A NICE TALL KILLER

I always appreciate speaking to the people of LaRoca (The Rock) church in Tijuana. The church is located right where it should be, in Zone Norte; Tijuana's Red-Light district.

Last Sunday as I was leaving the Church service I saw Raul. I couldn't miss him, tall slender and rather handsome. Seeing him brought back memories from past years.

Carlos and I found a den of addicts floating in and out of a small group of trashy flop-houses down a small canyon along a smelly sewer like creek. Flop-houses they were, as the addicts would take a big hit they would flop there on the ground until they mellowed out a bit. We would bring them food and blankets. Among the group were Raul and his friends.

High above the set of shacks on the side of the canyon, was the drug dealer, he didn't particularly like us but he allowed us to come in if we didn't disturb the status quo.

Years later, upon Raul's conversion, we learned some disturbing news. Fortunately their plans went wrong.

Raul and a couple of his friends planned to kill us and take our money. Their weapons? Some golf clubs they had laying around.

This story serves as a reminder of the world and environment in which we work ... and how necessary your prayers of protection are.

YESTERDAY WE HAD A RIFA

After our workdays in Mexico we have a rifa, that's a raffle in Spanish. Each of the kids have a number on their hand and they crowd around the back of my car waiting for the numbers to be called and hoping it will be their lucky number. Hortensia shakes the jar of numbers, then holding the jar high, hands the jar to a lady or girl standing among the crowd to pick out a number.

Every one is silent as the number is called.

You can tell the kid with the correct number on his hand because of his smile and he's pushing to the front. It's his show. Now what prize will he choose? Everyone, including the mothers, helping him by calling out what he should choose. Yesterday the number of ten year-old Carlos was called. Carlos and his brothers and sisters are from a very poor family.

Carlos was beaming as he stood looking over all the goodies. He spotted the soccer ball. Yep, it was the soccer ball he wanted.  He had never had a soccer ball. As I handed the happy kid his soccer ball, I said "You can have this soccer ball OR FIVE DOLLARS ... which do you want?" Everyone started giving poor Carlos advice. The kids yelled "Soccer ball" the moms yelling "take the five dollars! He looked back at his mother and she was telling him take the money! Poor Carlos, he really wanted the ball! He looked at me, his ball, and the five-dollar bill ... smile gone, he looked up at me again and ever so slowly gave me the ball and took the five dollars and headed out of the crowd.

Well, what would you do in a situation like that? ... I called him back, and some of the kids brought him to the front again, He stood there looking rather puzzled. "Here Carlos" and I gave him the soccer ball too. For doing that I got a big smile and a special hug from a special kid, Carlos.

KING JAMES BIBLE

Years ago the King James Bible was pretty much the Bible of the Evangelicals ... then came a long parade of versions and translations. And for the most part, that was good, however we paid a price for this change. The price? A big drop in Bible verse memorizing. Today Bible memorizing is almost non existent. "Your Word have I hidden in my heart that I might not sin against you." (Psalms 119:11) That was one of the verses we memorized.

Many of us old timers grew up with Scripture memorizing programs. The old King James may have it's flaws but one thing could be said of it, it became the heart of Scripture memorizing.

Speaking of memorizing, It's so easy to forget the message of Isaiah 55:11 ... "My Word shall not return to Me empty or void." God's Word needs to get back into the heart of man, memorizing verses it seems, does just that.

Caution! As Christians, especially as preachers, speakers and teachers, we must never forget that it is God's Word He has promised to honor not ours.

I may become an eloquent speaker indeed, uttering meaningless ... noise. Beautiful noise. (1 Corinthians 13:1) I may be paid well and in demand ... it seems noise of this type is addictive. God honors HIS Word.

ALL GROWN UP

Street kids grow up, at least most do. They become adults making a bare parasitic existence living as an addict on the wrong side of right. In many ways it would be easy to type them. With few exceptions they end up in one of four dead ends. Killed. Jail or prison. Rehabs; houses of rehabilitation or street beggars. These men and women will couple and breed creating more dysfunctional “families.”

Remember the vast majority of street kids are born of dysfunctional families.

In the eyes of many these people are social trash!

Irritating parasites.

If I read my Scripture right, In the eyes of God the man pictured above is loved and redeemable! He has a value. He’s above and apart from the trash he’s embedded in. This man is the one Jesus loved and died for. Yet, he is lost and confused! Unloved.

Just suppose the man above came to your Church one Sunday morning, and just suppose he was seeking God. And let's just suppose he wanted to join you and attend the service.

How would the Believers in your church react to this worthless man reaching out to be loved?

Maybe we could rephrase the question. How Christian is your Church?

STONED

Last night I went where I shouldn't have gone.

I searched out YouTube ... Subject: Street Kids ... I should have known better. I've worked with street-kids for a half a century, plenty of them, right here in Tijuana. I've watched them in other countries as well. Why look at more?

I looked at street kids in India. Street kids in Brazil. Street kids in the Philippines and Mexico City. These worthless little imps are everywhere. Millions of them in this world. They are like leeches or fleas on sick urban societies.

Cops hate them because they are little thieves causing trouble wherever they nest and they will become the criminals of tomorrow.

Most of these kids have run from a "home" of sorts, tired of the constant fighting and abuse inside their shelter, they run, sometimes toddle to the hell awaiting them in the streets, where they find their own kind and integrate .. worthless dirty little two legged rodent's invading the streets of big cities.

One by one the kids realize they are worthless and unwanted. Being unloved mixes them into a different human chemistry, indeed social misfits.

I remember visiting a city in Brazil and where I was staying, word came of a mass grave that was discovered near us. The bodies of eleven kids, with their arms wired together were laying in their grave, each kid had been shot in back of the head. Professional exterminators. Problem solved.

In that city there was an understanding of how to deal with problem kids in your neighborhood. Call a privet phone number ... negotiate a cash deal. Late at night a black van with a few off duty police would cruse the neighborhood and collect and dispose of the "problem" kids.

It grabs you.

Looking at little kids sucking on plastic bags with some rubber cement inside ... or a couple of sprays from a can of spray paint. Eyes that once were looking at you take on a glassy stare, eyelids slowly drop as they enter a peaceful, restful world. I've seen it and it hurts. A four year old or five year old huffing, hurts bad!

Why do I look at even more of what I've already seen? It builds frustration and anger in me that combine to develop an energy that drives me on, to do more.

God knows I can't do it all, but I'm going to go down trying!

LOVE HATE RELATIONSHIP

I've heard the term used and I thought I knew what this weird relationship was, I've even used the term before. . . . . but I have to admit I've never had a love, hate experience with anyone or anything.

Well, until now.

Now, day by day I'm being enlightened and starting to understand this "Love Hate" thing.

The evening of Friday the 13th. (Sept.) I was married to this big long black brace! I'm married to a big thing! The marriage was performed while I was happily unconscious. When I regained my awareness I found this brace clutching my right leg. Little by little I'm started to develop a hate for this new addition to my life. It's a thing. It's lifeless. We can't co-exist but yet we have to.

I sense my marriage is crumbling pretty early!

They obviously planned for a long marriage because it's on to stay ... thanks to the Velcro factor. And if anything can hold this relationship together it's Velcro!

The truth is, I need my big black brace to stand up and to walk around stiff legged. I'm afraid to be without it ... it's begging to become a part of me, but how I hate it.

Oh boy, nothing worse; house arrest with a "lady" I love and can't get along without ... yet hate with a passion.

I'm stuck in my first love hate relationship!

HE BLEW THE MAN AWAY

These two young boys and their mom have seen too much! A few days ago this little three-some found themselves in real need.

A sudden thing.

Mom and the two boys lived with their grandfather in his small house. It was evening when a drugged "malandro" (teen rogue) burst in their door. The two boys were on the couch watching TV when their grandfather came into the room with his shotgun. Words were exchanged, and grampa shot the malandro dead, right in the room. The young man was blasted dead, blood all over.

The two boys saw it all! They are still traumatized. The police came that night and put the grandfather in jail. After sorting it out the police released him to go home.

No one is living in the house now. Grandfather is on the run, disappeared.

Vengeance. The malandro's friends and family are looking for the old man. Tijuana justice will be done.

Mom and her two sons are in a bad way. That's why they have come to us for help. Please pray for these two boys.

FIVE DOLLARS

Celia is thin, very poor, and looks older than she is, she has two boy's; The older one works at a small job and the younger helps her around as she is almost blind. Their little shack in which they live is perched right at the edge of a large deep sink-hole in a canyon barrio called Floho (Lazy)

Next big rain and where will they be?

Hortensia spotted her at the produce market standing in front of the tomatoes ... she was holding a couple of tomatoes close to her face so she could see their condition ... slowly rolling them over and checking them out.. Tomatoes cost pesos.

Her son saw Hortensia and said "Mom, here's Hortensia!"

Celia was so glad to see Hortensia, they hugged each other and did some small talk and Hortensia slipped her a little envelope with a five dollar bill inside. They continued talking and Celia slowly opened the envelope. She held the bill up close to her eyes and saw that it was $5 ... at that point she started to cry! "Five dollars she said ... and hugged Hortensia. "I didn't give you that to make you cry," Hortensia replied "... it's a gift from God!" Celia was so, so grateful!

Can any of us really understand what "poor" is?

BETO'S NO VEGETABLE!

From time to time faces, along with their stories, appear from the past. This face, this smile is etched like braille in my heart. It was a cold winter afternoon in barrio Obrara, as eight-year-old Beto was returning from school, a speeding car traveling way to fast for the narrow street hit Beto, spinning him headlong into the road. In a matter of time they lifted the bloodied unconscious boy into the Red Cross ambulance and sped him to a small local hospital. His school buddies looking on.

The orphanage director called me and told me of the accident.

In the morning I drove across the border to the hospital. Beto, his head bandaged and still unconscious, was laying there in the cold room under a blanket all tubed up.

Every day I visited him. He remained unconscious with his I. V. and other tubes in his body.

Then, it started.

When I visited, I would find him with only his pajama bottoms on and his cover wadded up beside him. His body sort of bluish and shivering. I spoke to the nurses asking them to keep him covered.

In San Diego I called several hospitals asking them if they could find a bed for Beto. When I explained that he had been unconscious for several days, my answer was always no. Finally a more empathetic Doctor cut through my emotions with the bare truth. "Anyone comatose for more than four days has little chance of recovering his mind. If he comes here, he will simply fill a bed for many years ... we're sorry."

Again, I would cross over to visit little Beto, I couldn't believe he was just a vegetable. Again, I would find him without covers, his body cold and shivering. Again, I would beg the nurses to keep him covered.

I came to the conclusion; that's how you dealt with the comatose in Mexico. You let them get pneumonia and die of natural causes.

I didn't want to leave, but I had committed to a long weekend of speaking. I would have to leave him, and his nurses in God's hands.

When I returned to the hospital Tuesday morning I was prepared for the worst. I slowly walked down the hallway. Suddenly! Who should appear, wheeling himself around the corner in a little wheelchair, but Beto! When he saw me, his face lit up with a wide smile that I'll never forget! "Von! Von!! Brother Von!!!" He yelled as he sped toward me! "You're here!!!"

Little Beto defied all odds ... he made it!

A FUMBLE, A STUMBLE ... AND SPLAT

Thursday began like any other day. It was to be one of my usual work-days, with 40 to 50 kids, and about 30 adults. It was to be a hot day so showers mixed with ice were on the menu. On the way I stopped into a 7-11 (In Mexico, OXXO) for three bags of ice, and a cup of coffee.

As I came out of the store with my coffee I stepped over the yellow marked curbing but seemed to catch my other foot in a yellow pipe below the curb.

I was now an 84 year old man, in the air falling to the asphalt below. All six feet of me. Nasty fall ... lost my coffee! Hit my head, injured my left-ankle, and really messed up my right knee tendon and quadruplex muscle. Almost like the accident I had in the Venezuelan jungle same week, twelve years before.

As I sat there on the asphalt holding my knee and thinking over the situation I realized this careless one-second incident was going to mean a temporary change in lifestyle starting immediately. Priorities rearranged. People affected.

Ernesto drove me across the border thirty miles north to Scripts Mercy hospital's Emergency unit. A couple of hefty men placed me on a stretcher and on in I went ... The pain was great, the pain shot was greater ... so I don't remember a lot of what went on. The pain killer keeps you happily stoned ... keeps, mind, soul, spirit ripped tendon and paining knee together. Hurting but happy!

The surgery would be the following night about 8pm. Going to be long night

I remember briefly meeting the cheerful O. R. doctors and personal. I remember the warm blanket they put on me. From then on things turned to an unconscious blur, a blur I had experienced many times before,

The extended two hour surgery, went well; they say. After sewing me up they placed a nice new heavy brace on my right leg, from my ankle to my upper thigh. Then they set to work making me a member by inserting more than eight different vinyl tubes in me. Being happily high I really didn't mind. In this carefree frame of mind they hauled me up to my new, technology sophisticated room. Many of you who know me, know how well I get along with technology. Imposing black machines that never sleep towering over me, with their little red, yellow and blue flickering lights uttering groans, buzzes and beeps at inappropriate times.

Because I couldn't walk I had to call a nurse to help me or watch me do anything, even swallow a pill. Day and night they would walk in and out of your life; if sleeping, ,wake you up, and check if you were sleeping and then if your heart was pumping.

Well, thanks to my Niece and her expertise on Hospital procedure, I'm home again ... beginning life as a brand new cripple. Lots of new stuff to re-learn from twelve years before.

I'm home free! ... thanks to the many of you who prayed me through this ... unpleasant venture. Conclusion, no surgery is pleasant at 84.

UPDATE ON FRANCISCO

While we are juggling so many dramas it was easy to forget that most of you don't know what happened to Francisco, the boy who fractured his skull. He had been promised dates for his delicate procedure but for each appointment the Doctors made, it seemed the Tijuana General Hospital couldn't find a bed for the boy. As you can imagine each cancellation was hard on Francisco.

Hortensia entered the picture, and in short time the hospital found a bed. Admittedly Francisco was scared when they wheeled him into surgery to fit his special plastic cap to his brain and attach it. A tricky, dangerous procedure; no matter how you want to define it. Would it fit right? Would his body reject the foreign object? Infection another very real potential.

He came out of the operation smiling!

His hair cut short and scalp lined with rows of staples. Hortensia made several special trips to Tijuana's General Hospital to comfort he and the family.

Praise the Lord the job is done and thanks to many of you the bill is paid. Now it's Francisco's responsibility to do his therapy so he can have full use of his right arm and leg.

Francisco and his family made a special point of telling us to thank all of you who prayed for them as they went through this tough time. They are a happy family indeed.

A FAMILY WITHOUT DRINKING WATER

Hortensia and I have partnered together for more than twenty-years. She knows our world better than I simply because she was born at the Tijuana Dump, and educated in the U.S. But moved back to her roots and preferred to live among the poor. Somehow the needs find her, and we check them out.

Two days ago a brand new little baby girl was born in barrio Pedrigal and yesterday Hortensia was invited to meet the little baby. Father and mother, both just fourteen, proudly stood by as the big ta-do went on.

As the evening continued Hortensia took a walk up the dirt road to see how Maria and her boys were doing. Maria's ten-year-old twins, spotted her. They came running and hugged her happily, then walked her over to their little house. The boys were both holding sweaters which seemed odd at the time, as this is September and incredibly hot at that!

While talking to the mother, Hortensia said "I know it's been rough and I came over to offer you a little help." And she handed the lady twenty dollars.

What happened next was totally unexpected.

The lady broke into tears, and soon the boys were crying. "Hortensia," Maria said, "I just sent Roberto and Rolando out with two sweaters to see if they could sell them to any of the neighbors for two or three hundred pesos ($2.50) so we could buy some drinking water; we have no water! And maybe get some beans and tortillas. We have nothing! And you came and gave us this!"

As she left, one of the boys came up to her! "My daddy sent me, he's ashamed to ask. You know he's a drug addict," he says he needs a couple of dollars, if you can give him any ... Hortensia gave Roberto three dollars to take back to his father.

Hortensia and I were on the road again today ... buying food and yes even water for six different families.

CONNECTING WITH KIDS

Maybe it's because speaking has been so much a part of my life that I've really never considered it to be an integral part of my "Missionary" calling in Mexico. It took this photo (top) someone took at our last camp, to realize just how important communicating is to the missionary.

I studied the photo closely and then studied several other photos of kids listening. I don't get that perspective from the front.

Camps are great and so important to the kids we work with. Camp provides a few days in which we have our kids locked into a powerful pre-prayed environment. An environment in which God can work, while the enemy is hindered. Often I have the privilege of preaching and teaching at camps, speaking to adults and teens, even these little kids. Big groups, little groups, whatever. Rewarding indeed.

The kids above are mostly younger kids. A camp full of energetic little rascals going everywhere at once but when it comes time for God they will calm down and actually listen! Talk about miracles!

Look again, these kids, all of them, each of them are really listening. What I'm doing here is simply sowing seeds via an interesting talk.

I'll admit I do look a little weird. When I work with the kids at camp, I usually dress up in my Peruvian poncho and wear my hat from Bolivia, with a tiger tooth in the rim and I wear a Jaguar claw necklace; the kids like the exotic adventure spin.

Teens are still my favorite audience, I teach and interact with teens in Mexico on a regular bases in different orphanages; again the respect and attention these street kids give me is nothing but amazing. Ears that listen and hearts that are open are a great opportunity as well as responsibility.

In our Spectrum Letters through these years I haven't placed much emphasis on my teaching and preaching ministry ... the speaking end; however it's a very effective part of the ministry. For fifty years I have taught in Tijuana on a regular weekly bases. Teenagers jail, Camps, Orphanages, Retreats, Clubs, Discipleship and Leadership staff meetings. (With my faithful and excellent translator, Julian)

TWO TOADS IN LOVE

As I stared at the two flat toads on the roadway. These two were different than the other flattened toads. It was true that they were all quite dead, but there was something different about these two. Such a sad ending of a wild romance. With a bit of forensics and a little imagination, I pieced together the story.

A tropical night in Kauai, what could be more romantic? They met each other, she blinked her eyes innocently and he blinked back. It seemed to start from there. The two toads fell deeply in love. She turned around and he jumped on, and off they hopped into a dark night of love. Two lovers hopping helter-skelter in the brush, nowhere to go but love. For some reason, only known to a toad, she decided to cross the road, and so they headed hopping happily onto the warm dark roadway. In their passionate embrace they hopped right into the path of an oncoming car.

Their love was to be short lived.

There was no squealing of brakes ... just a croak, two pops and a crunch and their love was cemented to the asphalt! Alas in a split second the two were made one in the flesh! Days later, I bent down and looked closely at them ... true, they were as flat as other toads on the road, but these two were different; they were still smiling!

What a night it must have been!

FIRST CENTURY CONDUCT

I've had this short article for most of forty years and used it often to compare the extreme difference between the conduct and behavior of early Christians, (200A.D.) and those of us today. It's not only interesting to note the differences but where the differences exist. This article addresses the question; just how important is our testimony and public conduct? 

"The following statement is attributed to Aristides, a second century worldly (non-Christian) philosopher. It is his comment and observation of Christians in his day (200 A.D).

They abstain from all impurity in the hope of the recompense that is to come in another world. As for their servants or handmaids or children they persuade them to become Christians by the love they have for them and when they have become so they call them, without distinction, brothers. They do not worship strange gods and they walk in all humility and kindness and falsehood is not found among them and they love one another. When they see the stranger they bring him to their homes and rejoice over him as over a true brother. And there is among them a man that is poor and needy and if they have not an abundance of necessities they will fast two or three days that they may supply the needy with the necessary food.

They observe scrupulously the commandment of their Messiah. They live honestly and soberly as the Lord their God commanded them. Every morning and all hours on account of the goodness of God toward them they praise and laud Him and over their food and their drink they render Him thanks.

And if any righteous person of their number passes away from this world they rejoice and give thanks to God and they follow his body as though he were moving from one place to another. And when a child is born to any of them they praise God and if again it chance to die in its infancy they praise God mightily as for one who has passed through the world without sins. Such is the law of the Christians and such is their conduct.

OH HAPPY DAY

I get tired of seeing these ragged dirty little urchins running around with beat-up shoes or barefoot. In poor Mexico shoes are a big expensive thing!

Hortensia and I devised a plan to have a few kids from a very poor Barrio get the chance to choose a pair of new shoos for themselves, and without their mothers telling them what to choose.

A lady was to collect a few needy children from Barrio Las Carretas and they were to meet us along the roadway.

So here she comes, an hour late, with about thirty kids! Now I had planned for what was good for my pocket-book and what my SUV would hold, about ten. Not thirty. I didn't have a bus and my pocket was not lined with Fort Knox gold.

I had planned to take them to a real shoe store in center city Tijuana.

First I had them all sit in a line along the curb, and each was to roll a special dice I made, with one red side. Roll red, and your in! After getting thirteen that rolled red, we were walking up the street when, Praise The Lord! We found a shoe store right there with a good selection of shoes, good prices and many were on sale! WOW!

Happy made the day!

The kids were having a blast trying on their new shoes, dirty feet and all. Many had a hard time making a selection.

The manager was happy too as he sold more shoes that day that he would the whole week!

And I was happy too ... it didn't cost me an arm and a leg!

TWO LITTLE BLACK SHOES

It's hot as it should be in August, far from cold and gray December. Odd that this story should come to mind. It's a story, like many, that tends to stick in my mind... and heart.

It was getting cold as the sun left the muddy valley of lower Trinchi and we were still giving out toys to a small line of cold kids, some clad in short sleeve shirts and others barefooted. Little six year old Tonio was so happy with his pair of black shoes. We gave them to him as his Christmas gift from our bus full of blankets, toys and odds ‘n ends of clothing. Each child could choose only one gift, he chose a pair of nearly new shoes.. He quickly ran down the road and climbed up the tire steps to his house holding tightly to his pair of black shoes.

Two days later Tonio was crushed to death in a mudslide. No one heard a word..

His house was in a neighborhood located on the hillside of a muddy valley, Barrio Invasion is what they call it. Like many neighborhoods we serve, it consists of poor "invaders" or homesteaders. The poorest of these families often dig out a shelf on a hillside and put up a shelter accessible by steps of old embedded tires. It doesn't take much to trigger an avalanche of mud after several days of rain. Mud is quiet. Mud is heavy. Mud is deadly. His family escaped, Tonio was in a little hut near the house ... he didn't make it.

I remember there were only five at Tonio's funeral. The little boy lay in a small open particle board casket. The family was poor so the mortuary did very little to clean up the boy where he laid swollen and bruised. With him in his casket were the two little black shoes he loved so dearly.

That same morning a few miles away, ten year old Laura and her fifteen year old sister Erma were playing together in their small makeshift bedroom. Without warning, their lives were snuffed out by another mudslide. No one heard a word, the quiet death. Hortensia, two of their little girl friends, and I walked a muddy road and through the trashy area to the site. I lifted the yellow caution ribbon and walked closer to the mudslide. The soldiers had scattered the families clothing and thrown the furniture away in hope that they would not return there again to live. Any thing of value was stolen and they had nothing but their two dead daughters. I remember the Governor was there with the media and he expressed his condolences, but unfortunately the government hasn't the resources to be of much help. The little family can't go back ... They can't go forward. They call on us.

Thanks for enabling us to step in where people like these fall through the cracks of bureaucratic greed and incompetence. This family needed help not promises. Hortensia represented us to both families and we helped pay for their funerals and food. Do the poor respect us? What do you think? Our challenge is that the word gets around.

While little Tonio's pair of black shoes will never be worn, they will never be forgotten either.

Thanks to whoever donated them to us.

Missionaries are what we are and ministry is what we do. Doing the Word can be spelled in so many ways.

THE NIGHT SHIFT

This afternoon as I was driving south to enter my world I began thinking of my past fifty plus years working with the very poor. One thing jumped at me; how unaware we are to the dangers we face as we work in these areas. And it's getting worse as hunger increases. I was driving rather nonchalantly into a night in barrio Pedrigal. The feral teens and young men surface at night. Many are high on drugs. It's actually a very dangerous environment for an old Gringo to drive into ... yet I've become so used to God's protection I've become complacent rather than thankful.

Sorry Lord.

Late one afternoon I remember slowly driving down a narrow dirt road in barrio Pedrigal. I noticed on the embankment to my left about ten feet above me several guys looking at me, and then the number grew. I new I was trapped on this narrow road. I felt a slight chill. I had several hundred dollars on me, not a good situation. They came running down the embankment to the side of my car. I was scared until a couple of the guys at my window yelled "Von! Von!" "Do you remember us?" Now that was a relief. They were dirty and sweaty but smiling and maybe a little "high" on something. They said I gave them showers when they were kids and wondered if I had any chocolates ... I did.

On several of these occasions I realized God "has my back."

Complacent I should never be.

Another growing danger on the "Night Shift!" I'm almost 85 and still driving in Tijuana. The dark streets and wild drivers. Tijuana city is no place for an old driver. Nonchalant driving could kill me, or worse, others. In Mexico an accident is always the 'Americano's' fault! A major accident of any kind means jail time. I'm much more sensitive to this kind of danger than working the night shift in the barrios. I drive scared.

The many opportunities still exist for this old man.

Some may call me a fool, even irresponsible, but I believe I have God's blessing and calling. There is still a lot to be done and the laborers are few.

Before driving down to Mexico, I have a time of prayer for my safety.

To be honest what's keeping me going are the prayers of so many of you. THANK YOU!, THANK YOU! for keeping me in your prayers ... especially now as I'm doing more of the "night-shift!" Why nights? I have to meet my people in their world and at their time.

DAVID'S SECOND OPERATION

As you recall weeks ago David went to Mexico city for a major operation by two specialist surgeons. We (You folks) paid for the flights.

While he was there the surgeon said he needed to be back for another operation, this time on his spine. David said to the doctor "I don't want any more operations." The surgeon replied " If you don't get this surgery, in a matter of time you will be crippled and lie in bed the rest of your life!"

That changed things!

David's mother forgot to tell us that and the date of the surgery in Mexico City. Suddenly they're to fly out to Mexico City this Friday! And of course they haven't the money.

This is the all too common irresponsibility that drives us up the wall working with these people. The poor simply don't think ahead. However this isn't David's fault, and the surgery is needed, It's free, but it means another flight to Mexico City, and quickly.

Thanks you for the many of you who are interested in David and pray for him. Thanks too for you that are willing to help him out.

The poor boy is caught between a rock and a hard place. He doesn't want to go, BUT if he doesn't go he will be crippled for life.

Friday David and his mother are on their way for Monday's surgery. Please pray for the boy and his surgeon.

A DOLLAR'S WORTH OF LOVE

I'm convinced little things count and I've thousands of Mexican children who agree. For over half a century now I've given a dollar in exchange of a child's little tooth. The little tooth that came out. The missing teeth that make that once in a lifetime tooth-less smile.

In America we have the "tooth fairy", in Mexico they have the "tooth mouse", but that mouse has always been really poor. So the kids save their teeth for me. Sometimes for a month! Waiting. Waiting. If I would have collected and kept the teeth given me I would have a barrel full.

Ever see a kid literally jump up and down when he got a US. Dollar? I have; lots of times.

I soon expanded my "dollar ministry" to giving a dollar to those kids who had a Birthday. The poor don't have Birthday parties like us ... and to those who got good grades at school! Last week lots of boys and girls showed me their grade papers and collected their reward! (Alas, for my dollar or two, they have to have good grades!) If a boy makes a handful of goals in a big soccer game, he will get a dollar or two reward!

Looking back, I would never have believed all the good that a little paper dollar could do. (Do you think a poor kid in Tijuana will ever forget the dollars he got?)

I always go down with a pocket full of dollar bills. And return with the joy of empty pockets!

As you who follow our ministry, and are a part of our ministry, know we give out big money too ... to families needing food, kids needing schooling, the sick needing medicine and Medical operations.

But the little ones need a dollars worth of attention and encouragement. And they get it from us!