THE UGLY TRUTH

This pathetic little mongrel has broken free, he's wandering the dirt streets of Tijuana on his way to nowhere in search of food. This dog's unloved; He's been beaten and starved. Now he'll be the target of cars and bullies. This poor furless thing will always be running ahead of the sticks and rocks thrown his way. Later to be caught, tied-up, tortured and burned. It's a tough world for a Tijuana dog.

Hunger? I've seen two dogs so hungry they were eating on a third dog that was dying and too weak to move. Just whimpering. I've seen more than one car swerving to hit a little skinny dog on the road.

Emotions run wild as we think of this. It's cruel. It's ugly. It's so much easier to turn from truth, than it is to face it.

Speaking of truth . . .

It's a fact that I can elicit more pathos from people seeing our poor dogs down here than I can for the Tijuana poor; eternal creatures that live here in Tijuana. Many were domed and damned from their earliest years. My North American friends don't realize that the dirty poor in Tijuana are as helpless, hopeless and hurting inside as this young pooch appears to be on the outside.

As the Bible says; God looks on the heart, man looks at the outward appearance. I find that so true.

Our ministry calls us to face the truth, daring to look inside; gain trust and help where we can, even if it means opening 'can's of worms no one else will touch.


Look at this kid. Is there any compassion left for him?

(It's true that our ministry isn't for dogs, but I always carry dog food in my car. Often dogs will run from me as I offer them food. Why? They don't trust me and they have been suckered too many times.)

A SEASON TO BEND THE RULES

I remember so well a Christmas in Tijuana that I saw a little boy make an agonizing decision. Hundreds of new gifts were all laid out. Cars, dolls, balls, kites blankets and tarps. It was simply heaven on earth for a boy his age, like a key to a giant toy store!, The little kid let his eyes wander over the many possibilities. He could only choose one ... and finally he did; he picked a new little red truck. Then his mother called him over and talked with him. The poor little kid slowly came back, placed his truck back with the other gifts then picked up a new blanket and headed back out. I don't know what his mom said ... but it was apparent that the blanket was the priority that cold Christmas. When I watched this happen ... well, the fact is ... he walked out with his blanket AND his new red truck and a smile on his face. Sometimes we just have to bend policy!

THAT LITTLE HOUSE ON THE CORNER OF HELL AND PAIN STREET

It looked no different than the other houses on the street. A slapped together combination of old plywood, two-by-fours, cardboard and plastic tarp surrounded by a make shift fence of old boards and wire. In the weedy chunk of yard was a scrawny but aggressive dog chained to a dog shelter of sorts.

Indeed the small two-room house may have looked like 'hell,' but it was the inside that made it hell.


Inside the small dark house with one window and a door lived a family plagued with problems. The environment could best be described as truly hopeless. Mom, a sick alcoholic with T. B. and AIDS. A father who was an angry man sick with TB and AIDS and the four small kids. Little Jasmine (6), and her brother, Jose (5), both had AIDS and T. B. Roberto (12) and Jennifer (11) were the oldest and each had T. B. Roberto and Jennifer cooked and worked odd jobs for cash.

They all lived together, occasionally ate together and fought together in that dark and dirty little house. Crying, hunger, drugs and alcohol along with cockroaches were just a part of life. Early in the morning Jennifer could be seen walking the street trying to bring her mom back home.

Relatives, like the neighbors, kept a silent distance.

It all exploded one day when the Mexican government came in and took the family apart. One day they were together in their familiar pain, the next they were separated and enduring a new form of pain ... the pain of confusion and loneliness.

Roberto, he became little boy lost. Jennifer, she's with her little sister and brother in an orphanage.

Hell takes so many different forms ... we see it too often. My heart still aches every time I pass that broken down house ...

... on the corner of Hell and Pain.

ARE YOU DOING ANY GOOD?

Jesus went around '*doing good' ... I like that. His enemies had 'good 'in mind too. The Pharisees went around looking good and 'being good'. In fact they prided themselves on being good, very good. That was their goal, to be good by living up to their self made legal standard. Their legal standard was one of don'ts, rather than do's.

When Jesus entered the world there was a clash of good's! Godly good, and mans good. There is a difference.

Jesus cut the Pharisees exhausting legal labyrinth down to simply saying. Love God with all your heart and love your neighbor as your self ... 'DO' this and you will not only be good ... but *'do good'.

Today Evangelicals tend to drift into the same human weakness of 'being good,' like the Pharisees did ... making their own definition of good and going about keeping it. Interpreting good in their own eyes. Their definition of good didn't include doing, only being. 'Being good'?

Often you have to stoop to *'do good' and their pride just wouldn't allow them ... to stoop!

My very Christian mother used to tell me, "as Christians and Fundamentalists, we focus on the soul, on the eternal, now the liberals, they're out their doing works, helping people in a physical way. We have more important things to do."

The wealthy young *Pharisee asked Jesus ... 'Good' teacher, what must I do to obtain Eternal Life?" Jesus first tackled the Pharisee's use of the word 'good'. Why do you call me 'good'? Is it what you've seen in me '*doing good' or heard from me in teaching? Or both? Mr. Pharisee what do you mean by 'good'? Only God is truly good, and to be good is to be Godly. Man continues to corrupt the term into an intellectual and super spiritual thing. A sterile good.

Being good has just a tinge of hypocrisy.

Yes Jesus went around *doing good, and look what came of it.

He won the hearts of the multitudes by '*doing good' ... and the Pharisees, 'being good,' crucified Him.

(* Acts 10:38 and Mark 10:18)

THE ONCE GREAT OLD MAN.

He was strong then; standing tall and healthy and looked you straight in the eye. I was looking at a no nonsense man of courage; a proud man they called Uncle Sam.

As a young boy of about ten I first noticed him. He was pointing at me from a poster stapled to a telephone pole.

Uncle Sam, the representation of the USA ... America personified. A true patriot! Red, white and blue and proud of it!

I'm an old man now and I still remember him. Being old, I know what age can do. It's a gradual process. It's a deadly game that ends with 'gotcha!'

My hero, Uncle Sam, is older still and he is no longer the healthy courageous man he once was. His immune system is no longer what it was; diseased viruses with their deadly agendas have gradually overtaken his inner defenses. Slowly a multiple of cancerous tumors are growing, determined to devour their very host.

Once young and strong my Uncle Sam is becoming weaker by the day.

On occasions his judgment seems impaired and at times he seems to have lost his memory; forgotten who he was and even what he stood for.

The once great Uncle Sam, whom the entire world looked up to and respected, the benevolent Christian Capitalist that believed in liberty and justice, who would defy any and all who would challenge him. He stood for what was right and would bow to no one but God. He wasn't ashamed of the Bible on his desk, or the God he served.

He didn't let little punks push him around.

I caught a glimpse of him today and I could tell by his face he was sick ... Uncle Sam, my hero, was turning yellow.

Even more troubling, I wonder which of us is going to die first