Merry Christmas!

Driving slowly down the narrow dirt road into Pedrigal, I pulled to a stop and the kids descended on me. They were smiling and excitedly handed me little penciled paper notes, lots of them. I stood rather puzzled looking at the notes then looking at the kids.

I've been given notes before but never this many at one time. It turns out that this is near Christmas time and the kids decided that they were going to give me their Christmas wish lists. (Two kids asked for their notes back because they forgot to put their names on their note.) Big smiles. High hopes. Great expectations!

Who gave them this idea, I don't know. Who told them I was Santa, I don't know ... I'm not dressed in red and I don't look a bit like Santa. I have an Xterra not a sled.

We aren't planning on coming to this community with our gift bus.

Truthfully I have no idea what I'm going to do with these notes (Several wanted a bike!) ... I'll have to resolve it some way.

The point is, Christmas is coming and these kids have flat nothing. These communities we serve are literally dirt poor. If the family has the money they will have a big Christmas meal. No way is it a meal like we will have. In most cases Christmas will simply be another weekday.

In our economy here in the USA, Spectrum has flat nothing too ... So it will be interesting to see how this December unfolds.

For all of us working the border, Pastor Von

AH, THANKSGIVING!

A November Thursday set aside to be appreciative of God's bountiful blessings! A table set for an abundant variety of food. Turkey (Ham for us Gentiles.) stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, sweet-potatoes topped with marshmallows, apple-pie-ala-mode! Family and feasting and maybe a little nap to help digest our food. Setting the calories aside ... we need to focus on gratitude; our gratitude for all He has given us.

It may surprise us, but thankfulness and gratitude are learned attitudes; we are not by nature thankful.

Mexico has no Thanksgiving Day set aside to give thanks, However god knows they have enough holidays ... but no Thanksgiving.

All of us work Thanksgiving day with our "thankless" people. Thanks to many of you we are able provide essential food for the lines of hungry people. And they are hungry! (God blesses those who feed the poor.)

Sometimes I think that our people have so little simply because they show so little gratitude to God. God is an image ... an icon to most.

My hope and prayer is that you might make this Thanksgiving a special day in your home, and that God may be more important than turkey, ham or even family.

He Blesses the thankful!

South, across the border In our world this Thursday will simply be another Thursday ... meal of the day? Beans, rice and cactus!

UNWANTED HURTS SO BAD

In almost fifty years working in Tijuana I've worked with many orphanages. (I'm still working with the kids in four orphanages.) Orphanage's full problem kids. Some are just dumped there because they are unwanted, or an extra mouth to feed and maybe a problem kid too. Others children are brought by mothers and grandmothers because they can't give them food, clothing and schooling.

I've seen kids as they come to the orphanage with their little bag of clothing. They stand silent and scared looking at the institution they are about to enter, while their mother talks softly with the Director. She is soon walking down the street looking for a taxi to ride home. 

Sometimes it's a heartbreaking surprise when a little kid is given to an orphanage. He wasn't told. Now he's there, being given to an institution. I've seen the kids cry and sometimes scream as their mother turns her back and walks out of their life. It's a hurt most of us have never had and leaves a permanent scar.

Unwanted hurts so bad.

Most of these kids have heartbreaking stories ... some with stories that would make your blood run cold!

An orphanage is an institution, it's not a family, and it's actually not a solution. Some of these kids, like Manuel (15) I talked with yesterday have been in orphanages all of their lives. Manuel has never known a family. To be honest, he has never known love. He was one of thousands of problem kids cruising Tijuana ... Manuel is on his last orphanage.

Most kids in orphanages are returned to the streets or their dysfunctional families at age 16, 17 or 18. And with Tijuana's economy at it's lowest there isn't much hope for a job.

In most cases the Step Father does not accept his wife's teenage son returning home from the orphanage. One more mouth to feed. Fights break out. The boy leaves home and hits the street.

I remember having a young man tell me once, "I'm going to live fast, die young and make a good looking corpse."  High until I die!

If you are a family; impress upon your children how fortunate they are to have two people who love them and care for them. A fact, too often forgotten; kids must be taught to be thankful, and to appreciate what they have, and to respect you as parents.

I caught the photo above as I watched a kid, alone, in a Tijuana orphanage. He was standing quietly looking up ... I have no idea what he was thinking, maybe he was praying.

And maybe I don't want to know what he was thinking.

CURSED SOULS

Take God out of the equation and you have the world I work in, a darkened world of lost souls. Thousands of them.

This afternoon I asked a little eleven-year old boy where his father worked. His reply, "I don't have a father."

Another lost kid.

When God goes it seems the "family" is the first to fall.

A first indicator of the havoc to follow. Without God Holy marriage gives way to bed partners. Sex falls into a satisfying irresponsible pleasure ... recreation rather than purposeful procreation.

Sex gone wrong.

God created the family. He created the family concept. Mature father, mature mother as a unit creating new lives to mentor.

Painful fact. As family goes, the society goes. Society then fractures into a mosaic of pain and hurt ... anger and hate. Disoriented people ... poor lost souls breeding more lost souls.

Sadly, I saw it all again; I heard it all again ... last night in the tear stained eyes of an old woman.

OLD BIBLES NEVER DIE

Being a Youth Pastor to several hundred teens proved an enjoyable challenge. I was a serious Bible teacher with a belief that God and His Word could change lives. The three or four hundred kids sitting in front of me liked our Bible studies and many were serious about their faith but they had a tendency to avoid serious Scripture. So I decided to directly challenge the problem ... I wanted a lesson with an impact. An illustration they could actually see.

In our Church library we had a stack of old hymnals and old Bibles. Actually no one knew what to do with them. I took one of the old beat up Bibles and decided to teach from it at our next Bible study. I had a reason to use an old Bible.

At our next Bible study I opened this old Bible to Luke chapter six and read a little of the Beatitudes; most of us like the Beatitudes, they're comfortable ... then I started reading several of the verses that followed the Beatitudes, These are very uncomfortable verses ... illogical verses. I took one verse that was a most uncomfortable verse and carefully tore the verse from the old Bible, crumpled it up and threw it to the floor.

You could hear a collective gasp from the kids. Their teacher actually desecrating God's Holy Bible?

I kept going, finding another illogical verse: (and there are many.) Give to everyone that asks me for something? I did the same with that verse as I did with the other. In fact that night I tore several verses from that old Bible and threw them to the floor.

What's the difference, I asked my audience ... If I don't intend to do what the verse says or at least struggle with it, isn't it the same thing? These are commands, are they not?

Our Lord seems to want Christians to be a radically different people. If we obey ALL of His Word indeed we will be different people.

I could see that lesson made an impact. A lesson many of us need to learn and put into practice.

All of us Christians have a growing tendency to pick and choose. We have our favorite comforting Scriptures; we also have the Scripture we prefer to pass over.

In Tijuana Mexico they have a saying. "What I don't see doesn't exist." Look away and it's not there.

A comfortable mind set indeed ... however, anything but a Christian perspective. We're called to face the truth and do it!

In the little book of James, we're called to "do" the Word, not just hear it.

THANKS I DON'T DESERVE

A handsome boy with a big smile.

Thirteen-year old David and his mother were flying off to Mexico City in the afternoon.

David came over to me and gave me a big hug; he looked up at me smiling and said, "Thank you von." His mother gave me a hug too.

David's first flight.

As a young boy David was run over by a truck. His mid section and five vertebra crushed. He lost a lot of skin on his left side and his genitals made useless. He uses a catheter through his abdomen into his bladder, which often gets infected. David walks with a limp. They saved his life but he's messed up.

A top urologist on a visit to Tijuana took an interest in David and his unusual case, and offered to do what he could for the boy at no cost, but due to technicalities, he would have to have the work done in Mexico City where the surgeon practices.

We know the family and they are extremely poor with no chance to get the money. The doctor said David needed surgery as soon as possible.

Three days by bus to Mexico City was about as expensive as flying, so due to David's condition we chose to fly him along with his mother to Mexico City. Fortunately he has an aunt living in the City.

The day before, David was riding along with me, and I asked him what he expected the doctor could do. He thought and then replied rather softly. "I just want to be normal."

Sometimes I feel guilty receiving the hugs and the thanks! Thanks to our Lord and the one who made this trip possible.

Now it's up to God and the surgeon.

I'M A DIRTY BOY

Often death comes suddenly and interrupts your plans according to how close you are to the deceased. Cecilia, fifty years old, died yesterday. Hortensia called me early and said that Oskar, Cecillia's youngest son, hadn't been told and ... would I talk to him? Oskar, a thin, very quiet, ten year old is the black sheep of the family and was neglected in all of this. Cecilia, had been bedfast at her sister's house, laying in bed, depressed to the point she wouldn't talk or look at anyone including Oskar. He loved her and occasionally brought her food by working little jobs ... now she's gone.

Oskar doesn't know who his father was. His relatives aren't on speaking terms with him, they give him food and a bed (in silence.) We help him with food and school.

I met Oskar when he was five. Since then he would come in to take a shower when we were in his area. I noticed him because he always looked stoic; quiet and never smiled. Some years later I was working the showers and shampooing a couple of boys when I felt a hug around my legs from the back. I turned around and here was little Oskar hugging me and looking up at me; still without a smile. Later he learned to smile a little and interact with kids his age. Oskar has lots of scars inside. A hurting boy.

Would I talk with him? I had a lot of other things planned, but when Hortensia called I felt Oskar and his situation were worth rearranging my day. I'm sure you would agree.

So I left for Tijuana.

When I walked into the dirt yard of his Aunt's house Oskar was standing near the clothesline gazing toward the dump and large cemetery for the poor. I called him and he walked over. I noticed his T-shirt; it read in English, "I'm a dirty boy!" Only knowing Spanish, he wasn't aware of the message.

I had him sit in my car and we talked about his mother's death for about a half hour. He said nothing. He just looked at me listening to every word. His eyes started tearing up as he took it all in. I asked; he had never seen a dead person, or a casket, or been to a mortuary so I talked about what it was going to be like seeing his mother's body ... I talked about God and about death and eternity. He just listened occasionally brushing back tears. His eyes never left my face.

Then it was time for a hamburger and some French fries. I took him down to get a bite to eat. The mood was, well, "stoic." We let him off back at his uncle's house.

Oskar's at the mortuary in Tijuana tonight, seeing his mother for the last time ... and Hortensia, she will be there to hug him. (Spectrum bought a large funeral flower wreath; he asked for this message to be placed on the wreath. "To my mother with love, Oskar."

Just one little twisted life in thousands. Tonight he's hurting bad. Indeed, "Life ain't fair."

That was several years ago, Oskar's a good looking teen now. Thanks to Spectrum, he's going to school, and involved in Church and has a nice looking girlfriend.

Scars? He carries many.

THE MARRAGE OF A FOOL

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

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

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

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

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

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

JESUS DIED YESTERDAY

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

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

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

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

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

His mother said the morphine would last until Monday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

OLD BIKE, NEEDS NEW HOME

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

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

Yep, this bike needed a home.

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

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

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

They instantly survey everything!

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

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

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

I guess, the bike had them.

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

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

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

SARDINES IN A FOUR WHEEL CAN

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

I'm sure this is due to your prayers!

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

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

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

TILL DEATH DO WE PART!

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

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

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

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

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

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

We met their needs and drove on down the road.

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

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

Yesterday we got word that old Efren had died.

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

They loved until the end!

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

YES, I CONGRATULATED THE ENEMY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah, so much for courageous teen age Christians.

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

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

At that point I shook his hand!

INTELLECTUALLY DISROBED!

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

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

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

I almost dropped my pastry!

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

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

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

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

The rest of the week went powerfully smooth!

UNSETTLING STATISTIC?

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

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

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

Ten were seeking His blessing. Ten received His blessing!

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

How odd!

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

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

Read: Luke 17:13-19

ANOTHER GOOD DAY

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wow! Quite an experience. Totally unexpected.

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

I packed away another good day.

The bike above? His bike in the muddy winter.

EDUCATION VERSUS LEGISLATION

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

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

Maybe that's their intent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MONEY: THE NAME OF THE GAME!

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

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

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

Lunch time!

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

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

Mark 4:20

WATCHING MY BACK?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THERE WERE FIFTY STREET BOYS LISTENING!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks for praying that powerful environment in.

TO HELL WITH YOU!

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

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

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

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

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

Agree?

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

FOOD STAMPS?

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

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

They knew what was going on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A UNIQUE BUNCH OF KIDS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ATTACK!

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

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

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

IMPRINTING

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

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

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

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

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

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

This disoriented boy easily falls into a perverted social slot.

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

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

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

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

A TIME TO TICKLE

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

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

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

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

"Hey, von come in here."

THE AMERICA I USED TO KNOW

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

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

The key word here is contrast.

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

Liberal, progressive and politically correct Lemmings by the millions!

I highlight the word system.

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

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

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

Especially the definition of separation of Church and State.

Pure evil!

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

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

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

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

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

Sadly, the predictable was obvious.

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

UNLOVED

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

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

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

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

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

How bad?

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

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

LOVE IS SPELLED IN DIFFERENT WAYS

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

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

It's nice being spoiled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE FATHERLESS KID

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Survive they will, and problems, they will become.

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

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

Society's "solution" is simple:

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

And the cycle goes on ...

A proven cycle of failure!

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

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

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

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

God can change even the most vile life.

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

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

EXPLETIVES!

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

Thank God for that His grace!

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

GLOW LITTLE GLOW WORM!

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

From my flesh to my Spirit.

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

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

Struggle and growth!

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

How much we know is one thing.

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

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

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

I dare you!

Find darkness somewhere and illuminate it!

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

May you shine today!

CHECKING IT OUT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

GOOD NEWS TODAY!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE DIFFERENCE A DOLLAR MAKES

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DOING THE CHURCH

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And we didn't do a lot!

THE AMERICA I USED TO KNOW

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

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

The key word here is contrast.

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

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

I highlight the word system.

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

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

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

Especially the definition of separation of Church and State.

Pure evil! Evil people with an evil agenda.

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

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

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

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

Sadly, the predictable was obvious

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

IT WAS JUST A VEHICLE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ROLL OVER: PHASE TWO

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

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

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

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

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

They think I'm a millionaire.

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

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

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

ROLL OVER

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks again for your prayers.

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

You might pray with me to that end. Thanks.

MY BUCK KNIFE

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

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

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