The morning of Day 3 saw the addition of two new team members. Scott's wife, Jackie and Sergio, our DJ for the festival, had flown in overnight and were ready to hit the ground running.
After breakfast as usual, our short prayer session that typically followed took the form of a worship set. Some of our Colombian friends had showed up early that morning and brought some instruments with them. So for about 30 minutes we sang --worship in the form a homogenous sound of both Spanish and English echoing through the corridors of the hotel.
As we praised God in the little open air cafe on the second story of our hotel, I would from time to time peer down to the street below. My eyes welled with tears as I saw passers-by glancing up at our room. Though probably a simple gesture of curiosity, each face I saw turn towards the sound I wanted deeply to recognize the gravity of what they had just happened by. It's likely that most of those faces have very little reference for what was going on in the room above them, but if they would have heeded that small, subtle nudge --the slight inclination to brake away from their morning routine of errands and obligations and walked up those stairs to investigate-- maybe they would have discovered what those of us in the room have already found. Maybe they would have encountered a Love that acknowledges their toil and heartache, their faults and their flaws, yet agrees to take on their burden and in place, give them the life of His own. Maybe they would have joined our humble choir of adulation, overwhelmed by the depth of sacrifice the God of the Universe has endured in order to have a relationship with them. Maybe the trajectory of their entire life would have drastically changed in that very moment. Oh, the implications offered in that fleeting little instance in front a hotel they've walked by a thousand times; implications that provoke one of the most poignant observations ever to exist in this darkened, shrouded world: if they only knew. If they only knew. This is to be the motor behind every Christian's interaction and influence on this earth.
After worship, the agenda for the morning involved divvying up into a few different groups. Amera (a fellow Evoker) and I were commissioned to go with one of the event coordinators to exchange eight thousand US dollars for about 15.5 million pesos. The little currency exchange booth never saw it coming.
Operating under the title of Manhattan Exchange, the business was essentially a plexiglass protected counter with about 3 peoples-worth of waiting room in front of it. The whole exterior of the alcove was wrapped in a large transparency of the NYC skyline, complete with the still-standing Twin Towers. Inside was more pictures of New York as well as a photo of the Golden Gate Bridge. My favorite decoration, however, was a printed advertisement hanging on the wall behind the counter. It was essentially a stock photo of four of the most stereotypical white people, all giving a thumbs-up with the words, "Manhattan Exchange" floating above their heads.
Tagging along with us through this whole ordeal was a young man named Jairo. Though I can't quite say he was a translator since he was in the intermediate stages of learning English, he was very enthusiastic and really easy to get along with despite some communication hurdles. Over the next few days, he would turn out to be a huge asset to the team. His willingness to serve and meet whatever need we had, and to do it willingly and joyfully made him such a delight to work along side.
After essentially causing the elderly man behind the counter to have to close up shop for the day, we set back for the hotel. There we found some of the girls from the group gathered around a cafe table outside. They were elbows deep in beads and rope, charged with making around 1000 bracelets for the kids area of the festival.
As we mingled in the small cafe area, we caught Michael and Sergio returning from passing out festival fliers and evangelizing in the plaza. They each wore a bright smile as they explained some of the amazing interactions they had over the course of the morning. The marque exchange they recounted centered around a young street kid named Luis David.
Apparently, Luis David made is first impression on Mike and Serge by cursing them out and saying in a cheeky manner, "The Devil's got me!" as he ran away. However, as they were returning from the plaza, the duo came across Luis David once more. This time he was more open to conversation.
He explained how he was homeless, on drugs, and was in desperate need of family. The only resemblance to a family that this kid had was what he called a "drug family." From how it was described, a drug family acts as a small gang; a group of individuals who adopt the same last name as a way to band together to sell drugs. Michael and Sergio were quick to encourage him and he even allowed them to pray over him.
Shortly after we finished listening to the accounts of the morning, a familiar face joined the ranks of our group. It was Johnny! The young man with the collection can we had met yesterday on our way to the mall. He apparently wanted to continue our conversation about Jesus.
He didn't say much but affirmed with intermittent nods the things I was saying; about who Jesus is and what He has done, and the necessity of a personal relationship with Him. After I had finished, Sergio, who is fluent in Spanish, was able to go a little deeper and explain things in a more fluid manner to Johnny. We then huddled together to pray for him to receive Christ. As we finished, I noticed through his quiet disposition, a muted, yet deep emotion. It's nothing I could pinpoint, and I doubt he could either if asked, but you could tell he was experiencing something novel, or at least experiencing something that starkly contrasted the framework in which he was used to existing.
After mingling a bit longer, we were soon off to lunch at what's becoming a staple on our trips to Colombia, a mountainside restaurant called El Tejar. The view will look familiar to those of you who've read last year's recap but I figured it's worth a second look.
Once we had our fill of bandeja paisa (which is about a fourth of the plate due to the ginormous portion sizes) we took our taxi parade back to the hotel. There we set out to do some more canvasing for the festival.
I'll be honest, canvasing was really hard for me. I don't know if it was the rapid-fire style of interacting that was intimidating me but I couldn't get off the initial fear of breaking the ice. I didn't want to talk to anyone. It was like I had forgotten everything I had felt just that morning during worship. Yet worse, it was that very experience that was being held in front of me as I struggled there amongst the foot-traffic. It was a cruel-hearted taunt that the Devil was using to draw me deeper and deeper into self-condemning thought -- a vicious trap in which the victim is so wrapped up in thinking of what they should be doing, that they lose any hope of focusing on what they could be doing.
All too often, I find the "shoulds" that I am hung up on aren't what God is asking me to do at all, but rather the "coulds," that seem so small and unimpressive, are God leads me into real and life-giving interactions with people. (I feel this idea may need some unpacking, which I plan on doing in a later post, but for now I need to get the story of Festival Vida out in a timely manner.)
Either way, the shoulds had me paralyzed that particular afternoon.
Though most of my time on the streets was spent inside my own head, I did manage to have two interactions of note.
The first one involved my overhearing a girl let out an American colloquialism in perfect English as she stumbled over a declined part of the walkway as she passed by our group. We happened upon her a few minutes later and I flagged her down. Turns out she is from Orlando! In fact, she lives about 5 miles from my house! She just happened to be in Armenia visiting a friend.
The second interaction involved Amera and I having caricatures of ourselves drawn by an insistent street artist who approached us as we sat at a cafe table. The results were… something:
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After recovering from the mild horror that is implied teeth, I ran into the hotel to stow/hide the portrait in my room. There I came across the bracelet artisans still hard at work, though they had now moved their operation to the hotel's dining area.
At a table adjacent to them, Jackie had vast array of paints and supplies sprawled out across the tabletop. She was training up two festival volunteers in the craft she is very well know for: face painting. Like, really well done, elaborate face painting.
Of course, they needed canvases to practice on and Jennifer, Janice and Mafe were perfect models. However, there was a lack of male volunteers. And since training would not be complete without addressing the differing topography of a male face, Jairo and I had to feign reluctance when asked if we wanted a tiger's face. Jairo received the full treatment and went back for a flaming soccer ball tattoo on his arm. I only got the base coat but even that managed to stick around and leave me with orange and yellow eye shadow. Those face paints are no joke!
The star of the show, however was an actually reluctant Michael Dow. I dunno, I think the shark only adds to his ferocity.
And I'll stop Day 3 at that.
The upcoming stories from the night require a lot of text-space due to their gravity and complexity. Plus, I can hear you panting from here, so I'll spare your eyes and concentration for now. Seriously though, thank you all for reading!
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