We packed into the van, unsure of what the night would entail. We drove through the streets as night fell upon the city. We pulled up to the side of the street and climbed out of the van. Remnants of tear gas lingered in the air, burning my nose and throat. The streets were full of people either getting high or already high as others yelled from the sidewalk, selling an assortment of drugs.
We split up into groups and walked through the streets while some of us remained with the vans to hand out water and bread. There were so many people, eyes glazed over, stumbling over their own feet, bones poking through tight skin. But this wasn’t a one time ordeal. This was their life. Every. Single. Night. Shaking and smoking and starving. Again and again. They were the people who slept on the side of the roads in the day. They were the ones who no one gave a second glance to. They were the ones who my heart broke for.
As we walked through the streets, we told people where to go for food. We prayed for them and told them about Ciudad Refugio (our ministry partner for the next few weeks). We explained to them the recovery programs available, and how they could go there every night at 7 for a safe place to sleep. Unfortunately, our time was cut short. A riot had broken out a few blocks away. We squished back into the vans, and headed back.
That night, I laid wide awake in my bed. My mind was clouded with shock. I had never seen anything like that before. The heaviness, the hopelessness. It was everywhere. And it felt like there was no way for it to end. Anxiety lumped together in my stomach as the faces of the people flashed before my eyes. I was completely helpless. Even after praying, there was nothing else I could do. So, what now?
Stay tuned for part 2!
(Please keep Colombia in your prayers. There is a lot of political tension that has lead to protests and riots. Pray for resolution and peace)
