DAY 3 PART 1 - PAINT AND SNACKS

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:

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!

DAY 2 - BACK TO SCHOOL

My first morning of the trip began just as I had hoped:  with the whole team gathered around one long table in the hotel cafe enjoying made-to-order omelets of a peculiarly dark shade of yellow-orange and eggy pancakes that, this time around, came with the accompaniment of good ol' American syrup --proof they're getting to know us northerners at La Quinta Porra.

After filling up with food and prayer, half of us were off to a K-12 school to promote the upcoming festival.  Upon arriving we were informed that we would only have about 5 minutes in each classroom as classes were still being held at the moment.  In order to cover as much ground as we could, we split up into teams of 2 to 3 and dispersed to various parts of the campus.  Michael and Antonio, however, were asked to speak in front of a group of kids the administration had deemed "most troubled."  They were given an entire hour of class time to speak. 

My buddy for the morning was a plucky girl from Evoke named Stephanie.  As often the case in my experience of Evokers, we complimented each other swimmingly.  Where I'm introverted and stand offish, she's warm and inviting.   Where the only dancing I do is figuratively --around any invitation to do so physically-- she is a breakdancer, essentially the pinnacle form of kinesthetic awareness.  Where my brain seizes up any time I attempt to talk in either Spanish or Child, her's is fluent in both.  

Given this dynamic, when it was my turn to speak to a class, Stephanie would take my rigid, cumbersome description of the festival that I essentially hurled at the kids like a sack of old cantaloupes, and transform it into something much more palatable and enticing. 

Overall, the kids seemed really receptive to the invitation.  The biggest response always came when Stephanie would mention that there would be breakdance crews performing at the festival, and the students would almost loose their minds when she mentioned that she was part of one of the groups.  Immediately they would clamor for a demonstration but Stephanie had neither the proper attire nor space, so she compromised by teaching willing volunteers how to do a "freeze."  Attempts by the volunteers weren't lacking enthusiasm, but came up short in execution.

After we had visited all the classrooms we could, the group reunited in the foyer of the front building.  As we gathered, the class bell happened to ring.  Floods of students of varying ages filled the hallways and we immediately became the topic of every passing conversation as well as the recipients of noticeable giggles and stares. 

The younger ones had no qualms about approaching members of the group.  Soon I had a posse of 6th grade boys bombarding me with questions.  Our conversation consisted mostly of battling for common-ground between my attempted Spanish and their English peppered with helpful interjections of charades.  When I saw an opening to could pull Stephanie from her own gaggle of children in order to translate, I found out they were interested in two main things:  One,  if I had children of my own, which turned to if I had a wife, which turned to if I had a girlfriend, which turned to what I perceived as a subtle sense of pity.  And two, how to find me on Facebook.  I felt like a relief pitcher for the Miami Marlins as about half a dozen anxious hands scrambled for pen and paper as I agreed to relay my contact info.

Soon after, my celebrity continued as I was hailed by Stephanie who was knee deep in teenage girls.  "They want you to speak English!"  She said with a smile.  Pretty accessible entertainment business in Colombia, I guess.

"Hey… I'm speaking English…"  I said with a shrug.  My audience erupted with giggles and buried faces.  Nailed it.  

Antonio drew a crowd with his choice of headdress. 

Nakeisha's hair was a big hit as well.

Once all the hubbub finally settled and kids found their classrooms, we headed for the taxis.  As we gathering outside, Michael and Antonio were able to share about their experience speaking to the "troubled" group at the first school.  The most striking story coming from the experience came when they asked the students if they needed prayer for healing or freedom from anything.  One brave young girl burst into tears, admitting that she had been sexually abused growing up and that she need freedom from her past.  I am baffled by the courage of this young woman and I know God is doing a good work to free her from the shaming chains that have shackled her since childhood.

Soon we were off to another school to do the same.  Again it was the same progression of door to door, except this school had way cooler topography.  I mean, check out the volleyball/soccer/basketball court:

After the schools, our afternoon was mostly spent back at the hotel.  There I got to know one of our translators that was new to the group.  His name is David and I am super impressed with this kid.  He's only 14 years old and his English is impeccable.  And by impeccable I mean he can speak in a British accent on cue.  Though we only spoke briefly, I could tell his mind works very similar to mine.  Perceptive, analytical yet open minded, he was a kid after my own heart.

Soon, dinner was waiting at the food court in the mall.  And as we embarked, David and I were approached by a young man holding a collection can.  He explained that his name was Johnny and that he was collecting money for a program that helped rehabilitate young men who have problems with addiction.  Though I couldn't figure out if he was in the program or just helping out, it was apparent that he himself had fallen on hard times as well.  There was something about his eyes that I've noticed in many of the people we run into on the street.  There was a distance to them, like some kind of void existed between his true self and the person that stood before us.  We talked with him a bit and  managed to give him a small donation as well as pray over him and the program.  We also handed him a flier for the festival, telling him we'd love to see him there.

Once at the food court, the same one we had visited last year, I immediately remembered three things:  1.) Asian stir-fry has achieved international transcendence in the food court world.  2.)  This particular food court has the best view of any mall food court I've been to.  3.) Plating goes way beyond food court level.  

After tapping out about half way through my smorgasbord of denseness, David came over to join our table.  We picked our conversation right back up, as we talked a little bit about where we came from and what our future aspirations looked like at the moment.  His revolved around the medical field, and to that I say more power to him.

Then David said something that I've heard few times now on these trips, something that is really affirming to the work being done in and through our group.  He said, "You know, I took this job thinking it would be just that.  I thought I would be translating for some North Americans for a couple days and that would be it.  But I find myself just wanting to be around you guys.  Like, I don't want to leave.  It stinks that I only have one day left with you guys!"  I found myself saddened by the same thing.  I really wanted him to spend more time with us as well. 

After dinner we were off to an evening church service where Scott was asked to share a message of empowerment to the congregation.  The message Scott gave centered around the local church taking responsibility for the change they wish to see in their city; that they are to be the hands and feet of Jesus in the city of Armenia; that the festival we are hosting is just the beginning.  Yes, we expect to see God move in a big way during the festival and we expect to see may hearts and lives changed by the power of the Holy Spirit, but after the festival is over we will be flying back to the U.S.  It is the local church that is tasked with the work of disciplining those that responded to the call heard at the festival.  And it is the local church that is tasked with continuing the work of reaching out to those in need and those still in darkness.

As the message was wrapping up, Scott asked all of those willing to say, "Yes," to such a calling to line up in the front of the room.  There the Evoke team set out to pray for empowerment over each and every one of them. 

With the shimmering of Alexsa's flute peacefully swelling the hearts within every chest about the room, the dull roar of feverish supplication saturated the entire space to the point where the walls seemed to give way to the sound --allowing such a sweet and candid harmony to spill out onto the streets. 

And at some point amongst the song and sermon, the surrender and the call, Nakeisha came across David.  He had tears in his eyes and was exclaiming, "I know Him!  I know Him! I felt Him!"