DAY 4 - PART 1

The morning of day 4 broke the night's typical sweaty but surprisingly restful sleep with the promise of another exercise in discomfort.  This time we were going to a nascent Wesleyan church to partner with them in some door to door evangelism.  Now, the whole concept of door to door is kinda muddy for me.  I do think it can be done right, but more times than naught, I feel a message that, in it's very essence, carries absolute love and the power to change lives, quickly becomes a sterile sales pitch; a stand-and-deliver predicated on obligation rather than love, and void of any concern for the person on the other end.  There is a difference between being talked to and being talked at. 

Essentially, all the power and danger in these types of interactions lies within the intent.  Are you speaking because you need to tell this person about Jesus?  Or, are you speaking because this person needs to hear about Jesus?  Trust me, I struggled with the former for the longest time and it left me with an overwhelming sense of obligation that was impossible to satisfy; an obligation that I often attributed God's opinion of me to.  Very dangerous stuff. 

It wasn't until God changed the operative verb in how I interacted with people that I saw the subject of my sentences change from "me" to "them."   That shift in focus allowed me to begin to understand, at some depth, 1 Corinthians 13:3: "If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing." (NIV) 

The message of the Gospel that we hold to as the lifeblood to all that we do HAS to be proclaimed in love, because that is the medium in which it first was delivered to us (mankind).  If we present the Gospel without the love that inseparably saturates it's entirety, we deceive those who hear it into interacting with a bastardization of the Message.  We commit a great sin.

Okay, soapbox is going back in the closet.  So, where were we?  Door to door, yes!  I will say, that my team members do a very good job at this "with love" thing.  So, I had high hopes for this instance of D2D.  That still didn't mean I wasn't nervous as crap.   

So, after touring the church/person's house that peculiarly had two kitchens, and after sipping on the coffee equivalent of Coca-Cola, with some bonus carcinogens provided by the plastic dixie cup it was in, we were off.  Right away, things were proving difficult.  Either almost the entire neighborhood was out enjoying the beautiful countryside (which, I mean, they should) or many of the residents had already acquired an admittedly justified leeriness toward a bunch of people toting Bibles and banging on doors. 

After a little while, we did manage to get some conversations going.  A sweet old lady invited us into her home and listened to what we had to say.  Though she seemed a bit on autopilot when it came to responding, I believe she did, at some level, absorb what Jim was saying.  If anything, we were able to share the truth of Christ's death and resurrection as being the sole avenue by which we come to reconciliation with the Father to a culture steeped in a "by works" mentality.

I was able to talk with some older men outside of a motorcycle repair shop while Jim talked to one of the mechanics.  Again, conversation felt awkwardly contrived.  Often, their responses either seemed out of left field or were so generic that I was left with very little in which to gauge who they were as people.  Needless to say, I was rather discouraged by the whole situation and, really the entire morning for the most part.

Once everyone regrouped, we decided to invade the local food shack for lunch.  Upon presumably exhausting their entire supply of plastic tables and chairs that weren't currently inhabited by locals, we were soon quarantined to the sidewalk in front of the restaurant.  Once the inevitable chaos of ordering subsided, I was soon handed a plate of sliced plantain, rice, beans and endearingly tough churrasco.  Considering I didn't even technically order anything, and the fact that even if I did, I probably would have received the same thing regardless, I happily dug in.  Once, everyone was finished, and after receiving the rather vindicating feeling of observing a man plop his full sized dog perpendicularly across the gas tank of his motorcycle and drive off, we soon carouselled into our taxi's and returned to base.

While I was lounging on my favorite multi-seater ottoman in the hotel lobby, I soon caught wind of something going down outside.  Turns out, some of the Evokers had met a band of traveling gypsy-kids (young adults) the night before and actually led the girl that sang with them to Christ, and now, the same band, minus the girl (I think her name was Camilla,) was outside having an impromptu jam session.  We decided to go join in. 

The band, affectionately and coincidentally comprised of Daniel, Samuel, Manuel, and… Carlos, included a large, cow skin tom drum, a nylon string guitar, a traditional, regional woodwind that I forget the name of, and a freestyle rapper.  One of the girls in our group, Alexsa, is an amazing flautist herself and was soon running to grab her bamboo flute.  In no time, we were all sitting in the middle of foot traffic just jammin' out and drawing attention.  Though I've had many moments of surreality on the trip already, this one was special.  It was like I got the peanut butter of my deeply cherished high school hangout days in the chocolate of my crazy impactful Colombia adventure.

Later that afternoon, we traveled to Cecilia, one of the poorest neighborhoods in the area.  There, after being dropped off on the wrong side of the neighborhood and parading our not-so-subtle caravan of American-ness over to the correct thatched community gazebo, we were soon knee deep in local children spanning the age gamut of a typical public educational system.

This kid kinda sums up the general response we saw from the locals as we walked by.

While many of the team members went right into talking to different pockets of the kids, I comfortably sat behind my camera and documented.  Once everyone had filed in, and after a short monologue from the community representative explaining the kid's involvement in various community projects, Scott and Jennifer took the stage.

They preceded to explain to the kids the message of hope and transformation that is the Gospel.  Some ways through, Scott used an analogy that I really think speaks to the heart of a very popular, worldwide mindset.  The mindset of knowing of Jesus is enough.  Scott equated it to jumping out of an airplane with a parachute on.  Simply knowing you have the parachute on is only good enough for peace of mind as you continue to fall and eventually hit the ground.  It isn't until you engage the parachute that it become pertinent, life-saving in fact.  The difference between knowing of Jesus, and having a relationship with Him is the same as knowing you have a parachute and actually using it.  At the end, Scott led those who wanted to engage that relationship in prayer. 

After that, we did the usual breakout sesh.  As if on cue, Karina grabs me and says, "Lets go talk to them!"  The "them" she was referring to was a group of about ten high school boys who were essentially the cultural polar opposite of high school Michael… and current, young professional Michael for that matter.  They saw my hippie-long, blondish surfer hair and affinity for post rock, ambient progressive, with barely-on snap-backs and naturally occurring swagger, and raised me a rat tail or two. 

Sensing a theme in the trip by now, I just said, "Eh, why not?" 

After silently, but mutually, acknowledging the obvious cultural dichotomy, the kids and I actually seemed to ease into conversation pretty easily.  I started by making rounds with some basic questions: What's your name? How old are you? All of them were within the classic high school age range.  When it came to names, nothing too out of the ordinary. Though when it came to the kid on my left, he said his name was Michael as well, causing a tremor of snickers throughout the group.  I had my suspicions, but I went with it. 

Then I asked them what they thought of the message they had just heard.  I received the typical half-hearted it-was-good nods.

"So, then, do you believe it?" I inquired.  Again, more nods.

I continued, "Okay, so you believe it?  Let me ask you something then.  You die.  Where do you think you'll go?  Heaven or Hell?"

Some said they didn't know, while many said very flatly, Hell.  Though surprised does not accurately describe my reaction to their answers, I was taken aback by how these kids could answer that question with such a sense of acceptance.  I challenged them.  If they said they believed the Message they had just heard, why then would some of them still believe Hell was their fate? 

"I just think I've done too much wrong…"  Michael responded, as he stared down at the floor. 

I grabbed his shoulder, and though I was speaking to the whole group, I looked a Michael as I spoke.  "Trust me, I understand that thought process.  I used to feel the same way.  I felt like I was some how un-savable.  For twenty years, I was trying to earn God's love.  Earn his acceptance.  It left me depressed and almost sent me to a mental institution."  Again, eyes locked on this kid.  "Please, believe me.  I'm implore you.  God loves you right where you stand.  There is nothing you have done nor could ever do that would somehow put you outside of His reach.  If you truly come to believe that, and accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior and choose to walk with Him for the rest of your life, I have no doubt in my mind I will see you in Heaven." 

As I spoke to this kid, his deep, dark eyes would lock with mine as he listened.  I saw something in those eyes that I still can't fully describe using any type of conventional language.  This kid was getting it.  He was listening, in the deepest sense of the word.  I can't put my finger on what I saw, but God was knocking on Michael's heart.  I know it. 

I turned to the group.  "Let me explain it this way.  Jesus is God, correct?  He has all the cosmos at His command.  He can do anything he wants.  He could have come down from that Cross at any time.  There was no reason for Him to remain up there in agony…except He was missing something.  The God of the Universe was missing something.  What was He missing?  You."  I put my hand on Michael's shoulder again, "You."

I asked them again if they understood.  "Yes." They replied. 

I encouraged them.  "Press into this.  God is real.  And He will show you things you never could even dream of.  I'm proof of that.  I never thought I would be in Armenia, Colombia speaking to a group of teenagers, but here I am."

I asked them all what they wanted to do when they grew up.  After unanimously responding with, "professional fútbol player," a good majority of them revealed that they would like to work for the Colombian equivalent of the FBI.  Something, I think, that speaks to the youth's dissatisfaction with the current injustices they see played out in the government and in their  everyday lives. 

I then asked if they had any questions for me.  After some hesitation and chuckling, Karina relayed to me that they wanted to know if I had a wife.  Nope, I chuckled.  What about a fiancé? Nah.  Girlfriend? Nada.  Finally, I sighed.  "Karina, just let them know that I'm bad with the ladies."

As we were wrapping up, I asked them to join me in prayer.  I inquired about anything they'd like me to pray for, specifically.  One's grandmother had Alzheimer's, another's grandmother had cancer, another asked me to pray for his family.  Then, Michael spoke up with his request. "I would like to do something with my life," he stated.   So, we huddled and I prayed for all of them and lifted up each specific request to the Lord.

Once we disbanded, I asked Karina to let Michael know I'd like to speak with him away from the group for a second.  I ran and grabbed my Spanish/English Bible and met up with them.  I locked in on his eyes again.  "I see something in you.  You get this.  The Lord is working in you, I can see it.  Press in to this.  You said you wanted to do something with your life.  This is your chance.  God will use you do great things, things you can't even begin to imagine.  Take this seriously and God will show up.  Believe me.  Please.  Believe me." 

"Do you have a Bible?"  I asked. 

"No."

I put the Bible in his hand.  "Here, this is yours.  Read it, and I promise you God will show you things."

I asked him if he knew the Gospel story and he said, "not really."  I showed him the Four Gospels and explained to him a little bit about how they are laid out.  I also pointed him to Romans and explained its purpose.  I then asked for his Facebook information in case he had any questions or wanted to continue the conversation.  He put it in my phone. 

I then noticed he listed his first name a being Krystian.  Playing into my suspicions, I confronted him about it.  He said that everyone calls him Michael.  Still with eyebrow raised, I dropped the interrogation.  Later on I learned that he had told Lirio that his name was David.  Very guarded kid, but I know God is working His way in.

We were then asked to collect back up front in order to be presented with some super fragrant orange candles (mine was the shape of a guitar!) that managed to provide a pretty convenient nostalgic link to Colombia upon my return.  Thanks, olfactory system! 

By this time, Scott and the gang decided to reveal that they had gifts for all the kids.  To the guys, a bunch of soccer balls.  To the girls, makeup of all sorts.  And to the kids, bags and bags of candy.  It was like casting seed to pigeons trying to allocate the lollypops to the sea of grabbing hands.  One of those hands ended up being mine and was quickly appeased with a maracuyá (passion fruit) lollypop, complete with seeds and gum inside! 

After a few photo-ops with the kids and staff, we made our way to the cabs.  As a few of us exited the gazebo, we were met by a handful of  children who were asking for our autographs.  This tickled me to no end.  I obliged, chuckling at the fact that I think they were having us sign the Gospel pamphlets we handed out earlier.  We said our goodbyes, drew the per usual stares of the surround neighbors and headed back to the hotel.

Well, this seems like a good place to realize that this post will have to be a two-parter.   There is actually quite a bit more left of Day 4, but I will make it more digestible by breaking it up into two parts.  You're welcome :P.

DAY 3 - PUBLIC SPEAKING

Sorry this whole process is so slow moving.  I'm finding each blog post is taking way longer that I expected due mostly in part to rambling asides such as this. 

Anyway.

I awoke the morning of Day 3 with a peculiar sense of confidence and motivation for the day at hand.  I say peculiar because we had reached the public speaking portion of the trip.  One of our translators, Jennifer, had arranged for our group to speak to the high schoolers at the school she teaches at.  Each one of us were to share our testimony, (i.e. our past, how Jesus showed up, the radical change that ensued, and how we now use the individual artistic gifts we've been given to glorify Him.)  Now, I'm not exactly petrified of public speaking, but the public aspect does prove a very effective inconvenience for my nerves.  That morning however, the scales tipped towards: "Okay, let's do this." rather than the incumbent: "Okay, I have to do this."

That morning, at breakfast, while I awaited my pancakes with honey or omelet with honey, (can't remember which I had that particular morn) my common state of preoccupation actually felt semi productive this time.  I knew my testimony. I mean, I lived it.  But I was getting stuck on how I was going to present it in a way that would resonate with these kids.  The last time I could remember speaking to and trying to relate corporately to high schoolers was when I was actually in high school myself, giving robotic orations that have had their spines mercilessly removed and replaced with topic sentences and bullet points.  I also remember the typical despondency that seems to be innate in high schoolers and how presentations tended to cause that trait to flare up.  Now, this was in fact a private Christian school, which may or may not make the latter statement even more valid.  Anyway, that was my focus during prayer that morning; how to effectively reach and relate to these kids. 

During prayer, God kept impressing on me that these kids need to hear just how much God loves them, and how important comprehending that fact is.  It was something I had the hardest time believing during my teenage years and it rendered me depressed and without a healthy sense of identity.  So, I had my entry point.  The rest would just be an outflow of my heart, letting the Holy Spirit say what He wants to say.

After a little trouble finding the school as it lay rather secluded in a sparse and somehow threatening feeling rural area, we arrived.  Upon parking we walked down a dirt road leading to the back of the K-12 school where they apparently kept the high schoolers.  Again, some odd sense of threat in the area:

We set up shop in an impressively large outdoor stage area.  Soon the high schoolers filed in, sporting their white and blue tracksuit uniforms.  As everyone got settled, we learned that these kids actually knew English pretty well, so we could speak to them directly and forgo a translator this time.

So, Scott got things started off with his lighthearted, easy-going antics. Got the kids laughing and then went into his story.  Each team member then preceded to present their testimony, all of which I've heard at least in part.  That fact does not change, however, the power that lies behind each one.  Every person who shared has had RADICAL transformation in their lives due to Jesus showing up and enacting His heart-changing truth.  Heavy, heavy situations of abandonment, drugs, abuse, rape, you name it, every person had a unique situation from which they came, but every one of us was standing there today, transformed, because of an encounter with the person of Jesus Christ.

Well, my turn comes around and by then I had realized something.  My upbringing stood in stark contrast to many of the stories I had just heard.  I grew up with a mom and a dad who were always there for me, loved me overtly, provided all the comforts of an upper middle-class income, my sister and I got along swimmingly and I didn't really have to pay for much of anything except for gas to put in the car my parents bought me.  I had every foreseeable need met, I even grew up going to church and had a relationship with Jesus, but I still managed to fall into despair.  How could something like this happen?  This is medium in which I gave my message.

I spoke of how even though I did have a relationship with Jesus growing up and understood with my head, and to many extents, my heart, the essence of His work on the Cross, my actions and state of constant fear and neurosis proved evident that I wasn't quite ready to believe it with my entire being.  That I still felt like I had to earn God's love.  That my citizenship in heaven was somehow unassured and in someway mine to lose.  I told them about my being diagnosed with of a form of OCD called Scrupulosity and my various antidepressants and trips to therapists; all of this stemming from an obsessive fear of somehow becoming unredeemable.  Then, I let them know of how God has been with me the entire time and over the last few year's I've finally come to the realization that there is absolutely no way I can outrun God's love, and that I now consider myself with upmost confidence, a citizen of the Kingdom of Heaven.   In fact, I neglected to even tell them about how I was a photographer.  I was too wrapped up in making sure these kids understood how much God is in love with them; constant, continual, perpetual love with them; regardless of circumstance or past deeds, or future deeds for that matter.  God loves them right where they stand.

After the presentations, Scott let the group in prayer and then we mingled with the kids a bit.  After paying homage to my high school days by assuming the wallflower stance, I was soon approached by a girl named Mariapaula.  She was such a sweetheart.  She thanked me for sharing and began to express her love for Jesus and how she plays in the worship band at school.  She also expressed her current dilemma of wanting to pursue music further in college, while her parents were wanting her to err on the financially safer side with a medical degree.  We conversed for a while and I imparted some encouragement and, hopefully, knowledge into her situation. 

As we talked, I learned that a while back, a pastor and his wife prophesied over her in regards to her musical ability.  Basically, while they were conversing, the pastor told Mariapaula to sing for him and his wife.  Taken aback by the abruptness of his request, she floundered a bit and explained that she would need some form of accompaniment or at least some prep time, but the pastor and his wife were insistent.  In fact, they sat on the ground until she acquiesced.  So, she sang.  When she had finished, the pastor told her that God was going to use her voice to touch the lives of many people. 

By this point the school bell had rung and most of the kids were off to their next class.  I asked if she should be getting to class, but she quickly responded by saying that she could go to class anytime, but only had this one time to talk with us.  So, after a little more conversation involving the miracles of both her and her brother even being alive. (Her brother was born at 6 months gestation and she was born without an organ [she didn't specify which one.])  she thanked me again, and made a point to go around thank every other Evoke team member.  Honestly, she was such an encouragement with the love of the Lord and overall maturity she displayed.

She's the one with the big ol', sweet earrings.  The one on the left is Amera, she break dances.

More pictures from the presentation:

Later on in the trip, Jennifer revealed to me that many of the kids felt like they could relate to my story.  (Praise God!)  You see this demographic was an outlier of sorts when compared to the rest of the groups we spoke with on the trip.  Like me, many of the them came from a rather affluent and cohesive family.  In fact, almost all of them had plans of going to college in the US. So, when I talked of having a very privileged life and still managing to find depression, it resonated.

Anyway, after some juice boxes at the school cafe and interacting with some giggly elementary schoolers while Scott made a cameo in Jennifer's 3rd grade class, we headed back to the hotel.

Later that afternoon, the girls hosted a jewelry making workshop for around 35 active prostitutes in a city government building.  This event was hosted by Evokes chief jeweler, Lirio.   Lirio has a beautiful and ever-growing line of jewelry that she crafts herself and has a heart that is specifically soft for those trapped in prostitution and sex slavery.  Though the men refrained from helping out due to the sensitivity of the situation, we did hear about the experience afterwards.   I think the girls almost unanimously agreed that it was the most trying experience they've had so far on the trip. 

Upon arriving, they were greeted by a room was hot and poorly lit and many of the women had brought their children along, adding to an already noisy and distracted atmosphere.  Though attentions were hard to hold as Lirio made her way from table to table showing each of the women how to make their own bracelet, slowly but surely, conversations were being had and hearts were starting to soften.  The women were starting to open up, and the girls were able to connect with them.  After spending time praying over the women, girls passed out some new clothes and encouraged them that God was with them and that prostitution did not have to be their life.  God will proved a way out.  

I will go ahead and say it now, there are already tangible repercussions from the girl's faithfulness that night.  We've heard that two of the women decided to leave prostitution and open up roadside stands instead.  One of them began attending the church of one of our local correspondents two Sundays ago and is being welcomed with open arms!  God is in the business of transforming hearts and lives!

Okay, so while all that goodness was going on, the guys hung out around the base of the government building in a town square type area.  We were waiting for Antonio as he had disappeared to somewhere within the bowels of the government building.  As we waited, George, the English talking homeless guy from Day 1, approached Scott.  They began to converse and seemed to be having quite the deep discussion.  On a side note, Scott wasn't involved with our first interaction with George, so he was basically meeting him for the first time.  Soon, George, Scott and Karina were off to go get food.  Scott bought George dinner, anything he wanted, and told him to get more for later.

After they returned to the rest of the group, Antonio finally emerged from the building with a huge(r than normal) smile on his face.  "You'll never believe what just happened to me!" He said.  Antonio then proceeded to explain how he came across someone while inside who took him throughout the entire building, even to areas of restricted access, and he was asked to pray over certain rooms which were described as having many devils.  They would interrupt meetings and explain that Antonio was a missionary from America and he would then pray over the room.  He even was given access to the governors office even though she was out of town, and he prayed over that.  They also had him dedicate an entire empty floor to the Lord.

Once the girls were finished, we headed back to the hotel.  On our way, we came across George again.  This time, he was the one with the huge smile.  He raved about how he hasn't felt this full in years.  He kept thanking us and going on about how much he ate.  He then began to explain how he can't get us out of his head.  He said, that the words Alexsa spoke and prayed over him have been buzzing around his mind ever since.  He said he even tried to get high the night we met and it did nothing for him, he just got sick.  Same thing with alcohol, just threw it up.  We encouraged him, letting him know that The Lord is working in his life.  He agreed.  He said he even finds himself giving advice to those in the homeless community around him.  This man was becoming human again, and even deeper than that, he was taking strides towards his identity as a child of God.

That night, we went to a pizza place sensibly titled, "Kosher Pizza."  I will say, Colombia has an unexpectedly impressive pizza scene.  Like any good Americans, we basically took over the back room of the restaurant and proceeded to bludgeon the rest of the patrons with boisterous eruptions from the back.  We even spilled over into the kids room, which was adorned with terrifying versions of Pixar characters.  I found that Colombia loves them some Pixar, 'specially Toy Story.  So much so as to make these nightmarish effigies:

After recovering from PTSD Bullseye and Jessie's soulless edifice of an expression, we managed to surprise Antonio with a pretty killer birthday cake.  I use killer homonymously in that sentence because the "candle" protruding from the cake was essentially a road flare.  Once the fire hazard was effectively extinguished and most of the cake was used for it's intended purpose, the preverbal cake fight broke out, followed by a serendipitous homeless mariachi band that we played off as being Antonio's birthday serenaders.  After leaving the restaurant (likely in shambles,) we returned to the hotel to chill and eventually sleep.

DAY 2 - ADDENDUM

So, there was one more thing we were able to experience on day two.  One of our translators, Katherine, had a piece of art on display in one of the government building, so we took a little field trip to go check it out.

Now, the reason I was waiting to post this part was because I was attempting to get a link from Katherine to her online portfolio.  However, she informed me that she does not have one up and running at the moment, so please do take my word for it when I say that she is a very talented graphic designer.

Anyway, after pondering Katherine's pop-art piece, she informed us of a panoramic elevator on the other side of the building, which we soon located.  Here are the results:

Seriously, Armenia is a beautiful city.  Colombia is a beautiful country.   I remember someone asking our driver from the Cocora Valley trip that morning if he ever got tired of seeing the mountains.  He quickly replied, "never."

Well, that's it as far as Day 2's Addendum.  Day 3 up next!

DAY 2 - THE PHOTO EDITION

After the craziness that was day one, my perception of the remainder of the trip as I awoke that morning still remained a considerably strong shade of daunting, but yesterday's experiences were doing well to thin the paint, so to speak.  As testament to how little stamina I had coming into this trip, our schedule for day two's morning provided me a well needed chance to relax for a bit.

So, a lady named Liliana who goes to Antonio's (fellow Evoker / unofficial Evoke mascot) church, Body of One Ministries, was actually in Colombia visiting family.  She had heard about out trip and planned her's to coincide.  Anyway, she so graciously offered to take us sight seeing in an area know for its amazing vistas.  It wore that reputation very well.  After a harrowing van ride through the twists and turns and constitution testing that is mountain travel, we arrived at the picturesque city of Salento.  This town had flavor.  Though our future mountain gawking prevented us from spending any time exploring the city, the drive through it stood on its own. 

Examples of the picturesqueness.

So about those future mountains.  We went on a hike through a part of La Valle de Cocora.  I'll let the following picture montage do the explaining.

After returning to the van, our awesome driver, who's name escapes me, suggested a restaurant which suffers the same name problem as the driver.  Anyway, more pictures.

First of all, this is the second round of plantain chips.  There first round consisted of individual, appropriately sized portions which we consumed with gusto only to find the absurd sized ones were to follow.  Also, note the drink I have.  It is guanabana con leche.  While good in its own, slightly chemical tinged, right, I can safely say that it does not pair well with fish; like, at all.

The trout heads provided a boisterous amount of entertainment for most of the group. I ended up attempting to eat the tongue of the trout.  Much to my chagrin, trout tongues are basically entirely cartilage.  I settled for the eyeball instead.  Only a small lens to deal with there. 

After the morning's adventures and a little kick-around time, we had our assignment for the afternoon.  We were told that we will be heading to a rehab clinic.  That was about it as far as information.  So, we piled into our three cabs and did our best to explain to the drivers where the clinic was.  Two of them got it right.  The third managed to ensue a rather hairy situation that involved four of our team members missing a turn and heading of in some other direction without a phone.  After sending out a recon cab, we managed to herd the lost cab back to the proper destination.  While we were waiting, one of the other cab drivers actually remembered Antonio (told you, he's the mascot) from the last time they were there.  This man could not contain himself. After a leaping hug, that probably could have killed Antonio given the right circumstances, they caught up while the rest of us went to this sweet look out point near the clinic.

After all there reunions were fulfilled, we were let inside and welcomed by the staff.  As we walked onto the property, the first thing that hit me was how deprived the entire facility was.  The recreation area was rust and concrete and the building itself was basically one open room that housed 5 bunk beds, some bookshelves and a pile of old school desks. 

As we sat down, the peculiarity of the patients began to sink in as well.  First was the obvious; every single one of them had their head shaved, men and women.  I wasn't sure if this was some odd exercise in camaraderie, or a symbol of renewal, or just common procedure in rehab clinics.  Either way, everyone on the Evoke team wore a similar confused look as we took our seats.  Soon enough, through the explanation of one of the volunteers, we soon learned that this wasn't your basic drug rehab clinic; rather, it was more of a support home for those with psychiatric disorders.  Either onset by drug use or from birth, each resident's condition was influential enough to prevent them from functioning effectively in society, but not severe enough to institutionalize them.  Another thread they all shared was that none of them have any family that was able to take care of them.

The volunteer lady explained how they all live in this building and are there basically indefinitely unless someone proves they can care for them, or, i guess, the patient instills enough confidence in the staff with their progress that they are released.  We also learned that they were all on psychiatric medication.  The lady proceed to show off each patient as if they were a case study.  I know she meant well, but it was rather uncomfortable watching as each patient "performed" for us.  I will say, however, the first man to eagerly volunteer was a delight.  His name was Gilberto and he just embodied happiness.  He spoke in a very theatrical voice and made everyone in the room smile with his charm and whit.  He had the proverbial village idiot persona which was exploited in his past.  When he was on the streets, he would have rocks thrown at him.  His mother has Alzheimer's and is unable to take care of him.  To the room's delight, He made it known, in a rather tongue in cheek manner, that he would never run away from the clinic. 

Other cases included moderate levels of mental retardation and drug histories with varying repercussions, including a man who has difficulties with comprehension.  We were later shown a photo of this man when he first arrived.  I wish I had a picture of it, the difference is chilling. 

As we were learning all of this, there was a tension among the group about how to effectively reach these people.  The theme that had been developing on the trip was the concept of preaching to the spirit, that though the mind may not be receiving the message due to whatever form of impairment, if it's spoken in the authority of Christ, the spirit will receive it.   So, Antonio began to speak.  He spoke directly to the patients spirits, about how they are not forgotten.  God knows each and every one of them and their predicaments.  He shared the redemptive and restorative message of the Gospel and as he was talking, one of the residents, Carlos was responding.  He was in agreement with us and we picked up on it right away.  This became a catalyst for confidence around the room and it culminated as Antonio was explaining how God will use them to do great things and that they are not done yet.  Carlos suddenly rang out in English, "This is the day!"  And a shudder of agreement went through the room.  As Antonio wrapped up, we prayed over the group corporately and then broke out into conversation with the various patients and staff. 

I went over to Carlos to thank him for standing in agreement with us.  As I got to know him, he revealed to me that he has know the Lord for twenty years.  During that span he has been in and out of drugs many times.  He explained to me how Jesus is his everything and how he wants so badly to continue to walk in righteousness and avoid falling back into a destructive lifestyle.  I reminded him of the phrase he used earlier that imparted so much power into the room.  This is the day.  He explained that a missionary taught him a song that had that phrase in it.  "This is the day.  This is the day.  This is the day that the Lord has made."  He repeated it in Spanish as well.  I told him to say that phrase every morning when he wakes up.  I prayed with him for deliverance from any lingering drug problems and encouraged him to fulfill his role as a light to this community.  

Among the group of residents there, one stuck out as being a little out of place.  There was a man there who looked to be in his late twenties and was rather well composed in appearance.  As we were sharing, he wore the the stereotypical disinterested look that you'd probably me more accustomed to seeing an a run of the mill rehab clinic.  An air that many of his peers didn't have the wherewithal to produce.  Though I didn't get to talk to the man,  Scott (Evoke's founder) and Antonio did.  From what I can remember them saying, he had a history of drugs and really didn't have anyplace else to go.  After what I appeared to be a very real, heartfelt conversation, Scott was soon praying over the man and later Antonio, Carlos and the young man appeared to be having an impromptu Bible study.  Though I didn't hear any of the exchanges, the message of the Gospel appeared to be touching this man's heart.  I remember glancing over multiple times to find him with his nose buried in the Book.

Other stories included Jerryl having a rich conversation with the man who had comprehension issues.  Something he probably almost never gets to experience nowadays because people assume it would be lost on him.  Alexsa was able to talk and pray with the owner of the clinic who came from the streets himself.  There were and many others that I can't recall at the moment, but each team member was able to experience these individuals on a very significant level. 

Each person seem to have such a receptive and cognizant spirit, if you would just take the time to listen to them.  I think the most impactful moments within our interactions with these people came when we treated them as human beings, rather than their conditions.  Yes, interacting with them in an accommodating manner, but not patronizing.  Speak to the spirit, regardless the communicative handicap you are facing. 


I didn't want to break up the story, so here are the pertaining photos:

After saying our goodbyes, we headed back to the hotel.  That night, the girls hosted a service at the church we were partnering with.  From what I understood, it was aimed at empowering Godly women from around the city and connecting them for more effective affecting within their realm of influence.  But I'm a guy, so I didn't get to see the goings on of their meeting.  Instead, I went with a group to a mall to get some grub.  I'll describe the mall in list form.

The Mall
 - Looks and feels like a mall you'd find here in the states.
 - Only store I recognized was Dunkin' Donuts
 - They win on food court dish presentation.


And... I think you have had enough of day two for now.  I'm gonna come right out and say it.  There is a little more of day 2 to come.  I just need to get a bit of information from on of our translators before I post it.  If you have made it this far, give yourself a round of applause. 

Thank you guys, I really do appreciate those of you who read this.

DAY 1 - BACK WITH A MUSHY HEART.

Well, I've decided to take on the herculean task of unpacking the entirety of what was, without a doubt, one of the most significant weeks of my life.  Bear with me, as these will likely be some monstrous posts. I promise you though, they are worth the read.  God is alive and at work in the hearts and hands of people in Colombia!

So, if you have been in contact with me recently or have scrolled beyond this post and have any simple sense of chronology, you probably know that I have recently come back from a mission trip in Armenia, Colombia.  I was there with the creative ministry I'm a part of: Evoke.  It is no exaggeration that this trip has ROCKED me.  I will post a reflection at the end of this episodic, but for now, I just want to get to the nuts and bolts of the trip.  Of course, there will be my patented shoehorning of interjections and observation littered throughout each story, so don't worry.

And... here we go!

To say I was apprehensive going into this whole thing would be a severe understatement.  As I walked down my front steps to Jerryl's Toyota Yaris, I was already counting the hours until I would be making the reciprocal journey back up the steps into the isolated comfort of my newly rented (and adorable) little home.  On the ride there, any brainpower not currently employed in combating my introverted tendencies was busy calculating how I could get the most Jesus out of this experience with the least amount of discomfort and potential neurotic breaks.  Though I had never experienced the immersion that is a mission trip, I had plenty of references to the stretching and all around uncomfortable experiences of proselytizing here in the States.  Add the elements of never having been to Colombia, or even South America for that matter, and my 2 year old's equivalent of a Spanish vocabulary, and the fact that I will, in essence, be trapped in this environment for the next 8 day, and I was undoubtedly assuming the worst.  Funny thing is, I was not really concerned about my personal safety at all.  Kidnap me and threaten me with a machete, that's fine, just please don't make me talk to people!!

Anyway enough wet blanketing.  I am inexpressibly happy to announce (spoiler alert)  that this mentality was obliterated basically after day one!

So, after using Jerryl's employee powers to circumvent the security lines at Orlando International Airport (suckers!) we were soon on our way Ft. Lauderdale… and then on our way to Armenia Colombia, traveling aboard the KIA Rio of airlines, Spirit; who's slogan should be, "Huh, not as bad as I expected..."  After quasi sleeping, half due to exhaustion and half in order to avoid talking to people for at least a little while longer, we arrived at El Eden.  Basically a DMV that happens to have a plane or two land at it every once in a while.  Seriously, one gate.  And the line for customs overflows onto the tarmac.  Actually, its probably the best view I've ever had at a security checkpoint.

Anyway, after about an hour in line, I handed my passport to the dude in the box.  He scans it and then hands it to another man and motions for me to sit in a chair behind the checkpoint.  The second man, realizing I don't speak Spanish (I think I just have one of those faces) does his best to explain to me that I am not in the system and basically don't exist according to Colombia.   So they take my passport to a back room and I remain sitting in my time-out chair for what was likely 15-20 minutes.  After a warm smile from a cleaning lady who was either motioning that she liked my hair or that everything she was saying was going over my head, the guys came back and I was free to enter the country. 

After an informal greeting session with George (our coordinator) and his daughter Janice (also one of our translators) and a reunion with Jim (one of Evoke's leaders) and His son (Tyler), we were off in our spacious Colombian taxi-van.

After the harrowing adventure that is driving in Colombia, we arrived at our pretty sweet, and pretty little hotel in downtown Armenia.  The hotel had good show teeth, however the rooms were very basic and lacked AC and any form of shower heads, but all around pretty nice.  Super 8 could learn a thing or two.

After we dropped our things off in our rooms, and after I managed to squeeze my apparently-too-tall-for-Latin-America frame into the public bathroom/cave downstairs, George took us to his favorite coffee shop, Café Superior (which would become a theme throughout the trip).  Per Janice's albeit a little attitude laced suggestion, I had a frozen coffee that tasted like dessert.  I was not upset.  We also had a piping hot bag or two of buñuelos, basically big ol' fluffy corn bread fritter balls.  After chatting a bit and accepting the fact that my mind cannot produce anything Spanish when prompted to and thus, I essentially will have to have an adult with me wherever I go, we went back to the hotel to reconvene with the rest of the group.

After a few more introductions with various translators who will be mentioned as the story progresses, we were off to feed some homeless under an overpass. 

As we walked the progressively sketchier streets toward the juncture of overpasses, I noticed a few things about the streets of this city.  1)  Street vendors everywhere!  Selling everything from Chiclets (don't understand the profit margin on those things) to bubble wands, to bootleg versions of Turbo (the animated Snail movie).  2)  Homeless people in droves.  3)  Lots of razor wire and a particularly amusing juxtaposition of a bright, tropical mural-clad wall with shards of broken glass lining the wall top. 

Upon arriving at the underpass, there was already a healthy line of homeless waiting to be served their dinner.  Though the view from the cement platform underneath the bridge was pretty amazing, with the sun setting and the rows of houses embedded in the mountainside, the place was rather dark;  demonic graffiti scattered about the walls, rats hanging around the palm tree trunks, roaches of various sorts and denotations. 

Now, when I say that I was thrown right into the ring, I mean, I didn't even get a chance to hide.  As we walked up, a homeless man singled me out and began to speak in a loud voice.  "Welcome to Colombia!  Thank you for coming! You are such a blessing to us all!"  (English equivalent, paraphrasing).  He shook my hand and introduced himself as José.

Well, there went my shot at hiding behind my camera the whole time.  So, immediately, we were off.  "Go, start talking to people!  Ask if they need prayer for anything!  Share the Gospel!" I was told.  So, Alexsa (a fellow Evoker) was kind enough to accompany me as a translator, which I found very comforting and kind of humorous considering she is an amazing prayer warrior and would be stuck conveying my palpably awkward and cumbersome prayers.

Anyway, those that needed prayer made themselves known without much coaxing.  Right away, I was able to share the gospel with a man named Carlos (Charley as he wanted to be called) and I realized how awkward it felt, and really, how bad I was at sharing a straight Gospel message on the spot.  The story of the Gospel is something I have known for some time now, and when asked to share it, I found myself jumping around and skipping over parts that I, myself, know intrinsically.  I really had to slow down and think about how the message needed to be presented to someone who may very well be hearing it for the first time.  So, after some amazingly uncomfortable iterations of man's fallen state, our need for redemption and God's reconciling us through His Son, I was feeling a little overwhelmed and discouraged.  I remember putting my hand to the neck of a particularly dirt-covered man with two tarp bags over his shoulders and praying healing over his throat as he went on laughing and saying things that I had no chance at understanding, but were probably in ridicule of me.  I was uncomfortable, but Alexsa, being Alexsa, kept cheering me on. 

While all this was happening, I was encouraged and discouraged at the same time by what what going on around me.  On my left, a woman was laying on the ground sobbing with one of our translators, Jennifer, embracing her and drilling into her how much God loves her and how beautiful she is.  There were various pockets of breakthrough happening all around.  I could hear God's word intermittently punching through the clamor and I knew God was rocking and empowering people, but I felt so ill-equipped. 

After the dirty bag man, one of our team members came up to me and said that there was a man that was asking for me, specifically, to come pray for him.  He wanted me to come to him, away from the main collect of people.  Now, I had a camera/backpack on me, so I was immediately suspicious.  I had the message relayed that he can come to me if he needs prayer.  After a little back and forth and me kind of forgetting about him, he eventually came over to me.  His name was also José.  José was the vessel in which I feel God imparted His power and established breakthrough in me.

 José and I talked for a while via my new translator Karina (this girl has an amazing story herself [will explain in a future post]).  Now, I actually don't remember much of the conversation specifics.  However, before I knew it, I was leading this man in a prayer to accept Jesus into his heart!  I'm pretty sure this was the first time I'd ever led someone in a prayer of this nature before.  It was amazing.  I remember asking him to hold out his hands so that I could hold them during the prayer. He held out one, but the other remained in his pocket.  Turns out his right arm was lame and a bit shriveled, but I asked to hold it anyway.  So he pulled it out of his pocket with his other hand and laid it in mine.

So, I began.  "Jesus, I give you my all…"  and Karina would repeat it in Spanish, and José would follow, also in Spanish.  After the prayer, I asked to pray for healing over his hand.  He acquiesced and another Evoker, Amera, and I began to pray.  I remember praying for that man's hand strengthen with such fervency.  I wanted to see a healing so badly.  At one point I lifted my head to the concrete above and just began to shout the name of Jesus.  I kept contending for it, but didn't see any physical change in the man's hand. 

Though a little disappointed, the event did not change my belief in God's ability and willingness to heal.  In fact, on my drive to the hotel that day, Tyler was showing me a picture of a man who was healed at a service they had earlier that week.  The man was holding his arm sling with the very arm that it once housed.

When I think about it, I feel like I was coming into this trip putting too much emphasis on seeing healing, rather than seeing hearts changed.  Yes, seeing José's arm restored would have been amazing and would have bolstered my faith immensely, but to see the man's hope and heart restored, that is the stuff we ought to be after.

Anyway, the rest of the night went amazingly.  I talked to a myriad of people.  One group asked me how to get to America and also shared their strong opinions on the imperialistic persona my country gives off.  I apologized on behalf of the entire country and shrugged off a few more possibly deserved jabs.  I also remember, sometime within the conversation I was asked a very genuine question.  "Why are you here?"

In that question, my perspective suffered a necessary shift.  Though paraphrased, my response answered the very question that I was asking myself.   "For you. "  I replied.   "We are called to reach those that others pass over.  Christ has come even for the least of us." 

That night produced story after story.  For instance, there was a 13 year old heroine addict that could not look those trying to talk to her in the eyes.  When they tried to lay hands on her to pray, she freaked out, so they began praying to her spirit.  She calmed down enough for one of the girls to start speaking to her.  She began explaining to the girl how loved she is by God and how this is not her forever.  The girl suddenly sobered up and whispered in response, I don't know why, but for some reason I believe you.

There was also a woman named Carolina who was dying of AIDS.  She was essentially a skeleton and unable to walk and lived under an adjacent overpass.  Lirio, from our group, went over to talk to her and pray over her.  They must have spent a good 45 min to and hour talking and hanging out.   Carolina said she hasn't laughed like that in ages. This woman appears later on in the week, so I will refrain from details for now.  Just know that she is just a light to that area, and a warrior and gives impressively strong hugs.

By the time we had to leave, Karina and I were both sitting on the filthy, roachy, concrete ground having conversations with a man who considers himself a lost sheep with no hope of return and a man who had been diagnosed with HIV.  Both powerful, hearty conversations that pained me greatly when they were cut short. 

There were many other stories that came out of that night, but due to my not being directly involved or not remembering them with enough clarity to recount them with accuracy, I will leave you with those above. 

After a late dinner of empanadas filled with various meats and a 3 liter of Manzana Postobón,  the group retired for the night.  And to avoid having to come up with some witty cliff hanger to end this post, I'll just say that day 2 is up next and won't disappoint.

-- Day 1 Addendum --

So, I have an addendum to my previous post.  I'll keep it short for your eyes and attention span's sake, but I feel it very important that I share it because it is a story that is threaded throughout the entirety of the trip.

After our interactions with the homeless under the bridge, we were on our way back to the hotel when we here hailed by another homeless guy from across the street.  "Hey!  Americans!" we heard in perfect English.  We acknowledged the novelty of his tongue of choice, but were none too caught up in it.  We continued walking, as did he, at parallel.  As we went along, he proceeded to explain his situation.  How Obama had deported him for selling drugs in the States.  How his wife and kids are still in the US, and how he has to wait ten years until he can get back in.  A few in the group started to engage him, and soon enough there was a small congregation listening and responding to this man and his story.

A portion of the group decided to stay and talk with this man, who revealed his name to be George.  The rest decided to continue on and find food for the group.  While I was in the latter group, I discovered later that George's current predicament involved heavy substance abuse, including but not limited to an addiction to crack.  From what I gathered based on the others reports, they said the man was impeccably sharp; very unlike many of those who we'd met who have had their person dulled through drugs and desolation.  Anyway, after about 30 min of conversation with George, Alexsa was able to pray over him and impart Godly wisdom over his life.

Little did he or us know, George's little, tongue-in-cheek quip he used to grab our attention, would impart an encounter with the Lord over the following week that would have repercussions beyond anything any of us could have anticipated.