A big part of the World Race is community. To do what we do, we are required to live in close quarters together. We cook together, eat together, play, serve, travel, work, pray, and sleep together. It’s rare to be alone on the Race. It’s hard. But it’s also great. Either way, it’s only for eleven months.
But what if it wasn’t only for eleven months?
We pulled up to a two-story structure covered with a tin roof that reminded me of something farmers back home might use to park their machinery under. As I got closer, I realized that the roof was meant to shelter the many tents crowded together on both levels. To the right was a kitchen area swarming with women of all ages and to the left was a small makeshift stage with an old podium and half a drum kit.
I jumped down from the back of the truck and shook Luis Antonio’s hand. And this is what he told me:
It’s easy to be holy one, two, three days a week
when you can walk into a church and put on your best.
But here, we have to be holy 24/7.
We have to love our neighbour every minute of every day.
Now that’s hard.
At a first glance, one might assume that these people were homeless, bound together by their struggles. But this story is so much more . . .
Many of these people came from a community about eight hours away. Their church had started a rehabilitation centre that proved to be successful. God had put it on many of the people’s hearts to move to Cobija in order to do the same thing here. Out of the 400 people in the congregation, 90 of them got on a bus and came here, not knowing where they would sleep or what they would eat. These people had families. They had houses and degrees and jobs and friends, yet they left that all behind in response to God’s call.
A church here gave the group some land. Slowly, the established their new home. They were able to dig a well which is their source of fresh water. God provided a vision of baking cookies that could be sold to make money, so they did. That soon turned into baking bread and other things as well. They have tents to sleep in and a nearby river to wash in. Over time, they’ve adopted routines and a system that ensure each person’s needs are met. It wasn’t easy, to be sure. Many of the people who originally came have since left when they realized how difficult their lives had become. But many stayed, too, and as of today, their population totals 40.
Of the original 90, five were women going through the rehab program themselves. They have since recovered and now help other women who share in similar struggles. They stand on stages and share how God has freed them from their addictions, taught them to love the children they never wanted, allowed them a second chance at life, and given them hope for the future.
As I sat at their table, I felt as though these people had unlocked some great secret to life. I watched as the women worked together to make the bread and package the cookies. In the corner, a lady tutored some of the teenagers, teaching them to read and write. The children were given jobs like shooing the chickens out of the kitchen and carrying things about. Everybody helped. Everybody smiled. I saw Jesus all around me that afternoon.
They had so little, and yet they had everything.
