random encounter. This man wasn’t a stranger.
This was Franklin.
Franklin was the pastor of the home church we had come to visit. Beside him was his wife, Dayana. Dayana was being prepared to serve as a children's ministry leader — a role with immense responsibility and influence. Her mission would be to train and equip children's ministry leaders, ensuring that future generations grow up knowing who God is.
They welcomed me with open arms. Warm smiles. Kind eyes. Open hearts. It felt like walking into a room of people who had been waiting just for you. But the most humbling part was still to come.
“Matt,” Franklin said, “we have been praying for your daughter.”
I blinked, trying to process it. My daughter has been struggling with epilepsy for the majority of her life. It’s been a journey of long nights, endless prayers, and waiting for answers. Over the past year, however, something shifted. We’d received more clarity and direction than ever before. For the first time in a long time, it felt like we were making progress.
And now, here I was — meeting new people in a home church in Cuba — being told that Franklin, Dayana, and their church had been praying for my daughter all along.
I never wondered if anyone cared. I know people care. But in that moment, I realized something more profound. People I didn’t even know cared. People I’d never met before, in a place I’d never been, were lifting my daughter up in prayer.
I thought I had come to Cuba to serve them. But it turns out, they had been serving me all along.
Prayer is often something we think of as personal or local. We pray for our families, our friends, and our local communities. But Franklin and Dayana taught me something deeper — prayer has no borders.
While I was at home, praying for my daughter, Franklin, Dayana, and the members of many different home churches in Cuba were praying too. Not because I asked them to. Not because they had to. But because they chose to.
This is how the body of Christ works. It moves even when you don’t see it. It acts on your behalf without your knowledge. It crosses oceans, borders, and language barriers. It moves in the hearts of people you’ve never met.
And sometimes, it even calls you by name.
There’s something powerful about worshiping with believers in another country. On Sundays, I stand in church with my family. I sing worship songs, listen to sermons, and seek to know God better. I do the same thing that Franklin and Dayana do. But in Cuba, worship feels deeper. It’s raw, unfiltered, and unburdened by convenience.
Here’s what I realized: When we worship, we’re never worshiping alone. While I’m at church in my hometown, Franklin and Dayana are worshiping too. While I’m learning who Jesus really is, they are too. And in that realization, I see God’s design for His church.
We are not separate churches. We are one church with many locations.
If you’ve ever seen the persecuted church in action, it changes you. I watched people in Cuba live with so little, yet they gave so much. People with barely enough for themselves still welcomed me with open arms, smiles, and faith-filled hearts.
Franklin and Dayana live in this reality every day. They are part of a church that operates under pressure, sacrifice, and hardship. Their faith isn’t something that fits neatly into a Sunday morning. It’s all of life. It’s waking up every day knowing that faith requires sacrifice.
But they do it anyway. They lead. They love. They give. And I am inspired by them every day.
If I could go back and tell myself one thing before stepping away from that van in Cuba, it would be this: You’re about to meet family. Not strangers. Not beggars. Family.
I thought I was coming to help. But I left knowing I had been the one helped. The prayers of Franklin, Dayana, and their church had been surrounding me and my family for over a year. They prayed for my daughter’s healing. They prayed for my heart to be steady. And their prayers were answered.
Here’s what I know now: God’s people are everywhere. While you’re worshiping at home, your brothers and sisters are worshiping in Cuba and abroad. While you’re praying for answers, they’re praying too. We’re not just a church in one location. We are a global body.
If you feel that call to step out in faith, answer it. If you think you’re just going to "help," think again. You’ll find that God’s love moves far beyond borders.
You’ll find that you’re not alone.
And sometimes, just when you least expect it, you’ll hear your name called in a foreign country. Not because you’re known by man, but because you are known by God."
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