He started yelling at me, “Cristiano! Cristiano!” I thought I must be mis-understanding, just another classic case of language barrier.
“Christian?” I asked incredulously. He nodded emphatically, a big, toothy smile growing wider as we stood on the street corner trying to connect. “Yes!” I exclaimed. “I am!”. I paused to consider what to say next, quickly assessing my poor Spanish vocabulary. But most of all, I was confused.
All I had done is walk by. How did he know?
Way back in June during our last days of Training Camp when we had just gotten our first team assignments, our little team of six chose the name “Salty” based off of a commonly used but misunderstood saying. The first half, “You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink” typically applies to situations when you can suggest but not force someone to do or accept something. The lesser known ending concludes the thought with a much more hopeful challenge: “But you can salt the oats”. We knew from the beginning that’s what we envisioned our team being: salty oats leading to everlasting water.
Fast forward to our last week in Cartagena, we were gearing up for our first expedition-style assignment in Guyana. “Unsung Heroes” is a ministry where a missionary team goes out to a new place and searches to find connections with potential ministries for future World Race teams. I thought I believed in the power of prayer before the race- and in some ways I did. I believed that God answered prayers in sometimes big and crazy ways. I believed that God hears us and loves us intimately. But I realized after getting assigned “Unsung Heroes” ministry for our time in Guyana, the idea of relying on Him to answer my prayers was another thing altogether. I’ve never been all that crazy about relying on anyone to be honest. Now not only was I being encouraged to lean on Him and ask, but my whole assignment relied on my ability to listen and obey God’s still small voice. Most days I had trouble even deciphering His voice from my own. But Guyana was coming like a freight train and I didn’t feel anywhere near ready.
And as I stood on the street corner, speaking in broken Spanish to a man who inexplicably knew I was a Christian by me just walking by, it hit me: I didn’t need to be ready. God had already agreed to do most of the work.
The morning leading up to meeting Carlos on a street corner had been spent in quiet and much needed prayer. Our team had decided the night before that our growing discontentments needed to be met at the source so we promptly walked into town to get time alone with God. After two hours of uninterrupted quiet time, we met back up to talk through what God had put on our hearts and taught us in that time. Our conversation was lively and hopeful and we left that time together feeling inspired and refreshed. “Why didn’t we do this all the time?” we asked ourselves. We were amused by our unbelief.
Then something strange happened while my team started packing up to leave our meeting spot to get coffee. I felt a subtle but unmistakable tug. It came to me like a random thought but it had a nagging quality that didn’t let the thought pass. My team had already packed up and left, waiting for me out on the street. But a voice somewhere deep down was telling me to leave from the back door and go another way. I grabbed my bag, glancing over my shoulder as I walked away, and met up with my team instead. Out on the street, it felt louder. I looked down the street one last time and gave in, feeling insane.
“Anyone want to try to find coffee down that street instead?” I offered. I was grasping at straws, but my team humored me and without hesitation we went. They walked a couple yards in front of me as I idly glanced around at shops while wondering why I had asked my team to go another way. No sooner had I thought those words when I heard a voice call out to me.
When I turned around, a middle aged Colombian man was looking straight at me, a curious and excited look on his face. He was standing next to a collection of necklaces to sell so I instinctively recoiled a bit, being used to being heckled by street vendors. But I could have sworn I had heard the word “Christian”. My team had already realized that I wasn’t behind them and backtracked, now standing on either side of me. My teammate, Tiara, spoke Spanish and she began translating for me. I asked her to ask him how he had known I was Christian and he smiled a knowing smile and tapped his chest with his finger. “I knew in my heart” he said.
We spent the next 10 min or so hearing about his life, how he had discovered God through suffering and living on the streets and how he spent time sitting in Catholic churches to find peace. He would smile as one smiles when they’re sharing sage wisdom and tell us how God had led us to Him. I felt the same. We ended our exchange by praying for him right there on the street and wishing each other well. I walked away in awe- all we had done was give God a couple hours to work and He was able to shine through and do the rest.
The incredible thing is, Carlos wasn’t the last person we encountered that day because of that time in prayer- in fact he was one of many. It made me wonder, how often do I not give God the time? How often do I pass by people in need of sharing their stories or in need of a prayer and not appear as light? As a Christian? How often to I pass by Carlos and hundreds of people like Him and look like everyone else in the world that passes them by? How often do I not wear the face of Jesus but my own? If I hadn’t spent that time being open to God, desperate to hear Him after neglecting our relationship for so long, I would have brushed Carlos off just like every other vendor on the streets. Or maybe worse- he wouldn’t have called out to me at all.
I learned two things that day: 1. that God can run thousands of miles when you give him an inch of your cooperation, and 2. that there’s a lot at stake when you don’t. Carlos probably changed my perspective more than I changed his, but two people from vastly different places in life met on a street corner and got to share in the joy of a God who is capable of great things. That, in and of itself, is a radically beautiful thing. We shared a moment, he and I, where our paths to heaven shared a crossroads. We gave each other a little rest and peace for the journey ahead. And I had been so close to missing it.
Every one of our days can be all ours, that’s true. We can live our lives for ourselves and the things that we’re trying to accomplish and it may even be good. But I’m learning that living like a Christian is more than good- it’s a grand adventure, and one we don’t have to do alone. Not giving God time to enter into our lives is such a great tragedy- not because its always obviously painful but because it could be so much more than we imagine. The tragedy lies in the “what if’s” that you take to your grave. And I don’t want to miss a thing.
13 “You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.
14 “You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. 15 Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. 16 In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.”
