Sunday, November 3, 2013

DAY 6 - INSIGHT


Okay, Day 6.  Sunday.

We started the day by attending a service at the loft-space church (not to be confused with loft space-church) we were at the night before.  The whole experience was just really cool.  It was super similar to some small-budget church services I've experienced in the states, except in Spanish and without air conditioning.

Anyway, part way through the service, they had the children perform a choreographed dance to some sweet, kids-bop worship song.  While almost all of them, except for the obligated youth staff, one slightly more ambitious kid, and Antonio, proceeded to mull about and wobble as the music played, I still felt a warmth in my heart that affirmed the goodness of the whole experience.

Afterward, an amazingly courageous little girl sang a solo for us.  Even when the music cut out once or twice, she kept on truckin'.  It's amazing how we can unlearn such courage as we get older, and then spend a good portion of our life attempting to get back to where we essentially started.

I also enjoyed the surreal experience of the band playing "Our God is Greater," and finding myself alternating between singing in English and attempted Spanish.

Scott was slated to give the message that morning.  He taught from Ezekiel 34, about getting out of the church and into the streets, seeking the lost.  At the end of the message, he gave an illustration using a baton (a.k.a. a broom handle that he American-ily snapped across his shin in the hotel lobby.)  He spoke of how each generation of believers is like a runner in a leg of a relay.  Every other runner on the team could have run their lap well but if just one of the runners falters, or doesn't deem it necessary to run with urgency, the whole race is lost.  He then asked for those of whom were ready to run to grab on to the baton.  We prayed over them and asked for a mobilization in the body of believers in Armenia.

Afterward, Jerryl, who had been doing a live painting of a Jeepao, and gave a word to the congregation of how they are to carry the burdens of their city.

Once the service was over, be were treated to empanadas and a dixie-cup of bubble gum flavored, powdered milkshake.  All and all, the whole service was a blessing to be a part of.

Now, there is a story that basically began on Day 4 that I haven't mentioned until now.  This is partially because I kinda forgot about it when I was writing Day 4's entry, and partly because I don't know if I have the writing gumption to keep more than two story lines open at the same time.  (Remember George from Day 1 / Day 3? I thought not.)   So, back while we were at the Christian school, Jim began to not feel well.  Now, this was not uncommon given Jim's gluten influenced sensitivities, but as the day went on, he wasn't feeling any better.  In fact, this sickness he was experiencing continued for the next few days.  So, while we were at the church service that morning, Jim stayed back at the hotel.  About half way through the service, we learned that Jim was being taken to the hospital.

After a three-hospital adventure involving speaking to a receptionist through broken glass, climbing over piles of clutter to get to a room, and full-automatic toting government police, it turned out he had some type of stomach amoeba.  They gave him some meds and sent him on his way.

Soon, he met up with us at this mountain-side restaurant called El Tejar.  There we were served breathtaking vistas of the valley it overlooked, as well as portions of food sized to match the view.  Even the petrified bacon must have gone through a slicer with the thickness set to "bungee jumping cord."

I finished about 1/3 of my plate.

 

Upon "finishing", we all romped around the mountain side a bit until a snide threat from a machete wielding kid who looked like he belonged in a Colombian version of Jughead, decided it was time for us to head back.

That afternoon, we chilled in a little coffee shop called Cafe Quindio where they sell these amazing little coffee flavored cookies called Cafecitas.  Fabio, the cop that was rocked by God earlier in the week, joined us as we hung out at the cafe.  A little while into our visitation, a little kid of about 8 to 10 years old approached the table where the bulk of the group was sitting.  Though I didn't hear all that went on, I deduced that the kid was asking for money.  I think is was for his mom who was waiting outside in the square.  Either way, I remember Lirio sniffing out the ploy and told the little guy that if he was honest with them, then she would give him some money.  Soon enough, Fabio was suddenly praying with the kid for salvation.  Remember, this is the same guy who just recently began his own relationship with Christ that week!

Later that night, we had scheduled to hold a creative meeting (something we do monthly in The States) in the dining/common area of the hotel.  Throughout the week we had been inviting any creative, Christian or non, that we came across, including the vagabond musician kids we jammed with earlier.   We were hopping for, and expecting, a good turn out.

While we set everything up, Scott charged Karina and I with getting ice-cream to pass out during the meeting.  Karina (being the local ice-cream aficionado) took the lead.   We landed on a little walk-up place nestled on the corner of a strip of various eateries.

As we waited for our order to be filled, a homeless man approached us.  He sweetly asked us if we could buy him some food.  "Sure thing!" I told him.


I asked him his name and he responded with a very regal, "Dominic Hernando Jimenez." 

I replied with mine and thought for a second, "Wait, do you want ice-cream?"  He chuckled and explained that he would rather have some rice for himself and his family.  So, after we received our grocery bag of ice-cream pops, we followed the man to little shop that was basically a walk in closet lined with sundries and protected by a prison-grade, barred facade.

Approaching the ordering "window," I told Dominic to get whatever he wanted.  He settled for a humble bag of rice and two liter of Coke.  Once supplied, Dominic began showering us with thank-yous.  He explained that he asks for food specifically instead of money to show that he is not about to go off and buy drugs or alcohol.  I told him that is a very honorable and wise thing to do, and before I could begin to give credit to Whom credit is due, Dominic asked if he could pray for Karina and me.  Surprised and ecstatic at the request, we happily acquiesced.

Dominic's prayer was beautiful.  He asked that The Lord bless us with good health and long lives, that we would have and keep our jobs.  Very practical, down-home blessing kind of stuff.

After he finished, I asked him which way he was headed.  Turned out we were traveling in the same direction, so we walked and talked a bit more.  I inquired as to how he came to be a Christian.  He explained that when he was young, he began to read the Bible.  He grew up in a Catholic family, but upon reading the Bible for himself, he decided to stop attending Mass, much to the chagrin of his mom and sister.  The then proceeded to express the reasoning behind his actions.  He referred to the divine regard in which the Catholic church he attended held Mary.  "I just don't think it's right to worship idols like that," he explained.

Again, Dominic's insight was surprising, if not refreshing.  Throughout our entire stint in Colombia we saw a people generally entrenched in hollow reverence to religion.  An activated, reciprocal relationship with the person of God had been replaced with a sterile, regimented interaction with a mere image.  The Almighty God, Who gives life and breath to all living things, had been reduced a talisman used to quell fear and bring about prosperity and good fortune.

As we continued to walk, Dominic explained how he felt like God puts certain people in our path for a reason, an encouraging thought that I find to be true as well.  Our interaction that night proved fine evidence.

Once back at the hotel, Dominic prayed over Karina and me again.  Asking God to bless us with beautiful dreams.  Upon finishing, Dominic thanked us once more and asked another favor of us.  He asked for a little money in order to buy oil to cook with.  Made only a tiny bit leery by his request, and coupled with the standard I hold to about not giving money out, I had to think about it for a second.  I told him that since he showed a faith in God, a relationship with Christ that I trusted was genuine, and that I had confidence that he would use the money honestly, I would give him some money.   He promised me that he would not use the money for drugs or alcohol and ensured me that his intentions were pure.  So, I handed him a 2000 peso bill (about 1 US dollar.)

At the exact moment I was placing the bill in Dominic's hand, and as if on cue, another homeless man walked by.  Of course, his eyes locked right on to the paper and he stopped dead in his tracks.  After saying our goodbyes to Dominic, I turned back to see the other homeless man staring at me blankly with out-held hand.  I asked Karina to please explain to him that what he saw was a very special case, that I normally don't give out money and that I apologize.  He gave me a look that assured me he wasn't buying it.  I didn't know what to do.  I tried explaining to him again that I couldn't give him money.  I offered to buy him something to eat or drink, but he wasn't having it.  So, we were at a stand off.

A few minutes into our stalemate, like an answered prayer, George (the homeless man from Day 1) happened to come walking by.

"George!" I hailed.

George quickly turned to see us.  "Hey!  Hey! How's it goin'?"  He replied brightly.  "Oh, man, Alexsa around?  I want to talk to her.  Maybe see if she can buy me something to eat?"

(Now, when recalling this dialogue, for some reason I think George actually was specifically asking if Alexsa could buy him some cookies and milk.  It sound's weird, I know, but it's that very strangeness that, I think, made me remember it as such.)

"Yeah!"  I replied.  "Alexsa is upstairs in the hotel.  I can go grab her for you.  But first, can you please let this man know that I won't give him any money.  I can buy him food from a place around here, but just no money."

"Sure thing."  George said with a smile.  And proceeded to explain, in a little rougher tone albeit, to the man the options he had to choose from.  The man seemed to lighten his stance and soon agreed to let me buy him something from Q'bano, Colombia's version of Hardee's.

The group of us walked the 50 yards or so to the restaurant and I told the man to get whatever he wanted.  He said he'd just take a burger. I told him he could have more, but he didn't really seem in the mood for talking.  He also didn't want to step into the restaurant even though it was open faced, like most of places we had come across.  So, Karina and I ordered a burger and threw in some fries for good measure.  We explained that it was for the man outside standing by the lamp post and to give it to him when it's ready.  While they prepared the man's food, Karina and I asked George to stay with the man to ensure he gets his food while we ran to get Alexsa.

After apprehending Alexsa, who jumped at the chance to see George again, we returned to find George and the man still waiting for the food.  George and Alexsa greeted each other like they were old friends.  As they caught up, I notice something about George that really struck me.  His face.  It had life to it.  There was a brightness about his features that I hadn't noticed in our previous meetings.  Something had come alive within this man.  What drug abuse, isolation, and social deprivation had attempted to kill, was now beginning to thrive once more.  You could see it, right before our very eyes, this man was becoming human again.

George explained how he had been sober for two full days and was connecting with his uncle to help get checked in to a rehabilitation clinic.  He also revealed that he was able to talk to his wife and kids via Skype earlier that day.  The whole time it seemed like he was floating 2 two inches off the ground.  I wish I could adequately explain to you how striking this man's appearance and demeanor was when contrasted with the dire and soul-numbed personalities that often inhabited those of which we came across while walking the Armenian streets.  God was working in this man in a way that you could quite literally see it in his face.

At some point, conversation turned to the man still waiting on his food.  George said while we were away, he was able to coax the intentions of the man out into the light.  The man admitted that he was going to use the money to buy alcohol.

While all of this was going on, another familiar face happen to show up.  His name escapes me, but he has basically been Mr. Consistency on all of Evoke's past Colombia trips.  This man, homeless as well, was known for the amazingly fast and amazingly expressive paintings he does on little strips of cardboard he finds laying around.  It seems like every time he'd see the group walking by, he'd hand us three or four of his paintings.  So, true to his nature, he greets us with a warm salutation and politely asks if we could get him something to eat from the adjacent fried chicken restaurant, Kiss Pollo... (Your guess is as good as mine.)

After we handed off the chicken, the homeless cardboard painter showed his gratitude in his usual handful of paintings.  They really are pretty cool.  I wish I had a sample to show you.  They often involve sunsets.

By the time we had the painter dude squared away, another man came walking up to us.  He looked to be in his twenties and rather strung out.  He had a shaky shamble and noticeably distant look in his eyes.  He approached our group and sheepishly mumbled something in Spanish.  It turned out George actually knew the guy and informed us that he was a friend of his.  George translated for us, saying that the man was requesting something to eat.  So, I made my way back to Kiss Pollo and got him whatever version of a #1 they had. 

I returned to find Alexsa praying over both George and his friend.  When they finished, I supplied the man with his chicken.  He seemed to be very appreciative.  We soon said our goodbyes and recommenced our quest for George's milk and cookies.

As we turned to head towards the store that George had in mind, we noticed that the man from earlier, the one waiting on the burger, was still standing outside the restaurant.  However, he now had his bag of food in hand.  We approached him and George asked him what was up.  Apparently, the man thought that the food was for us.  We happily corrected him, letting him know that the food was in fact his.  He subtly showed his understanding and appreciation with a nod and went on his way. 

We finally arrived at the store, which bore resemblance to the shop we bought the rice from earlier in the night.  Once George had his snack, he returned with us back to the hotel front.  As we walked, Alexsa spoke up.  "You know George, we're not just here to feed your stomach.  We want to feed your soul as well."

George was quick to respond.  "I know.  But by filling my stomach, my soul is being filled as well.  I don't know what it is, but I haven't felt this way in a long time... I feel like I'm falling in love with you guys!"

It was my turn to chime in,  "George, I can relate to that feeling!  I've described it the same way.  I've only been here a handful of days, but I feel like I'm falling in love with the people of Colombia!"

We encouraged George some more and prayed for his steps toward rehab.  Before he left to go back upstairs, George revealed that he had found a way that he could get back to the States before the ten years were up.  He said he had to raise 12,000 US dollars and once he got there, could not get as much as a speeding ticket, or he would get the boot. 

Finally, we were able to make it back to the creative meeting, and much to my delight, the room was packed.  On top of the twelve or thirteen from our group, was about fifteen others who we had met over the course of the week.  Since our ice cream endeavor took about an hour longer than we had anticipated, we only caught the closing minutes of the meeting. 

After a closing prayer, all were encouraged to mingle and connect with once another.  While I initially hung with my safety net of Karina and Janice, I eventually struck up a conversation with one of the traveling gypsy band kids.  His name was Samuel and he played the cow-skin drum that I had mentioned earlier in my posts.    

Conversation with this guy was so cool.  Not only did he speak pretty solid English, but he was also about my age and seemed to share in an affinity for deep thinking. 

He shared a bit about his troop and their wanting to see the world.  Then he asked me what my group's mission was.  I explained to him that, as a group of artists, we felt called to use our gifts and talents to express the Gospel of Jesus Christ, often, but not exclusively, through creative mediums.  The whole time I was explaining our directive, he was very engaged.  I felt like he was truly listening, rather than just hearing. 

Then he asked me a question that really caught me off guard with its insightful nature.  "So, America.  It's a capitalist country, no?  Capitalist, the capital of sin?"  I chuckled as he continued.  "So, with your mission, how do you reach a people who essentially have everything they feel they need?"

I lauded him on the thoughtfulness of his inquiry.  It made me stop and think.  It really was something to ponder. 

Though I don't think I responded in this manner during this particular conversation, I do believe every human being has an inherent longing for their Creator.  A need, though not always recognized as such, for the restoration of the relationship that was broken when sin entered the world.  A need that cannot be met by anything or anyone besides God Himself.  Knowing that there is an eternal longing that surpasses any finite and temporal need, I have confidence that whenever God's love is presented, regardless of the recipient's situation, it is received at some level, even if undetected by either party. 

Anyway, Samuel and mine's conversation continued for a good half hour or so before his troop informed him that they had to get going.  I really enjoyed the time I had with Samuel.  Though culturally disparate in many ways, the areas in which we found relation allowed for an ease of conversation that was often hard to come by during the trip. 

With that, I will leave you with another thank-you for your tenacity in reading this unnecessarily drawn out saga.  And encourage you to stay tuned for Day 7!