THE MARRAGE OF A FOOL

I saw on the corner a man married to a prostitute. It was getting dark and he was sitting in the dim light with his new wife, holding her close and caressing her ... for he loved her dearly.

She wasn't much to look at but you could see he loved her. I watched him as he fondled her and kissed her ... drinking in her beauty. She was dressed in a small and simple crumpled brown bag. Sr. Baracho (Mr.Drunk) and senora Cuguama (Miz Alcohol) after a long affair, were married early in life.

La Cuguama is his charming wife; his love, his mistress. She encourages him and makes him feel like a man! She gives him his strength and courage and makes him feel important! She listens to him and makes him happy ... for the short time he is under her spell. Senora Cuguama makes him sleep and then, when he falls asleep, she quietly steals away only to become another man's lover. He is hers but she isn't his, for she is now as she has always been ... a fickle little prostitute wrapped in a paper bag!

A cheap adulteress ... for any man's use.

Poor ... very poor ... Sr. Baracho!

Spanish: Cuguama or Turtle, is a large bottle of beer, and Baracho means drunk.

JESUS DIED YESTERDAY

They say it was about 5:00 PM. Death isn't new to any of us; in fact, the ultimate statistic is one out of one dies. But Jesus was only ten years old. Last Thursday at our work-day, Clementina his grandmother, approached us and meekly asked if we could help her grandson who was dying of cancer.

The story was as hopeless as any I have heard. The boy's father had died several months ago. Now Jesus was diagnosed with terminal cancer. The hospitals and doctors had been stalling any help for eight months and by now her medical bill was more than two thousand U.S. dollars. Because of this, the hospital and doctors were reluctant to treat him further. He was now in pain and needed help.

Could I possibly visit Jesus? When we finished our work in Pan America, I seated grandma and Hortensia in my van, then loaded it with four American teens and headed down the long road to Jesus' house. Grandma was giving the directions. After driving for about fifteen minutes, we stopped at a dead end. Grandma got out and crossed the trashy gully to the house to see if Jesus and Alejandra, his mother, were home. She quickly returned to the van and announced that they had taken the boy to the hospital; could we go see him there?

We headed up and over the hill through an urban maze of crisscross streets until we finally came to the hospital. Jesus was in a room on the third floor. I quietly entered the room. He was staring at the ceiling. His mother sat looking at him laying there with an IV in his arm receiving morphine.

I went over to his bed, smiled and asked him how he was doing. I can't forget his eyes as he looked at me and studied my face. I'm sure he was surprised to see an old gringo standing next to him. He managed a smile and said he was feeling a little better, his legs weren't hurting him now. His eyes never left me.

His mother said the morphine would last until Monday.

I talked a little more and his mother requested we talk outside in the hallway. That's where she told me that the doctor had just told her that her son had only days to live. Grandma was sitting on the bench on the hallway holding her head in her hands; she didn't move.

The American teens wanted to see him and she graciously gave permission. I pressed some money in Alejandra's hands to help with his food and care. As we left, Grandma was patiently sitting on the sidewalk with Jesus' little five-year-old brother waiting for Jesus and his mother to come out and go home.

It was morning, a few days later, that I got the news. Little Jesus had died. I also heard that mother, grandmother and extended family couldn't raise enough money to bury the child.

In Mexico, if you don't have enough money to pay for the funeral you don't get the deceased. Tomorrow Spectrum will pay the needed $500 to provide for Jesus' burial. Today, Jesus is just another statistic. His body lies beneath a little wooden cross, one of hundreds of little crosses in what's known only as Cemetery Three.

A little sparrow fell Tuesday; isn't it comforting that our Lord saw it fall.

This true story played out several years ago. This is what we do. Thanks for helping us do it.

OLD BIKE, NEEDS NEW HOME

Several weeks ago someone donated us a small very used bike. No shinny paint job, just the essentials; seat, handle-bars, two wheels and peddles. It had been sitting in our shed for a while. (Thanks to whoever donated it!)

I looked at it lying there and decided to load it with the rest of the stuff in the back of my SUV. It sat proudly on top of all the other stuff.

Yep, this bike needed a home.

As I got near to one of our locations; driving slowly along the dirt road; a load of kids spotted my car and started running toward me surrounding the car. Dirty, dusty, barefoot kids all with wide smiles.

Excitement! Energy! Hey, what's the big deal? ... just an old man and his car.

I always carry a sack of miniature chocolates and they know it ... now when I open the back of my SUV it's like a combined toy-store and supermarket.

They instantly survey everything!

One boy spotted the bike! Literally jumping up and down. "Hey von, can I have the bike? Can I? My brother and I will share it. Can we have the bike?"

Well, I'll make the story short. They got the bike, and were they two happy little dudes.

It didn't matter that bike was old and used; it was theirs now. Now they had a real bike!

I guess, the bike had them.

As I got into the car to leave, the oldest boy, on his new bike

Skidded to a stop by my window and flashed me a big smile ... thank you von.

I took this shot several days later ... the kids were clean and in their school clothes ... I just wanted to show you that smile, it's still there.

SARDINES IN A FOUR WHEEL CAN

I have a small Nissan Xterra SUV. Not the greatest BUT it gets me where I want to go and more than that, it gets me back.

I'm sure this is due to your prayers!

I really don't know what you pack in back of your SUV, but mine is always full of the weirdest things. Jugs of water, spare battery, towels, PVC tubes, games, clothing along with candy and colas.

All of that is on the bottom squashed by a load of kids!

My car was built to seat five people in comfort. But I often drive the bumpy dirt roads with eleven adults and kids packed in the car. Now that's a close fit!

TILL DEATH DO WE PART!

In our perverted world of ministry we seldom see long term marriages; marriages where a man loves his wife and she loves him too. Marriages that are actually happy.

Driving slowly down the dirt road in Barrio La Gloria a bunch of kids surrounded us. Dirty but happy. "Hey von do you have any chocolates?" As we were talking to the kids, Martha came over and asked us if we could look at old Efren her father, who was dying. Efren was 82 and had suffered a couple of strokes; relatives were milling around outside his room waiting.

These people in this Barrio are poor ... dirt poor!

I walked into the door of Efren's room. The small room was bare except for two plastic chairs and the simple bed where Efren laid. His wife Edith, about 70, was by his side, tenderly holding his hand.

Even though he wasn't fully conscious ... they were still in love.

Martha asked: "von can you help us buy some pampers and give us a little money to get a doctor over here to check his catheter he keeps scratching."

We met their needs and drove on down the road.

A few days later we stopped with more pampers and cans of food, Old Efren was still alive. We gave them some cans of Glucerna Martha poured a can of Glucerna into the catheter to his stomach.

As I left, Efren was lying there, looking at the ceiling with his mouth wide open and breathing slow ... while Edith, his faithful wife was sitting at his side holding his hand.

Yesterday we got word that old Efren had died.

In a short while after he died, Edith asked for time to be alone with her husband ... In about fifteen minutes Martha went in and found them both dead. Her mother, her father. Edith still holding his hand. Edith in that short time had suffered a heart attack ... and they left together.

They loved until the end!

It's funeral time and you can guess who they come to.

YES, I CONGRATULATED THE ENEMY

Years ago, President Carter allowed a Communist comeback in Bolivia. The Communists were coming in strong and confident as they tried to win the small country.

I was in La Paz, the Bolivian Capitol, doing a week of Bible Studies for bi-lingual Bolivian teens as well as local American Missionary kids. It was Friday night and the last night of our studies. The missionary house in which I was staying had a large living room and it was full of teens, mostly guys. I noticed an older teen join our group that I hadn't seen before. He sat in a chair along the wall and listened to my Bible study.

When I finished, I asked the group if there were any questions or comments.

At that point the young man stood up looked at me sitting there with my Bible, and then he slowly looked around the group; then in perfect English he asked the group how many believed the Bible and message I was teaching.

He went even further, "if you believe that stuff ... raise your hand!"

This young man had guts, he put them all on the spot!

I watched the struggle! Two of the group slowly put up their hands half way. The others just looked down at their feet.

Ah, so much for courageous teen age Christians.

He did something I couldn't do ... he found the truth!

I dismissed the group and went over to the newcomer. In talking with him, I found he was a devout Communist. We had a brief conversation. I said to him "It's obvious you and I have different beliefs, but I'll admit you have more courage in your little finger than this whole group of weak Christians!" "I wish we had more Christians with your courage!"

At that point I shook his hand!

INTELLECTUALLY DISROBED!

Some years ago I was invited to speak at a well known Christian Bible School and College in Minnesota. At that time I was a popular West coast youth director and speaker and they asked me to speak for their Spiritual Emphasis Week.

The opportunity was fine with me, so I packed my bags and flew up prepared for a week of speaking.

When I arrived, the school faculty prepared a little informal get together to make me feel at home. Good coffee and Swedish pastry. Good Christian fellowship as I learned about the school. Then the conversation took a turn for the worse ... the faculty started talking about where they were educated and some of them mentioned their degrees. Oh boy!

I almost dropped my pastry!

I sat there feeling intellectually disrobed and academically alone! Hey, I just made it through High School ... in the California school system! I wasn’t even in the Boy Scouts!

I thought, ‘Boy this is going to be interesting!’ Here they fly me all the way up to speak at their Spiritual Emphasis Week only to find I’m not academically qualified.

Then I relaxed; remembering God can even speak through a donkey if he’s available.

I quickly shared my academic achievement ... the subject abruptly changed.

The rest of the week went powerfully smooth!

UNSETTLING STATISTIC?

Could it be that nine out of ten of us leave the source of our blessings in pursuit of the blessings?

The question sounds a little confusing but it may be uncomfortably true.

A good example of what I'm talking about is found in the Lord's experience with ten lepers seeking His healing.

Ten were seeking His blessing. Ten received His blessing!

The most unlikely one, in gratitude, returned to the source of his healing, while the other nine, in their joy, seemed to forget the very source of their blessing; it seems that their very blessing drew them away from the "blesser" rather than to Him.

How odd!

Unfortunately many of us as Christians in America have become ungrateful for all we have ... actually distancing ourselves from God as we pursue His blessings.

The lesson is obvious ... a grateful return to our Lord.

Read: Luke 17:13-19

ANOTHER GOOD DAY

Yesterday afternoon I was on the dusty dirt road returning from our Spectrum workday in Ijido.

Barrio Ijido consists of a group of scattered houses connected by rambling rabbit-trail roads. This time year the color of the community is a powdery dirt brown.I

I wasn't going very fast on this long road consisting of thousands of chuck-holes; you take it easy for the cars sake. I noted a bicycle coming toward me on my right and soon recognized the young man as Alex. He waved me over, and with a big smile greeted me. He looked hot sweaty and tired.

Alex lived in one of the humble two room houses back in Ijido that was home to his wife and fifteen year old girl. Often, they had invited us in for a rather sparse lunch consisting of whatever they had on hand, which always included a glass of cola. With no refrigerator or electricity you eat what's on hand.

I walked around the car to talk with him. Alex was returning from work; about a six-mile ride. We chatted a while then; rather impulsively, I reached into my $10. pocket and pressed a ten in his hand, saying it was from God.

Then he gave be a long hug and thanked me. As he looked up at my face I saw the tears start. Seldom have I ever seen a Mexican man cry. His hug was strong and long, his tears streamed down his face. Thank you, thank you he repeated.

Wow! Quite an experience. Totally unexpected.

I have no Idea what that paper ten-dollar bill meant to him and his family, but it evidently meant a lot. He gave me another tearful thanks; picked up his bike and was on his way home.

I packed away another good day.

The bike above? His bike in the muddy winter.

EDUCATION VERSUS LEGISLATION

I grew up when common sense was just assumed. I grew up knowing as an adult, I was to be responsible for myself and make my own decisions and to pay the consequences for my bad decisions; today the State makes decisions for us and for our own “good”.  The Government assumes the default for an average U.S. citizen is DUMB! The government feels it's here to think for us and take care of us because, well, we're dumb. And because we're dumb, we're expensive.

The Government legislators aren't aware that by their growing legislation they are slowly dumbing us all down!

Maybe that's their intent.

They outlawed super-sized sugar drinks in N. Y. Too many fat New Yorkers. And of course New Yorkers are so dumb they wouldn't think of ordering two large colas instead of one illegal super-sized one. A formal education could be of help on this decision ... and don't count on Google!

And now they're working on dog-seat-belts for all doggies riding in cars ... and no dog's nose out the window! In the male dog world, alas, it's illegal to have balls.

Legislation, legislation, more legislation! Don't be deceived ... follow the money trail. Ah, legislation brings in revenue $$$'s! You violate. You pay ... and it seems to be a marriage made in heaven . .  the Government keeps us healthy and free from accidents and we pay our part when we're caught violating these good laws. Buckle your seat belt or $$$. Motorcyclists wear head gear or $$$ Going North on a south bound street $$$'s

Truthfully, the government and our politicians don't give a damn about us as people; it's the revenue they can get from us that counts, and of course votes!

On the left coast we have cameras installed in most of our busy intersections; these cameras are meant to be a deterrent to those making illegal turns or running a red light. A great source of revenue. A lot of money rolls in from those 24/7 cameras.  Mexico simplifies it by having the green light flash four or five times before turning yellow. Works well ... means we use our heads, Alas, no revenue.

Paying federal money out to educate our kids and all of us on why we need to learn to think and act safely, avoid drugs ... and maintain good health is a healthy ‘solution' ... a solution that encourages us to think rather than dumb down our minds by habitually keeping the growing list of laws.

Unfortunately, there is no revenue in that approach, just a sharper more intelligent nation.

In the long run, the increase in revenue may not really balance out ... interesting thought. How much are our growing jails, prisons and penitentiaries costing us all?

MONEY: THE NAME OF THE GAME!

I looked in the corner of the orphanage and spotted them ... four boys were sprawled on the cement, drawn together by the universal magnet of money and riches!

They were playing Monopoly and it was intense. Even though they didn't know English they understood money. In a short time some of them had gotten very wealthy. They now owned property and had plenty of money. Just a roll of the dice and a little intelligent greed made all the difference in these young millionaires. They weren't orphanage boys anymore, they were powerful wheeler-dealers, lost in the “could-be's” and not aware of the “would-be's” that ultimately follow a game of paper.

Suddenly they were called out of their make-believe world into reality!

Lunch time!

The game ended as it began ... simply a game. Each of them packed their colorful paper riches back into the Monopoly game box ... and sat in their place at the long table eating their simple fare.

Ah the deceitful paper game of riches, and once again true wealth eludes us. How few wealthy are really rich.

Mark 4:20

WATCHING MY BACK?

I have to carry cash with me to Tijuana. I must have $300 or $400. On me at all times. Sometimes I carry it in my sock, other times in my pocket or car.

In Mexico it's necessary to settle problems as quickly as possible and with "cash on the table." No other way!

Unfortunately people know I carry money. The neighborhood knows it. The gangs know it. This many years, who doesn't know it?

In my ministry I never know when there will be a sudden demand for cash ... often it's an emergency or an unexpected and desperate need.

One morning a mother in Tijuana called me; her teen son was in the hospital alive but comatose. Ricardo was in a coma. It seems like the two teen buddies were on a building roof top running from the police, one boy dropped between two buildings into a high power transformer and was electrocuted immediately. His buddy Ricardo, 14, tried to rescue him and in the process was hit hard by the voltage. (I shudder every time I drive down Fundidoris Ave and see the building and same open transformer that killed Juanito!)

Ricardo was taken by ambulance to the nearest hospital. I saw him laying there partly comatose, hooked to oxygen and a catheter and on an I.V. Most of his hair was burned off of his head. The hospital was a good one but an expensive one. The doctor told his mother Ricardo would have to leave that day for another hospital, maybe the general hospital, because Ricardo's mother couldn't afford the hospital and care he was in.

Mom was crying ... I quietly slipped her $200 in cash and told her to give it to the doctor, thank him and compliment him on his work on saving her sons life and ask for time to find some more dollars. Later I gave her another $200 and told her to give the doctor the same tearful pitch. We just needed enough healing to get him up to moving to the General Hospital. (Money well spent.) His life was saved; terrible scars though.

Would you believe I've had to "negotiate" (Work the price down.) for a corpse?  A little dead baby boy? His tearful mother couldn't afford to pay the mortuary, so they kept her dead baby's body. We "bought" him out so she could have him buried.

Oh, and I've had to negotiate for a live baby too ... mom couldn't afford to pay the bill, so the hospital kept her little girl. We bought the girl and gave her to her mother.

Sometimes, like yesterday, we had to buy a load of food for a little family that had absolutely no food in the house.

I've plenty of stories as to where my sock-money goes.

Thanks to your prayers for my safety, I've never been assaulted. God seems to watch my back.

THERE WERE FIFTY STREET BOYS LISTENING!

A big group of tough kids, feral teens, I call them ... ages twelve to sixteen ... fresh from the streets of Tijuana.

Streets that are cold; streets that are indifferent and un-caring; becoming a place to flop when your drugged into unconsciousness. The boy in the photo above isn't dead, but how often these kids wish they were.

I get this opportunity to teach these teens on a regular bases, thanks to the Children Of Promise Orphanage in Tijuana.

What a miracle, having fifty of these kind of young men listening! I wasn't talking girls, or cars or drugs.

I was talking tough truth from the Word of God and they were listening; indeed a privilege, having these guys "buying" The Lord's important truths.

When I bring out my Bible, they don't recoil or head out the door they listen.

I've never intended my messages to "go across" or even "go over," but rather "go into" those of my audience. Heart penetration is what I'm after. Plowing and planting seeds deep. Change from the inside out. Heart change may be slow change but it is permanent change, and that's what God is after.

It not only takes the right message and messenger but the right environment.

Thanks for praying that powerful environment in.

TO HELL WITH YOU!

Years ago, it was my Sunday to speak in our Church. I announced my sermon topic a week before. I knew the church would be full.

My topic: "Three people in our church that I would like to see go to hell and why!" There was a hushed silence. Now that statement stirred people up! At the end of the service several people came to me very angry! "You mean you would like someone to go to hell?" "Oh yes, I replied." One person said, "I can't believe you as a pastor would say such a thing!"  ... others said, "Did I hear you correctly" "Oh yes, I'll let you know next week."  I even got calls on the phone.

Well, the next Sunday morning the church was packed! In fact it was electric! Everyone wanted to know who I wanted to go to hell!

I had great attention ... everyone was quite focused!

My point was simply made. I wanted the Senior Pastor, myself and the Sunday School Superintendent of our Church to be in hell for just five minutes, and it would change our lives and passion for serving God ... forever.

Agree?

Pastors! Use this subject for your next sermon!!! ... I guarantee a full house.

FOOD STAMPS?

She came slowly out of the door holding some pampers and a small can of powdered milk. It was six in the morning and the neighborhood's little corner store was now open for business.

The people in the barrio (neighborhood) watched as Margarita walked home.

They knew what was going on.

Several times a week Margarita takes this early walk to the store; she has no money but the store owner cooperates by asking a sexual favor in exchange for pampers and milk.

The retail price of the pampers and milk is about $8., the wholesale price, about $5.

Margareta is a young grandmother. Her own three children turned out like most in that neighborhood, and their mistakes somehow ended up living with grandma. Five little boys; the youngest in pampers; all crowded into a small two room shack. Cupboards bare!

"Margarita, why do you do this?" We asked.

"I don't want to," she replied ... "but the children are hungry and we have no food" ... and they say one in six people in the U.S. are hungry. American's don't know what hunger is ... not until you're willing to sell your body for the sake of your hungry kids!

Mom, how far would you go to feed your kids?

How far would you go to feed Margarita's kids?

A UNIQUE BUNCH OF KIDS

Orphanages here In Tijuana are getting hit hard by Tijuana's ever dropping economy. (Now even orphanages raid trash cans and dumpsters for throwaway produce) ... More and more mothers and grand mothers are desperate to place their children in orphanages where at least they will get food and a bed and maybe school.

Sadly, there is very little "Americano" support anymore, as groups are warned against traveling to Mexico. The U.S. groups soon forget the orphanage kids.

To make matters worse; you have someone like Edith, director of "Tribo Jesus Orphanage" (Tribe of Jesus Orphanage) ... who will take in any needy kid that comes her way, handicapped or not. Indeed she's an unusually optimistic light in a dark world.

Rare as it might be, a Christian acting like a Christian.Edith doesn't complain ... but when you see the needs, you can't help reaching down into your own pocket ... a serious Christian can't just walk away. Unfortunately Spectrum doesn't have it; fortunately I've still got a pocket with some cash in it

This makes for a very unique group chemistry. They are very poorly clothed bunch of kids indeed, but for the most part a big happy disorganized family where they help one another. I'm watching the boy's in the kitchen peeling off the bad areas of fruit and produce.

Normally Orphanages fare better than the poorer Barrio kids, but in this case they are about even. Poor clothing and shoes, and two meals a day ... on some days, one meal.

Tribo has washing machines, but no money for electricity. To wash clothing, the bare-foot teen girls fill tubs with soap and cold water, dump the dirty clothing in ... and then jump in; two girls to a tub and they foot wash the clothing ... squeezing out the water by hand and hanging the wash on the line to dry as electricity is very expensive. (Positive point, their feet are really clean!)

I love teaching the older boys in the evening, about thirty of them, and they listen well. Julian and I come on a regular bases.

I always leave thirty or forty dollars lighter than I came.

ATTACK!

It's been far too long since I've seen a "happy attack." There he was, in the store having a full on happy attack! The six year old was jumping around, his little arm's out-stretched and he was laughing and singing! No ear buds; he was just too happy to keep quiet! Too many endorphins for a six year old to hold back so he decided to let it all out in a joyful jig.

I, among others, stood and watched him rather wistfully ... Searching my memory I couldn't remember when I ever had a full on happy attack, or for that matter I can't remember seeing anyone else in the throws of a happy attack.

Yep, I could use one, even though at my age it would look rather silly ... what the heck, I'll chance it!

IMPRINTING

At an orphanage, years ago, I watched an interesting thing happen. Mama duck was sitting on six eggs and someone added a seventh egg; a chicken egg. One by one the family hatched; six little ducks ... and a little chick.

One day mama duck took her family out for their first swim. The swimming pool? This was a fifty-gallon can cut down to about a foot, set in the dirt and filled with water. I got there to see the first family swim; mama duck first, then one by one the little ducks jumped in and soon were happily bobbing around in the water ... now the chick watched mom go In and without hesitation, jumped into the water and ... fluttered a bit and then sunk! (We rescued it.) A very wet little chick peeping loudly!

Indeed the chick thought it was a duck, but it wasn't.

Unfortunately it imprinted on mama duck but it was a chicken not a duck ... from then on, things for that little disoriented chicken got real confusing.

What a cruel thing it is to see boys grow up with no father to imprint on! No father to bond with! I work with these kind of disoriented boys. In many cases, products of single parent families. I know well what I'm talking about.

Add to this problem, the growing Western trend to feminize the male. The progressive activists yell ... "Lets make them all one happy gender, a new kinder and gentle gender ... Unisex! The Metro-sexual ... buying, smelling and grooming like a girl. Cutesy! The bi-sexual. The homosexual! Femi-men. A sick experiment!"

This disoriented boy easily falls into a perverted social slot.

As we can see today, an anatomically correct boy doesn't necessarily grow up to become a real man.

When a boy grows up imprinting on mama and his sisters, there is trouble ahead! "Billy, you're Mama's little man ..." (I hate to hear mom say that!)

Caution, single parent Mom! Not only is it difficult being a single parent ... it can be dangerous! And take a good look you "anti-male women activist" ... hope you like what you've done.

And father, by the way ... where the hell are you?

A TIME TO TICKLE

It was around nine o'clock Saturday night in Emmanuel orphanage and we had just finished our teaching session. The last group of kids, dressed in their P.J's, headed down the darkened upstairs hallway, and slowly disappeared into their small rooms. Three bunks to a room.

A little later on my way out, I walked down the dark hallway toward the big door and the stairs. The thirty-five boys were quiet at last. I decided to drop into one of the darkened rooms. Leaning over the middle bunk I said "Hi" to Carlos, a ten year old boy laying there. He turned my way and said, "Hi von." I put my hand on his head and ruffled his hair, quietly asking him about his family ... his mom and dad.

He said he had no mother, but he has a father and younger brother and sister, and said he was doing good in school. I grabbed his leg and started tickling his foot. He giggled and laughed as he pulled his foot back. That's when I noticed a foot come down from the top bunk and then another little foot coming up from the lower bunk. Three neat kids that deserve homes, love and fathers that could tickle their feet. (Yes, those three kids in that room were sufficiently tickled that night.)

On my way out, I continued down the hallway and on down the stairs. I can still hear several of the kids in hushed voices calling to me from their rooms,

"Hey, von come in here."

THE AMERICA I USED TO KNOW

Am I disappointed in the direction America is going? Of course ... I'm old and have experienced, to some extent, what America was. I lived in a good America. They say a man my age is the last of the Great Generation.

Because I lived in that era, I'm more sensitive to the contrast of those days and today.

The key word here is contrast.

Unlike the Baby Boomers and even younger generations, I can see a contrast they are unable to see. Why? The younger were born into the broken system. They live now knowing nothing better. Indeed bonded to the system. Skillfully prepared to become ‘politically correct' college educated Lemmings.

Liberal, progressive and politically correct Lemmings by the millions!

I highlight the word system.

Believe me, Once upon a time America was a radically different country. America was different In a good way; in a sense society was "good" the people were "good". There seemed to be a little honesty and patriotism left. We were proud of our country and proud of the flag, which we saluted every morning along with giving the pledge of allegiance.

We were a church going people in those days. The Judeo-Christian ethics our nation began with continued spreading among us. Not that America was truly "Christian" but we were brought up with those ethics. There was a general agreement on what was right and what was wrong.

Praying in school wasn't unusual. Bible Clubs in school were popular. This was before C L U; before the Civil Liberties Union started twisting and corrupting the interpretation of our Constitution.

Especially the definition of separation of Church and State.

Pure evil!

Oh yes, in the past there were criminals and crime but evil tended to be isolated in parts of society rather than a growing leaven running through main-stream society. We can't ignore the shadow side of America. The "black pages" in our history were the result of a perverted evil taught by so called "Christian" Seminaries and "Christian" Pastors; indoctrinating their "Christian" churches against blacks as fellow humans.

The Judieo Christian ethic that today's atheists, liberals and progressives love to hate, tended to bring a richness and goodness to America of old. Who can deny it?

We learned ethics early; I remember there were several wrong things we did in school, and we were sternly disciplined for them; chewing gum in class, talking in class, smoking, sassing the teacher ... admittedly different from today's school violations; such as coming to school with a weapon, drugs, raping a girl, or the random shooting of students and teachers.

Wow! What a change in just a few years. Change for the better? You decide!

Fortunately I lived my younger years on the tail-end of the "good" America. For these years I'm forever grateful.

Sadly, the predictable was obvious.

Unfortunately America's unique momentum of Judieo Christian ethic, like a rolling wheel, slowed down in the sixties ... wobbles and falls into ... today.

UNLOVED

Some kids, like this cute little girl, are so easy to love. Then there are the hard to love kind of kids, someone like a kid they call 'Lemon.' Many in our world have nicknames; his is 'Lemon'. We've known him since he was about ten years old. He has spent most of his life in incarcerated. He is greedy, loud and belligerent. Un-loveable. Un-lovely. Un-loved!

'Lemon' is now sixteen and on his way to a life in the penitentiary. He reached his hand and arm out of his cell bars yesterday to say hi and shake my hand. I gave him a smile and shook his hand and twisted it (as I often do) to see his wrist. I noted about eight scars along his wrist. 'Lemon' is a cutter. It's apparent that he has attempted eight times to end his life, and if you look a little closer you can see where each scar is deeper than the last. Unfortunately 'Lemon' isn't the only cutter in the CMI.

Why is it so hard to express God's love to a rather ugly kid who doesn't even love himself? We have worked for years in Tijuana's children's jail called the CMI. We call it kindergarten . . .because the next step is the penitentiary. At any time there are two or three hundred kids in this CMI. Believe me when I say it's as secure as any maximum-security prison can be.

It's seems only right that Spectrum would follow these kids from the streets and tough barrios to this jail. The kids respect us and they willingly listen to us as we plant seeds that will hopefully develop in their future, wherever it may be. Most of these kids have a father problem. Many have a father that is in the penitentiary.

The Tijuana penitentiaries are really bad. These kids pay their time in the CMI until they are eighteen, then it's penitentiary time.

How bad?

On occasion an older looking kid will be placed into the penitentiary if he can't prove his age, (they strip him and if he looks eighteen, he's in.) I remember, in the CMI, talking with one of these teens that spent a short time in the penitentiary and was returned to the CMI because he could prove he was sixteen. He was calmly telling me of a 'mock' soccer game he witnessed; the men in the penitentiary were playing using a human head as the ball.

Life in our world is dirty and hard. We make it a point to be where the need is.

LOVE IS SPELLED IN DIFFERENT WAYS

We spend time at different orphanages ... I remember being poked in my backside, and looking down, here was a little kid with a wide chocolate smile offering me two pieces of chocolate he won in one of our games.

When I visit Emmanuel orphanage; often two young teenage girls will pull me aside, sit me down and massage my back while another brings me hot coffee. (Spoon, sugar and cream included.)

It's nice being spoiled.

In the name of love I even endure the kiss of death (as I call them.) Kisses, generally from little girls with running noses, hugging me and insisting on kissing me ... on my lips!

At night, when I finish speaking to the kids in an orphanage, I generally get hugs from the kids as they leave to go off to bed. Tight hugs, not token hugs ... and always a "thank you."

Up and down rickety wooden stairs and old tire stairs, there are always one or two kids trying to help me and keep me from tripping and falling. (Unfortunately with them helping me, I'm more apt to trip.)

Tribo Jesus Orphanage has a lot of kids that hate cold showers and baths in general. The orphanage has no hot water, so we drag in hot water and provide weekly hot showers. Often, in the process, my feet get wet so I have to change shoes and take my wet socks off. Last night at the orphanage one of the13 year old boys volunteered to help the old man take off his shoes and change socks and then he asked me if I would like to have my feet massaged.

"Massaged?" I asked. "Si," (yes) he replied, "well ... O.K."
So he started massaging my very white and cold, wet feet. I sat there remembering years back when I had my first foot massage in Singapore, not by a loving kid but by a professional foot massager. This massage was free too.

I'm both amazed and grateful for the variety of ways in which these kids express their respect and love to this old man. Oddly enough, and as old as I am, they don't call me grandpa ... it's still von.

THE FATHERLESS KID

Watching some YouTube videos tonight, I rambled through the plight of thousands upon thousands of street kids existing in almost every major city in the world. Trashy urban areas. These rapidly growing groups of feral teens are the result of a world-wide moral virus; the fatherless Kid. A type of tough human vermin ... indeed rogue survivors.

As some say it and see it ... worthless social sewerage.

Indeed you-tube brings the truth home, to any who are willing to honestly look that way.

Street kids are street kids wherever you find them. A sub-culture that follows a similar pattern worldwide. Father missing! Father despised. Often, a feral teen, comes from a single parent family.

Male children growing up without a "respectable and mature male" to bond to. These male kids simply become "disoriented" In time, he becomes a danger to society.

Disoriented boys start becoming feral at an early age. Having to orient to their young peers.

Gangs, worldwide, grow by adopting disoriented boys ... kids seeking attention and needing discipline, acceptance, and purpose. They get it all in a gang.

Survive they will, and problems, they will become.

Society and their efforts to catch and change these feral teens just hasn't worked. Society's approach; institutionalize them, indoctrinate them and turn them into good citizens, has been tried in every major city world wide, and for the most part the dollars and programs have proven to be an expensive failure!

For the most part these kids gravitate back into drugs and the street.

Society's "solution" is simple:

1. APPREHEND
2. INCARCERATE
3. INDOCTRINATE AND RELEASE
4. REPEAT

And the cycle goes on ...

A proven cycle of failure!

In Brazil, for a time, the off duty police took care of the troublesome teens ... by simply shooting them and burying them in mass graves.. I might add, this did prove effective! I won't mention the city.

So I'm one of the guys that has spent forty years of my life working with feral kids in at least eight areas of Tijuana. (And other Countries.)

My frustration doesn't stop me ... it drives me forward!

For the most part I'm willing to work with "losers." Young social scum with no redeeming value ... except to God

God can change even the most vile life.

God just needs His man; a man that will love the unlovely. A man that will give a damn, put away his excuses and move into ministry.

Think: Thousands upon thousands of troubled boys and unfortunately, more in the making!

EXPLETIVES!

How profane can we Christians get? ("Father, forgive them, they know not what their doing!") Maybe we fall into that category. Grace at the cross!.

Thank God for that His grace!

I'm tired of hearing professing Christians using God's name in vain simply because it's common usage. In the days of the old Testament, God's name was so revered it could not even be uttered! God and His Holiness was never profaned!. Never! But today it's so different.


True, I've become used to non-Christians using God's name in vain and Christ's name in vain; however it seems today even the Divine Trinity is under attack ... and often by those of us claiming to be Believers.


This shouldn't be. "OMG" or "Oh my God!" Is commonly used by us Christians. This is wrong; Swear words like "God Damn!" and "Jesus Christ!" have been common for years ... now it's an attack on God's Holiness; "Holy Moly!" down to "Holy Crap!" and I've even heard "Holy S**t!" It's hard to write these terms.


When I hear that, it hurts! This is an uncomfortable issue: Is anyone dealing with it? The Church and church leaders are awkwardly silent. I think this is an issue that needs to be dealt with.


It's just too much! Is there anything in our culture that's sacred' God? ... His Trinity, even marriage ... sacred sex has been reduced to the "F" word.


The cheapening of God by His own Believers! The cheapening of Jesus Christ, His Holiness, His concept of marriage and sex ... will be tolerated by God only so long.


Even dangerously worse; when God's professing Christians fall into the norm of secular communication that places God and His Holiness in the toilet ... and flushes Him out of their mind.


Today, more than ever, we Christians need to watch what we say.


As for me, I'll not be a part of it!

GLOW LITTLE GLOW WORM!

The slow growth (and always a struggle) from ME AND MINE to GOD AND HIS.

From my flesh to my Spirit.

From my very human and very natural centripetal mind set "me and my agenda" to a centrifugal mindset of God and His agenda!

The Lord says ... "Thy will be done!" ... and I still say "my will be done!"

Struggle and growth!

The painful process of growing into a truly converted Disciple. Spiritual growth cannot be, and should not be measured by academic increments. Learning is good ... but let's not leave it there.

How much we know is one thing.

How much we do, quite another. (God's book of Believers WORKS!)

The immature Christian has always sought a balance of comfort; a place to sit, a place to listen, a place to think ... and much to learn.

However God seeks an un-comfortable growth; a time to move into the uncomfortable. A time of testing your faith. A time to move into His world of pre-ordained and personalized opportunities. Action! Wow!

I dare you!

Find darkness somewhere and illuminate it!

Remember we don?t just have The Light, we are The Light!

May you shine today!

CHECKING IT OUT

I guess it's sort of an "our" thing. As I drove my new (used) Xterra SUV into Barrio Pedregal the kids had to check it out. Some were visibly disappointed as they hoped I would get a Hummer or red Jeep.

I've only driven Mexico a week now, and everywhere, the kids want to check out the "new" car. Comments and advice flow ... "no dents in this one!" "Why didn't you get a red one?" "von, You need to change tires." "Sure is clean inside!"

The car is newer by 38,000 miles! And clean!

When you have a close family of several hundred kids, they all have their ideas. I'll admit they take good care of me ... if I slump and my belly sticks out, there is someone who will remind me by patting my belly. Up and down make-shift stairs or tire stairs, there will be one or two kids there to "help" me. They'll even get me coffee. I feel like a Saint!

Well, thanks to many of you, I now have my car, and it's paid for. The State is happy because I've paid the taxes. The Insurance company is happy because I have new insurance. The border bureaucracy is happy because I paid for a special pass to return in the fast lane ... and the kids are happy because I'm back.

The crash and roll-over is past. Evidently God wanted me stay in ministry a little longer. Feels like I'm starting over.

By way of updates. Maribel is awaiting her critical and major heart surgery set for November. Little six "sixty" year old Eleas is in the hospital, in a pretty weak condition. Six year old Elizabeth has had the tumor removed from her mouth and now we are waiting to see if it was cancerous. The staff in our orphanages are happy because the kids go back to school next week!

GOOD NEWS TODAY!

I was in a good mood this morning as I headed out to check my mail. Ahh, one of those nice California mornings: the sun was out and a nice breeze blowing. I opened my mail box to see what I had. What goodies were inside?

I quickly cleared out the bulk mail and advertisements, then separated the bills.

Ahh, here's a small personalized letter for me. First class stamp and Addressed to Erhardt Von Trutzschler. My name and address were typed on the envelope. A real letter. I wondered who it could be from. I quickly opened it.

On the top of the stationary was a beautiful picture of a group of shade trees ... and a banner across the picture that read "WIN A PRE-PAID CREMATION!" along with the contest rules. (Contest only applies to those who haven't been cremated before.)

The letter read "Dear Erhardt, For a variety of reasons , more and more people are choosing cremation over traditional funeral and burial arrangements. And the numbers are growing every year!"

Oh Joy! A letter like this sets the soul singing! Especially if you are over eighty years old. Nothing personal of course. Von, inexpensively, reduced, granulated and compacted into a simple, yet beautiful urn ... I wondered, does the Urn come free with the ... er ... burn?

The contest instructions are vague on this. It's true, an Urn would look nicer on someone's shelf than, say, a coffee can with my name duct-taped to the can. That would look a bit tacky!

Yep! I entered the contest. Hey! What can I lose?

THE DIFFERENCE A DOLLAR MAKES

There are no street lights where we work in the canyons of the poor. After our activities last night, I was slowly driving the dirt road winding up the canyon, heading home. My lights caught two boys along the road walking home, I flashed my lights and stopped, the two boys came over to my car.

I asked them how they liked the program, Daniel said he won a dollar. Then I asked Pablo if he won anything. He smiled and said "I won a dollar too" "Pablo", I asked. "What are you going to do with your dollar?" Most kids will reply, "I'm going to the store end buy Pepitos (little bag of potato-chips with chili) Teens are always hungry.

When I asked Pablo what he was going to do with his dollar ... without hesitation, he said "Give it to my mom".

"Give it to your mother?" I replied. "Why are you giving it to your mom"? His answer was simple ... "Because we need food!"

It was just matter of fact. Pablo, at 12, realizes the facts of life.

I can't imagine a conversation like that, a mile north in the USA.

Boy the difference a fence makes. Things change when you and your family get real hungry. And honestly, many in Tijuana are real hungry!

Pablo started to leave, I called him back ... and did what you would have done, I reached in my pocket and pulled out a few more dollars and gave them to Pablo ..."Give these to your mom too.

DOING THE CHURCH

Growing up in my day, us Baptists "did" Church ... it was something we did. Doing Church was attending as many Church meetings as we could each week. The Church was the building and we "did Church" in our building. The building; White, cross on top; inside there were pews, podium, track rack, and a communion table ... and a sincere preacher who didn't make sense to us kids.

Our Church, like most Evangelical Churches, was "centripetal" to the core ... so our Christianity was pretty well self serving, simple and enjoyable.

Just maybe we could whirl some non-Christians our way and get 'em saved.

'Doing Church' gave you a good feeling. Every meeting had it's rewards; Bibles, singing and high calorie fellowships.

On occasion we had Revivals. We hired a good revivalist and he brought the revival banner ... Invitations went out to come to our Church and be saved and become like us. Sit, listen. study and pay tithe.

Learn to 'do Church!' and do it well.

Purpose of the Church? On occasion the purpose of the Early Church in the New Testament was taught but pretty well limited to history.

So our purpose ended up, well "doing Church."

'Doing Church' was much easier than 'Doing the Gospel'.

In Sunday school we were carefully schooled on what Christians couldn't do. NO fellowship with the worldly people and their pleasures. Dancing, parties, worldly music, and no shows. No alcohol or smoking. So we were known in the community ... for what we didn't.

And we didn't do a lot!

THE AMERICA I USED TO KNOW

Am I disappointed in the direction America is going? Of course. I'm old and have experienced, to an extent, what America was. I lived in a good America. They say a man my age is the last of the Great Generation. I think that's true.

Because I lived in that era, I'm more sensitive to the contrast between those days and today.

The key word here is contrast.

Unlike the Baby Boomers and even younger generations, I can see a contrast they are unable to see. Why? The younger were born into the broken system. They live now, knowing nothing better. Indeed bonded to the system. Skillfully prepared to become ‘politically correct' college educated Lemmings.

Liberal, progressive and politically correct Lemmings by the millions! Sad. Dangerous.

I highlight the word system.

Believe me, Once upon a time America was a radically different country. America was different In a good way; in a sense society was "good" the people were "good". There seemed to be a little honesty and patriotism left. We were proud of our country and proud of the flag, which we saluted every morning along with giving the pledge of allegiance.

You would drive up to the gas station and a friendly face would greet you. "Can I help you?" Check oil, check water, wash windshield and fill it up with gas we could afford. We called it service.

We were a church going people in those days. Judeo Christian ethics spread among us. Not that America was truly "Christian" but we were brought up with those ethics. We generally agreed on what was right and what was wrong.
Praying in school wasn't unusual (or illegal.) Bible Clubs in school were popular. This was before B.C. L; before the Civil Liberties Union twisted and corrupted the interpretation of our Constitution.

Especially the definition of separation of Church and State.

Pure evil! Evil people with an evil agenda.

Oh yes, in the past there were criminals and crime but evil tended to be isolated in parts of society rather than a growing leaven running through society. The Judeo Christian ethic, today's liberals and progressives love to hate, tended to bring a richness and goodness to America of old. Who can deny it?

A blotch on Christianity in the south? Oh yes! Shameful! In the south, perverted Christian doctrine produced perverted Christians ... they kept slavery alive. Encouraging sick black or white societies.

We learned ethics early; I remember there were wrong things we did in school, and we were sternly disciplined for them; chewing gum in class, smoking, sassing the teacher ... admittedly different from today's school violations; such as coming to school with weapons, drugs, raping, or the random shooting of students and teachers.
Wow! What a change in just a few years.

Fortunately I lived my younger years on the tail-end of the "good" America. For these years I'm forever grateful.

Sadly, the predictable was obvious

America's momentum of Judeo Christian ethic, like a rolling wheel, slowed down in the sixties ... wobbled and fallen into ... today.

IT WAS JUST A VEHICLE

I guess it was my recent accident that got me to thinking about cars. I'm glad God sees people as a higher priority than vehicles. In my case I walked out alive from a very dead vehicle, thanks to God's mercy. My old dead SUV had over 140,000 miles on it ... averaged 23,000 miles a year; most of those miles were driven in Tijuana, as a missionary. Very hard miles!

To be honest, my vehicle was pretty well thrashed; (beat up) from off-road and bad road conditions. The poor live in impossible places ... hard to get in and hard to get out places. Narrow twisty dirt 4X4 trails. Plus a car plum full of people. ( 11 in my little SUV? Often that was the load.)

Jesus said, "The poor we will have with us always," but Jesus did not say it was going to be easy getting to them and their needs.

I look at the happy child above, and he has eternal value ! He's invaluable ! A human life is irreplaceable.

But a car, van or truck has a dollar price tag. It's replaceable.

Yet my beat up Nissan Xterra SUV was a valuable tool. In that car I went to the need. I wonder how many needs I met in those seven years that I had my SUV ... in those hard 140,000 miles.

In Spectrum (Our ministry in Mexico) we are committed to going to the need, never demanding the need come to us. In His Gospel we see Jesus going to the need, never demanding the need come to Him. Jesus was on the road with his Gospel of compassion. (redemption) We're on the road with His Gospel and compassion. (However I don't remember Jesus having to pay for gas!)

One thing for sure, Spectrum's nine old cars and vans in Mexico fit in well with our culture ... but are totally undependable!

Our prayer each trip we take: Lord please get us there and back!

So your prayers protect our vehicles and even make the gas go further ... thank you!

ROLL OVER: PHASE TWO

It's hard to forget my accident Sunday night. Today I was ready to eat my lunch and some pieces of my X-car's window glass fell on my table. I have little pieces of window glass everywhere. Little reminders of one wild ride.

When your car gets creamed you need another to get around. It seems cars, like air, water and food are essential to life. So I have had to find an inexpensive (cheap) car to rent. Aaron and I walked into the cheapest rental office we could find; the man at the counter was friendly. "How can I help you?" he smiled ... "Just rent me a simple car" I replied, "all I need is four wheels and a motor". So we walked over past a number of sleek luxury cars to my "little" car in the corner; while we walked the man kept suggesting up-grades, and how inexpensive an upgrade would be.

Indeed my car was an economy model. Oh, it had little extras, like a cup-holder, two side mirrors, a dome-light and full tank of gas! No ash tray, but then I didn't need one.

After an accident like mine, you're thankful for your life ... but then the expenses hit you! If I had known what this accident would cost me, I wouldn't have had it in the first place! (Just kidding.)

Already my "kids" in Mexico are making suggestions for a replacement. A Hummer was first on the list, then a bright red Jeep and on to other novel ideas.

They think I'm a millionaire.

For any of you who might be interested; the reality is, my insurance company will probably give me around $6,000.for my totally totaled car. A more dependable used SUV with lower mileage, four doors and four-wheel drive, plus tax and license will probably cost me over $11,000. Then there is the rental car ... Looks like that's going to be a $5,000. stretch for me. As you might guess, the car will be used 95% for ministry. Spectrum work across the border.

At 83, I simply need dependable transportation for a couple more years ... it will probably be my last car.

I would appreciate your prayers and any of you that might be extra blessed and in a position to help me financially ... I would sincerely appreciate your help. My e-mail address is egvont@aol.com

ROLL OVER

Oh how we appreciate you who faithfully pray for us as we work Tijuana.

One night a few weeks ago as I was returning from Tijuana. I was coming to a stop sign, I stepped on my brakes to slow down and my brakes went to the floor! I had no brakes, so I slammed back into first gear and went through the stop and on down the block. Turning right, I eased up another block and parked my car, pausing for a moment to thank God that my brakes went out here rather than a matter of minutes back in Tijuana.

Oh, and next it was the power steering that went out ...

Late last night, I crossed the border and was driving the twenty some miles home. I was almost home when I hit a curb and rolled five times down an embankment on to the street below. It was fast ... it was sudden. As I rolled into the darkness, I wondered what was going to happen when I hit the bottom. Would some speeding car give me the final hit?  Would my car burst into flame?

When my car stopped it was resting on it's side.

Fortunately someone rushed up and wedged my driver's side door open and I climbed out. I looked at my car and it was totaled. I checked myself out and only found a few scratches and bruises. So I'm O. K.

I knew one of the police that came to assist. They helped me collect my essential stuff before the car was hauled to the bone-yard. One of the police offered me a ride home.  "Can I ride in the front seat?"  I asked. "Yeah, (he smiled) you can ride in the front ...  jump in."

Thanks again for your prayers.

Now I'm looking to buy a good used SUV. At my age it will probably be my last car, and because I'm no spring-chicken and  I'm using it in Tijuana, I'll want it to be really dependable!

You might pray with me to that end. Thanks.

MY BUCK KNIFE

Years ago I was visiting a missionary friend in Bolivia. He was a missionary to a tribe of Indians located in the hot sweaty Bolivian Amazon. He and his wife had been working with this 'small' group of very primitive Indians for a year. The tribe was once large, numbering hundreds but now there were only a handful. This group of people had been decimated by disease and warfare and were now down to one rugged family of about six individuals. A man, his two wives and some kids.

It wasn't long before the naked man spotted my buck-knife. I let him look at it, and watched him as he opened it up and slowly ran his finger over the edge of blade. He looked up at me and smiled. As I took my knife back, he came close to me and excitedly started a dialogue ... in his language.

The missionary, with a smile, translated his talk; indeed he liked that knife and wanted it bad! He made me an amazing offer ... my Buck Knife for his second wife. Swap, even ... I looked at my knife and I looked at the woman, then I looked at my knife again and ... I decided to keep my knife.

PIDGINS MAY NOT BE DOVES ... BUT THEY'LL DO

I note that there are not too many pidgins in urban Tijuana today; in years past Tijuana had a good share of plump free loading pidgins.

Maybe there is a reason the pidgin population is shrinking.

This afternoon I was spending some time at a new, small orphanage, in central Tijuana. Mexicans have great hospitality! They invited me to stay for lunch. I as I was waiting, I watched one of the lady cooks come in from outside with a happy smile, holding two dead pidgins, which she called doves.

A few grey feathers trailed their way down the stairs through the kitchen, where the feathers stopped. These were truly plump Tijuana pidgins. Within fifteen minutes they became part of a rich molae sauce to combine with the meal of rice. Rich and tasty the brown sauce over the rice made the meal.

This was a considerate and appropriate time for the pidgins to stop by.

Coincidence? I don't think so.

After the meal as I was walking outside through the side door I noted a wide area along the wall with a lot of bird seed scattered around. Could it be that the bird seed attracted "doves" or pidgins for dinner.

I think so!

You see, while the pidgins were busy eating their last dinner, they suddenly became dinner for the kids.

Just a quick grab and a bit of squawking ... fresh protein!

Free plump Tijuana pidgins for the taking. It seems the protein just flew in at the right time. Remember, God brought the quail in didn't He?. Now for TJ pidgins.

Are you hungry Tijuana? You bet you are!

THE BIG PIG RACE!

The kids like me because I have novel ideas; "Lets have a pig race!" I yelled, "winner gets $2!!!"

"Yeah!!!" the kids yelled back.

So yesterday we had the big pig race for the kids at Tribe of Jesus orphanage. Oh, we've had races before only we had been using a fast little dog ... she was white and loved to race, well she's a mother now and has lost her zeal for running ... and if she did run we would have to get her an eight-way bra, if you know what I mean.

Fortunately the orphanage has several pigs so, well, lets try a pig. The first little pig they chose was a squealer and sort of retarded. He just stopped and let himself be caught ... that wouldn't do; so we chose a bigger and faster pig.

The kids set the squealing pig down on the dirt, gave it a spank and let it go ... and go it did ... right out the orphanage gate and up the dirt road (squealing with joy), with thirty kids trailing behind trying to grab it! For the one who could catch it, two dollars! The promise of $2 for the winner was like an after-burner, producing a great deal of speed on the kid's part.

Well, the pig ran and the kids ran, and the pig ran and the kids kept running and ... unfortunately the pig won by a large margin! In fact I don't know where the thing is by now, maybe Ensanada or somewhere in south Baja California. Who knows maybe by now he's smushed in guacamole between a hundred tortillas.

I wonder if pigs have a homing instinct? Tomorrow I guess I'll have to buy a whole pig.

Pig chases are out for the time being.

ENCOUNTER WITH THE WILD SIDE

I know Pedrigal and it’s a dangerous barrio; full of drugs and wild teens. I drove off the main road in Pedrigal onto a winding narrow dead-end road. Sections of the road were thick with mud, I had to negotiate around some old tires and a dog or two. While I slowly drove down the road, I noted up to the left, a couple of older teens looking at us from the top of the main road, soon a few more joined them. Then all of them clambered down the dirt wall surrounding my car. It was one of those nervous moments.

An old man in gang-land!

I opened the window ... one of the guys came up with a big smile and said "Hi von!. How are you doing?"

Whew!

They just wanted to say "Hi," and said I used to shower them when they were kids. In our conversation I found they were returning from working at the Tijuana dump some twenty miles away; where they collect aluminum, copper, glass, cardboard, whatever. They had been up since 4:30am and were back in the late afternoon. Sweating 10 hours in their world of trash; only to make a few pesos ... not enough to live on. (I had more than $500. on me, no one was out to get me.)

Now I usually have some candy bars, cola or popcorn in my car for such occasions, this time I was clean out of everything.

I remembered I had one of my simple game boards for kids to play and earn small chocolates.

Ah an Idea!

I opened the back of the SUV and showed them the game, and how to play it ... however instead of chocolates, I told them I would give dollars to the winners. Big wide smiles!

Boy, they got into it!

About seven or eight dollars later ... they all thanked me ... they had to leave. One young man showed me a photo of his little daughter and asked me if I could get him a tarp, as his roof leaked.

Overall, a nice afternoon encounter with the wild side of Pedrigal.

A big thanks to all of you who pray for me!

CHILD LABOR?

I've known Brandon for most of his twelve years. Brandon is thin and rather small for his age but he's a willing worker. He lives in a squatters neighborhood. is father, like many fathers, is unemployed and the family of five is often hungry, and can barely make school costs.

It isn't easy living on the other side.

Brandon found a job about a mile away at a little market where he boxes groceries and carries them out to the cars for the shoppers; he makes his tips that way. It's amazing but he often makes fifty to sixty dollar week. Brandon works after school from three in the afternoon to nine at night six days a week.

Long hours for a young boy. He has one day off.

So it's school in the morning and work at night. He splits his income with the family for food.

"Child labor, how horrible," the Liberal Feminist cry.

Twelve year old Brandon isn't being exploited, he's learning discipline and what it takes to be a man. He's learning responsibility ... So much better than spending hours watching black and white T.V or huddled in a dark corner playing with his Gameboy ... or passing drugs with his friends.

Across the fence in rich America, little by little the Liberals among us have taken away what made America great ... 'real' men. They have taken responsibility, discipline and competitiveness out of a boy's curriculum.

Feminists, you haven't a clue as to what it takes to make a real man!

Thumbs up Brandon, keep your school grades up, keep working hard and become a man!

ARE THERE UN-SAVABLE PEOPLE?

A man swimming off the California coast. A strong swimmer stroking his way into deep water, enjoying his swim. A few men in a fishing skiff close by were watching him. Suddenly one of the men pointed; "Look, there's a shark fin!" Then they noticed another fin appear close to the swimmer, before they could yell, a third fin appeared. Judging by the fins these were big sharks. The skiff headed to the swimmer yelling "sharks!, sharks"! The swimmer waved them off; "probably dolphins" he yelled back. No! There are three big sharks circling you ... they threw a rope to the swimmer, "Quick, grab the line we'll pull you aboard!" The skiff drew near the swimmer, the men yelling, "Sharks, quick, grab the line come aboard!"

The man kept swimming. Suddenly he disappeared; the water slowly turned red.

This swimmer was "un-savable." He didn't realize his peril and he rejected the very thing, and only thing that could save him.

Or how about this?

A well trained swimmer decided to try for a world record and swim from the California coast to Hawaii. He was convinced he could make it. Amid camera clicks and flashes he jumped into the water, and with two small boats trailing him he headed west. Stroke after stroke, mile after mile he pressed on ... day after day. The poor man was getting exhausted; but he was stubborn! His goal was happy tropical Hawaii. The strokes now were slow and painful. By now the sharks were circling him. Those in the small boats pleaded with him ... reach out, we'll save you! Exhausted he slipped under the water ... he too, was un-savable. He wouldn't realize the danger he was in. From the start this man wouldn't accept the truth. Isn't it true that a fool is un-savable? ("The fool has said in his heart, there is no God")

Two physical examples of being literally un-savable!

When it comes to Salvation, are there those who are un-savable? Of course.

Most of us don't feel we need to be saved. A sinner? Who isn't? I'm just like everyone else. A good God would never create an eternal hell ... hell would be too small to fit in all of us! Etc, Etc.

Call it ignorance, call it pride, call it deception or call it whatever you wish. The end is the same. Un-savable!

In one sense most of earth's population is un-savable.

Take an atheist as an example of an un-savable person.

Remember it's the job of the Holy Spirit to convict or convince a man both of his sinful condition and his need for God. The Holy Spirit may use the Word or he may use the mouth of a Believer. (John 16:8) ... the act of saving; salvation is a gift of God. A miracle accomplished by God in the heart of a man.

It's my job to pray ... It's true, that I can help save the savable ... but, the un-savable? ... that's not my responsibility.

LITTLE MARIBEL

The hillsides of barrio Laguna are covered with small, unorganized little one and two room shacks. People in our areas walk or ride small busses. On school days Maria would carry her little eight-year-old Maribel up the hillsides to and from her school. No one seemed to think it odd that Maribel was carried up the hills on the back of her mother.

Maribel was born with a defective heart, and as she got older she just didn't have the energy to climb the hills to school; so mom would carry her. From time to time Maria and Maribel would visit Hortensia. Lips and fingers slightly blue told the story of Maribell's growing problem.

Miguel, her father, is a hard worker and pays the family's medical insurance each month. About $75.

The Government's social security hospital was so slow in responding to their requests for help. Meanwhile Maribel grew weaker.

Finally word came from the hospital that a date was set and a specialist chosen to operate on the little girl's heart. The date just two months way. Good news!

Bad news followed. About the same time Miguel lost his job and couldn't continue his insurance ... without insurance the date and procedure would be canceled.

That's where you entered the picture. Thank you Lord for our general fund. Maribel has had her first operation, and her second (and hopefully the last) one is two weeks away. The cost to Spectrum was only a few hundred dollars.

Maribel and her family are incredibly grateful. Hortensia has had many flowers and hugs from Maribel as well as her mom. I have a specially created envelope and colorful thank you letter from a special little eight year old, with a new life.

How can those with nothing thank those with everything?

Spectrum Ministries is a general term. It's easier to understand our ministry when we break it down into families and kids.

Maribel, we love you.

THESE BONES

Remember that old African American Spiritual "Dry Bones"? "Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones"  I've always loved the energy and truth of that song.

Okay, Ezekiel! Bring life to these dry old bones!

With due respect to my mother and father; God created and put a soul in this body called von. I was created an eternal being and placed in a temporary flesh vehicle. As in every living thing God has created, I was created on purpose, for a purpose.

God is not the author of accidents. God is not the author of chance.

God is the author of purpose.

I was quite a way into my Christian pilgrimage before I realized an important truth about of God's anatomy ... God has no hands, and He needs no hands.

I was created to be God's hands ... and on occasion His voice.

What an awareness ... what a privilege.

Why did it take me so long to find out what my hands were designed for?

Praise God, I have another day to bless others .... hands, do your job.

Read: Ezekiel  37:4