Kate said, “RUSH.”
The image immediately brought back memories of Havana, Cuba, April 1999. I had the privilege and blessing of going on a ten-day medical mission trip to deliver basic medical needs to a church there. While there, I also delivered a much-needed gently used wheelchair to my daughter’s-in-love grandma. My daughter-in-love, and her parents escaped the horror of the Castro dictatorship in the mid-1970’s; the three of them got out of there but other family members stayed. DIL’s dad’s mom was wheelchair bound and her chair dated back to the late 1950’s. She needed a new one. The story of getting that chair through customs is a story all by itself!
Back to RUSH.
We spent two nights in a Havana hotel – I can see it in my mind – it sat on a corner and its doors opened onto a very busy intersection. Our first morning we were going to walk to the fort along the sea.
Our sneakers hit the sidewalk and without a missed beat we fell into the rhythm of the Havana crowd.
I remember asking our leader, “Where are they all going?”
To which he said, “Nowhere in particular.”
Along the sidewalks I saw old beat up card tables with heated games of Dominoes, Checkers, being played. Old store windows with denim jeans and dated cottons. Aroma of strong, Cuban coffee wafted through the thick seaside air.
Rush. They were all rushing with nowhere to go.
RUSHing to get there.