Medellin, a Colombian city located just a hop and a skip north of the Equator, is about a mile high and is home to 3 million people. Which means that this city is perpetually in Spring/Summer mode, is higher up than Denver and has as many people, if not more, than home-sweet-Chicago. And much like Chicago – in fact, much like my own neighborhood – Medellin (pronounced, May-day-jeen’, not Ma-je-len, as I foolishly called it) has extreme wealth and extreme poverty side-by-side.
My wife and I are going to visit some of the poorer people.
We’re going on a trip with people from our church to visit others working amongst the poor (specifically, the children of the poor, via futbol clinics, etc.).
We’re planning on going early August. But we need to start raising the cash fast. The initial bump probably won’t be so bad, but the next two months’ deposits are some, as Fred Flintstone would say, hard clams.
So, please pray for us. People have already lined up to watch the baby (God, that will be probably the most difficult part of this), I’ve gotta get my passport, I need to work on my Spanish and non-verbal clues (the happy ones, not the angry ones that I’m mastering while teaching) and, then there’s the money issue – trying to raise the cashola, if you’re wondering what I mean.
The moola, the greenbacks, cold hard, the paper, the cheese, the Georges and Ben Franks, the stacks, In God We Trusts, the payment, gold, mint, dinero, change, chunks, pie, salad, blood.