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

ONCE UPON A TIME

Many, many years ago, Christians were called Believers. Big things happen because of Believers ... Believers create an environment that enables God to work.

Unbelief, on the other hand, forms an environment that suffocates the very power of God.

A good example of the power generated by a collection of true Believers was the creation of The Church.

That Believers prayer meeting must have been "something-else!" Believers reaching harmony with God through their prayers.

"We are yours, do with us whatever you please..."

The explosive formation of the Church was the result, in part, of these true Believers and their environment of faith ... a power filled, anointed group of Believers headed down the stairs, spilling out into the street with a multilingual Gospel all understood!

Like a holy virus, this Gospel quickly infected thousands of "non-seekers."

On fire Believers in dry brush ... the Church started as a hot unquenchable Holy fire ... Once upon a time the Church was hot!

The Church of Jesus Christ was born that evening. It was totally created by God. The Lord used this small group of Fire brand Believers to enflame the world.

Success? Thousands became Believers!

Believers in God. Believers in His Son, Jesus ... and Believers in His Word, and Belief in their new Gospel ... the key word here is BELIEF!

Once upon a time. Yes ... once upon a time ... there were serious Believers ... Today, who of us can call ourselves serious, focused Believers?

Read Acts: 2

NEGOTIATING FOR THE LIVING, AND DEAD!

Over half a century I've driven in and walked through the growing city of Tijuana; along the way I've met thousands of people and gathered as many stories. True life stories; I don't have to dig into fiction to create these stories; here we deal in reality.

Because of the work we're called to, and the country we serve in, it's necessary to carry three to four hundred dollars in cash; often folded up in one of my socks.  In Mexico, in the case of a tragedy or accident, it's cash on the table; immediately!

I remember one time that I had to negotiate for a corpse; a dead baby boy. The mother simply didn't have the money to "buy" her baby from the mortuary. It had to be cash on the table and fortunately I had the cash on hand. And much later, once again I had to repeat a similar negotiation, for a little baby girl. This time it was a live baby the mother couldn't pay for, so the clinic kept her. Again, cash on hand.

The gangs and street kids I deal with all know I carry money. The word gets around.

Many of these kids would steal from their own mother's purse.

Time after time, I've taken hungry dirty teens out to buy them tacos or burritos. Sometime two or three kids and at other times as many as ten ... I remember one night being  alone and buying ten hungry teens burritos ... yet I've never been held up or threatened in any way.

On occasion teen gang members have even protected me.

What I'm saying is that I've never had to "watch my back" ... the Lord seems to be doing a great job of covering me; even today, as an easy-to-take, old man.

Driving thousands upon thousands of miles of Tijuana traffic, without even one serious accident ... anyone who's driven Tijuana knows that's a miracle. Thank you Lord!

I'm simply saying two things in this short narrative, first is to thank you, my friends and co-workers, for your faithful prayers in keeping me safe in a truly hostel environment ... and second, for providing us with the money we need to help poor and desperate people on the other side.

Indeed some may call me a fool ... others call me a BELIEVER.

TWO IS A POWERFUL NUMBER!

I was asked to speak in a small church in San Diego. In the meantime, I had undergone an operation on my right shoulder. My arm was in a sling and doing O. K. I had a little pain and asked my niece to give me a couple of pain pills in case I needed them. So I had these pills on my bathroom sink.

Well, Sunday came, as it always does, and because I couldn't drive with my arm in a sling, my niece offered to drive me to the church where I was to preach.

She was parked near my garage.

I was ready and prepared, but in going down my stairs to the garage where my niece was waiting ... I tripped and fell against the railing. My shoulder hit the wall! Oh boy! Now I was in real pain.

Suddenly, I remembered the pain pills in my bathroom. Thank you Lord. I hobbled back up the stairs and grabbed two white pain pills and downed them with some water, and slowly, carefully and painfully descended down the stairs and slowly got into my nieces nice car.

As we drove off, I started feeling a little better. In a matter of miles I was feeling great! What a wonderful day this is!

I remember walking into Church that Sunday morning feeling better than I had in years! I have to smile here.

As they introduced me to speak I was feeling no pain.

Well, I got honest with the people right from the start ... They knew me as I had spoken there before.

My opening statement was ... "Well folks, this morning I'm stoned! I took some pain pills and I feel great!. I hope you like my message ... if you don't, well I don't much care!"

We all enjoyed the message, perhaps I enjoyed it the most.

Yes, I was invited back.

A TRIBUTE TO AN INCREDIBLE WOMAN

I found Hortensia in front of the funeral home. She hugged me and said, "Thank you for coming Pastor von."

"Can we go somewhere to talk alone?" I asked. We went into the austere funeral home and sat on a bench in the hallway. She leaned over, grabbed me and started sobbing. Regaining her composure, she told me the whole story. Last night her son was killed; a victim of another senseless and unprovoked murder in her neighborhood. Another kid, too young to die ... dead!

He was simply talking with his friends near a small store in the early evening when a group of young men and teens came down the street firing guns. Everyone scattered. Marico didn't run; he just stood there alone. One of the guys came up to him and shot him three times in his chest at point blank range. As Marico fell, they all ran and scattered. David, his younger brother, ran up to him and placed his jacket over him. He died on the way to the hospital.

Hortensia came as quickly as she could to the hospital but it was too late. The next few hours were a painful blur of police investigations, signing papers, answering questions, making funeral plans. She finally returned to her neighborhood around ten in the evening, exhausted, hurting and ready to be alone.

As she climbed up to the porch of her house, a young lady carrying a little boy came up to her. "Hortensia, I have been waiting for you. I have heard that you help people. Look at my little boy; he can hardly breath!" Hortensia said, "I was so exhausted and I didn't want to hear this, but I looked at the little child, struggling to breathe and was bluish in color. She spoke to the woman. "I just lost my son, he was killed a few hours ago." The young mother said, "I'm so sorry" ... then paused and added, "but here is my little boy dying, and he has a chance to live, won't you help us?"

Soon Hortensia was on the way down the hill in a taxi heading back to the hospital again, this time with a desperate mother holding her dying little boy. She saw to it that the child had a doctor and that he was placed in bed with an IV loaded with the proper antibiotics. About one in the morning she asked to be excused. Soon she was home.

It was a difficult sleep, a short sleep.

Later the next morning both mother and child appeared at her door again. "Hortensia," the young mother said, "I want to thank you for saving my little boy's life. Look at my son." The antibiotics worked and the little boy was breathing normal and had a good color.

Then the hurt returned; her son, Marico, would never recover.

Our conversation at the funeral parlor took a sudden change back into the reality of the moment, Hortensia apologized as she looked around, "The funeral will be a little late. My son's body isn't here yet; the police had a hard time finding the bullets. Pastor von, funerals are so expensive" ... she said.

Now I know how the poor feel when their loss comes and they have to go into debt for years just to pay for the funeral."

In Mexico, when a murder or shooting occurs, the police comb the neighborhood and ask all kinds of questions about the people and family involved. The police chief greeted Hortensia and said, "You are a strong woman. Everyone in your neighborhood speaks highly of you and your boys." They say that "you have helped so many people. You are an incredible woman." Hortensia has been one of our staff workers more than twenty years. She adopted little HIV infected Roberto into her home. Like all of our staff, she is paid meager wages. She works for the Lord and the love she has for the poor around her; money is secondary. Indeed she is a rare find.

It seems in the dark areas of God's vineyard some of His workers stand out like brilliant lights. Hortensia is one of that kind of servant. We are privileged to have a person like this as part of our team.

Please pray for Hortensia and her loss. It will be difficult for a while. Do continue to pray for our safety too as we work days and sometimes nights in these same areas where guns and drugs are illegal but available to all.

PLAYING PEEK-A-BOO WITH A 60 YEAR OLD

Eleas seems to take to me.

Today when I walked into the small house, Eleas was hiding behind the table so he could scare me! I did the pretend thing and he was happy, ducking again behind the table!

Every birthday Eleas ages ten years and he's had six birthdays so far. Physically he is now over sixty years old and soon to die. Stroke or heart-attack; he's an old man. They give him about two months more.

Unique? Eleas is actually one in billions!

Yes, Eleas and his family attend church each Sunday.

Today we brought him his Christmas present; a small battery powered plastic race car, with a roaring sound and a quick get-away! Just what he liked. Running around the room chasing the car with his high squeaky voice.

Indeed they love their little old man and covet the six years he's been with them.

What a privilege to be Santa to this little old man!

Peek-a-boo Eleas!

DANIEL WASN'T AT THE PARTY

Everyone was at the orphanage enjoying their late Christmas Eve dinner and gifts. Kids talking, and laughing. Turkey dinner with all the trimmings, and a bunch of gifts to follow ... you can't beat that!

Daniel, thirteen, was the exception. It was obvious he didn't want to be there. During the singing he stared into space. He passed on the meal as he sat at the table, one hand holding his head looking down at the table.

A teen-age self-pity party? Maybe.

Daniel's mother was never in the picture but he has a father; it was his father that angrily placed him in the orphanage.

He mixes well with the other kids and is doing well in school.

However, almost a year has gone by and Daniel has never heard from his father.

He keeps hoping.

It wasn't hard to figure out what was going on in his world. Angry, frustrated, hurt, disappointed.

Joy to the world?

There was anything but joy in Daniel's world.

As I looked at him leaning on the table, I was reminded that; indeed life isn't fair ... even on Christmas eve. Daniel deserved better.

I'll talk to him later, when his anger simmers down.

CHRISTMAS DREAMS

Maria is looking at her first Christmas tree. She and her family are "dirt" poor. A bright little Walmart Christmas tree with mini-lights brought big smiles to Maria's mother, brothers and sisters. Just a dazzling little tree, sitting on the table lighting up the stark, cold room. No Christmas tree decorations and no gifts under the tree ... just the tree and kids; and happy dreams.

Yes I know the tree celebration and December has pagan roots. I know that Christmas and the Holidays are a secular bonanza. The small child in the manger scene below the tree has become plastic. Jesus has been squeezed out of His own Birthday. (I wonder if Jesus wanted us to celebrate His Birthday why He didn't give us the dates? ... I'm an Easter man myself!)

Having said that; I know, to a child, the Christmas tree has an entirely different meaning. The colorful tree simply frames a happy fantasy. Dreams. Dreams of what could be. Happy time. Mysterious gifts.

Down the muddy road, a short distance, is where the Gonzalo family lives.

Luis was hit by a car. Major injuries and in a coma for three months. He's now crippled and unable to support his family of six. Mom sells little candies at the school. The family's one room house rests on a shelf of dirt dug from the side of a canyon. Several beds; dirt floor. Cardboard and plastic roof. It was hard to find a place to set their Christmas tree. Electricity comes from a long lamp cord connected to a power line on the road above.

Merry Christmas? Not quite.

Happy New Year? ... we hope so. (Please pray for that little family)

The kids were so happy with their bright sparkling little tree.

We climbed back up to the road. Climbing a long line of tire stairs ... leaving the family with money for food and some candies. (We'll bring them some blankets and gifts tomorrow.)

This season there are dreams of what could be. However in too many cases there are dreams of what ... could have been.

If people only knew.

Luis's girl looks at the tree through their door.

AWAY FROM THE MANGER A CRIB WAS HIS BED

In Tijuana this time of year, almost everyone, rich or poor even very poor will have a Nativity Scene. Large ones, small ones; most indoors and a few outdoors.

I was looking at a large outdoor manger scene last week; just checking it out. The whole crew was there, but baby Jesus was missing; nowhere to be found.

I looked all over for baby Jesus.

Mary and Joseph were looking intently at where Jesus would have been ... and should have been. The three wise men were extending their gifts to Him but He, little Jesus, just wasn't there.

Lights on, everyone on stage but the star of the whole thing was missing.

It was an unusual sight; a complete display without its purpose.

A Nativity Scene with it's purpose missing. A Church with it's purpose missing. A Christian America with it's purpose missing. A world with it's purpose missing.

Indeed a disoriented people haven't found who's missing.

I wonder how long ago Jesus left Christmas ... even more interesting, how long has it been since we Christians have discovered Jesus was missing from His own Birthday party?

Ho! Ho! Ho! Good old secular Santa in his red suit covers the world with his gifts, different sizes and shapes ... however, Santa himself is missing the greatest gift of all; God's Gift that keeps on giving!

OLD DOGS AND NEW TRICKS?

Can we teach the old dog new tricks? don't think so ... have you ever studied an old dog? He just lays there, muzzle on the ground staring into space. On occasion he may wag his tail if he has the energy. The old dog's been everywhere heard everything, seen everything and done everything that a dog can do.

Now he's old; a faithful dog, but an old dog. Good old Rover.

The old boy has sniffed and re-sniffed every smell; he's pee-ed and re-pee-ed on any and all vertical objects in his canine world; of course fathered tons of puppies ... but now that's all a faded memory.

Yep, he had tons of romances when he had his balls; now they hang as useless decorations.

He's old.

Cats no longer interest him.

He's even forgotten where he hid his bones. Soon he'll forget what bones were.

There's a quiet, canine moment when a "been there and done that" fatigue falls upon him.

However if you want to drive the old boy nuts, bring an energetic bouncing little puppy into the picture! A nutty puppy that wants to have some fun with the old fur-bag.

With this old dog, I think we can conclude zero interest ... in learning new tricks.

A DIFFERENT KIND OF KID

Because I have worked in Mexico and South America for so many years, the unusual is no longer unusual. The other day I was thinking of the Mexican work ethic. The Tijuana kid's view of physical labor is totally different than our U.S. kid's work ethic. Kids here grow up learning to work. Work and chores are part of their life; starting at the age of ... very young.

If you don't work, you don't eat; it's as simple as that!

Whatever our job is, it seems there are always kids willing to help. Many know just what to do with-out asking ... they just pitch right in and do it ... even if it's cleaning up vomit or a diarrhea mess. They're cool.

The other day we were jostling up the long and winding dirt road to the Ijido area. It's a punishing ride for both the vehicle and the passengers.

The road is a collection of impressive pot-holes with a little bit of road around them.

So often, on the dirt roads of Tijuana, we will see kids with shovels working to fill in the potholes, and hoping, as you pass by, that you might give them a tip or cola for their effort.

Young independent business men trying their best to scrape up a little cash for the day.

"We haven't any money today ... what'll we do?"

Work! (What a novel idea!)

This time I thought to bring up my camera and snap a photograph of this young worker.

Yep, he got a tip!

This was one happy "road-worker!"

CHARLIE BROWN, WHERE ARE YOU?

Christmas means different things to different people. To the secular world around us, Christmas is a colorful, fun filled party ... especially when you get ‘high' enough to enjoy it ... to the business man it's simply $s. To the true Christian it's a Birthday Celebration, God's Gift day. As mature Christians we see it so differently ... but as kids, well we have an exciting immature view.

I've always enjoyed the season of Christmas, as well as the true meaning of Christmas ... but Easter's my day!) As a kid the Christmas tree with all of it's colorful ornaments meant so much. I even believed in Fat Old Santa ... until I realized there were so many fat Santa's and not one could possibly get down our small stove pipe with any presents. (At least none did.)

As kids, though very poor, we always had a Christmas tree of sorts; being poor our trees were bought late and often visibly handicapped, and shortly after Christmas they would get bald. However we always had a gift for my sister and I ... not many, but at least one gift.

We were poor.

That's why my heart goes out to our kids in Mexico. They want a tree so bad, but this year money is tight to non-existent.

Brandon, ten years old, saved up his money, and went to the "dollar store" yesterday, where he bought a plastic one for $5. This bargain one I'll have to see. (The family is thrilled about their Christmas tree.)

Abraham, in part of his conversation said the dog ate their plastic Christmas tree last year and financially the family isn't doing well, so they won't be getting one this year.

Joshua and his brothers and sisters might be fortunate to make a Christmas dinner of tamales on their outside stove. How they would love a tree. (Some families use bushes, now that's creative.)

I could list family after family where the kids would love to have, and decorate, their own little tree.

But this year food will have to be the priority. We'll be doing good if we can even buy food and tarps for families.

Reality makes a real Christmas tree impossible ... a small Chinese plastic tree ... maybe.

While a tree is nice, it isn't essential; food is.

While gifts are nice, believe it or not the kids would rather have a tree to decorate.

Anyone have an extra Christmas tree? ... even a Charlie Brown Christmas tree?

FACT, FICTION ... OR LIES!

All of us exaggerate. Well, I guess that statement is an exaggeration in itself. Better said, most of us exaggerate from time to time.

It's hard not to fall into exaggeration when we are passionately trying to put our point across.

On occasion a lie may even slip our lips.

Best example of the use and abuse of exaggeration is our politicians and how often they twist and exaggerate to put their point across.

Exaggeration isn't quite lying, but it comes close. Of course we know politicians don't lie, they simply "miss-speak!"

Take our politicians reckless and often irresponsible use of statistics, surveys, polls and studies ... the constant drum-beat of...

"America says... " or "Our people demand that..." or "The latest poll indicates... " or "Statistics say..." or ... "ad nauseam."

For some reason "statistics, polls and studies," are a trinity of sacred words; never expected to be questioned ... and these so called "statistics" carry a powerful punch of authority!

Our politicians toss these figures around like "divine" set of loaded dice on the dirty table of deception.

Without doubt there are those who are Believers in our system ... but just as surely, there are the millions of us who are rapidly becoming unbelievers ... those of us who dare to doubt!

A MITE SHORT OF IRRESPONSIBLE?

Another painful question. Is trusting God responsible?

I see the two stories of the widow giving her two mites; all she owned, as a lesson on truly trusting God. (Ex. Mrk.12:41+)

We like this story; it's food for thought. But taking it literally? We don't think so. Sacrificial giving is ... well ... simply irresponsible. Few of us dare look honestly at the story ... Jesus can't mean this to be an example ... better a concept of extremes. Can we dare make a doctrine of this?

Most of us find this story to be somewhere between a stumbling block and a hook. Rightly so.

Giving to the point of jeopardizing my way of life or effecting my lifestyle ... or worse yet, jeopardizing my security?? Oh no!

The widow simply proved her trust in God. This begs another question; is trusting God irresponsible? To many of us those questions are irritating ... instead of the Word of God we are prone to grab the word of good old Ben Franklin; "God helps those who help themselves!" Trusting Ben makes sense, unfortunately trusting God doesn't. True or not?

"Trust and Obey" ... near impossible for most of us. We don't mind singing the hymn, but don't ask us to actually do it! How many of the hymns we sing, do we actually believe?

Bill was a good friend of mine, I knew him to be very wealthy.

He was a Christian and a big giver to his Church and charities. He too often came to me with a pitch for investing in a good charity. He tended to obligate me. "Just ten dollars a month for a year..."

Now I was a Youth Worker on a Church salary just above food-stamps. I was giving over 10% to our Church and also giving to a variety of missionaries and of course giving in Mexico. I could barely afford gas money.

But here comes Bill pushing another of his charities.

One day I got tired of this obligating me bit, and pulled him aside presenting him with a deal. "Bill, I'll make a deal with you. I'll give everything I have; my savings, my life insurance ... EVERYTHING, to the charity of your choice, IF you will give EVERYTHING you have to the same charity!"

He paused, looked at me and gave a wry little smile ... he simply said "I'm not that mature yet." I knew I didn't risk anything with that deal. Bill was a good Christian man, a generous giver but not nearly a sacrificial giver. He wasn't in danger of effecting his lifestyle. No way. Did he give me the right answer? He was truthful.

We have 13,000 people starving in the horn of Africa. I have families actually starving in Mexico. There are dirt poor people in the world (And they're not in America!)

Big givers where are you?

Challenge, try making an "irresponsible" gift to the poorer than you, and see if you can't double your profit. (In the Kingdom.)

THE ANIMATED PASTOR VON

While I visiting Hawaii a few months ago, I spent some time with my buddy Tom Finley, Children’s Ministry Director at Kauai Christian Fellowship, one of the largest Churches in Kauai. I did a handful of simple stories for him to use on his web site.

The guy is outrageously creative.

He showed me what he had done with these short stories. I was impressed, not only with the cartooned stories but with the technology of today.

Just for fun, you might want to check out the following videos, and hear (and see) the old man some stories as an animated cartoon.

• Tales from Pastor Von: Faith
• Tales from Pastor Von: Learning
• Tales from Pastor Von: Consequences
• Tales from Pastor Von: Courage
• Tales from Pastor Von: Fools

Cheers!

P.S. I've also had these videos placed on the Missionary Adventures section of my web site.

BEING HELPED AS I GO DOWN THE STAIRS

Going downhill? Getting older? The golden years? Ah, the winter years. There are many terms for aging. Each of them adding a little description to what the process is to be.

I was reminded yesterday.

In Tijuana, as I was going down eleven steep rickety stairs a couple of kids scrambled up the stairs to help me; one on either side, 'helping me'. "Be careful von," one said. With each step I was feeling a growing conflict of emotions. "The strong champion of the poor, Pastor von" being helped by the poor. I was actually angered by someone trying to help me. 'Von.' becoming old and frail ... and having to be helped. I envied the past and now I was angered at the present and the coming future.

Fighting the reality of ... stairs down.

The resident pride of an old "independent" man fights against the love and thoughtfulness of others ... simply trying to be of help.

The poor that I'm there to help, are now helping me! Somehow this isn't right.

As I stepped slowly and carefully down the steps; these two strong feelings were struggling. Feelings that were in conflict with one another.

Winning the struggle was, and had to be, a genuine appreciation for the love and respect these kids had for me, and thankfulness for their concern ... and willingness to help a man getting old.

To be honest, to me helping others feels good ... being helped doesn't ... somewhere on these downhill steps, is a lesson I have to learn ... to accept.

WITH GOD WE EACH, WE ALL, HAVE A VALUE

I find it rewarding teaching in Tijuana's prison for teens. Here at the CMI I actually have a "captive" audience.

As my group of incarcerated teens quieted down and looked on ... I took a dollar bill from my pocket, Immediately getting their attention. Money! A U.S. dollar! I took the dollar bill; held it up and talked about the value of this fragile piece of special paper.

"What could you buy with this dollar?" I asked.

Then I surprised the kids by knifing it with a small knife I had hidden in my pocket; then I threw the bill down to the floor and stomped on it;

All eyes were following me.

I picked my dollar up and spit on it; placing the dollar bill against the wall I hit it hard; then crumpled it in my fist, after crumpling it, I tore a portion of my dollar ... each occasion I abused my dollar, I stopped and asked my young bunch of criminals ... "does this dollar still have a value?"

The answer was always "yes".

I told the boys "you see, the value of this dollar was set by the dollar maker. No matter how I abuse it ... it holds it's value."

"God made you, and you are of many times more value than this little paper dollar."

The lesson was needed.

Throughout these boy's lives they had been abused. Their parent or parents have abused them. Police abuse them. In the prison the guards abused them. Their gang have abused them. I've seen the abuse of these kids with my own eyes. Indeed, there is a lot of abuse in the world of the Tijuana poor. The name of the game is abuse. You give and you take!

This short lesson was simple. No matter how you have been treated, you still have a value with God. He made you and he set your value.

You, as a person, have a great value!

Oh, and by the way; the person you yourself injure or kill, has a value with God his maker too. And you will give an account of what you did ... to the property of Almighty God.

Don't ever forget the lesson of this little old beat up dollar bill.

POVERTY?

It's apparent that the over-whelming cloud of millions of poor, obscures the guilt of personal responsibility. Statistics of over two or three people seem to lose their humanity; returning to what they are ... simply statistics; comforting black and white numbers and zeros. Numbers left in the world of text.

Erasing healthy guilt and bringing us to a comfortable conclusion, because I can't do everything ... I can do nothing.

Some statistics bothered me as I read the October issue of Time Magazine. The growth of American poverty. Is it 15% now? In the article it says that an American family of four is at poverty level if they make less than $22,000.00 a year.

Poverty? $22,000.00 plus food-stamps? Poverty?

I know poverty. I know what it looks like. I know what it smells like. (As a kid I knew what it felt like.)

I work 100 yards on the south side of America. Tijuana; where a family of four, six or eight might make $5,000.00 a year and no food stamps. Most make much less.

Thanksgiving is coming to America in a matter of days. Thanksgiving is an appropriate Holiday for America ... indeed America has been blessed of God. We need to be grateful and most of us are.

To set aside a day to thank God is good... but to set aside a day to gorge ourselves in the name of gratefulness isn't ... not when my neighbors are eating two meals a day and buying tortillas five or six at a time.

All over the world there is hunger, except at my table!

To thank God is good ... to share, even better.

Taking this Thanksgiving Holiday for a teaching day ... teaching the family not only THANKS, but GIVING too!

Indeed we have the privilege of giving! PTL!