BUS RIDE FOR A HEMORRHAGING CHILD

Last Thursday was Spectrum's workday in barrio Laguna.

Mari was glad to get the free vegetables but really needed a couple of dollars to pay transportation to visit her boy in Tijuana's General Hospital. She threaded her way through the crowd contacting several of the missionaries telling them about her son Victor in the hospital. The day before he was vomiting blood where she took him, by bus, to the General Hospital where they quickly operated on him. She simply needed a little cash for bus fare to visit him. Several prayed with her but none offered her any help for transportation.

Then one lady pulled Mari aside and said, "go find Hortensia, she'll help you." Word gets around.

Well, that just what she did, and Hortensia listened to her story. Mari has four young kids and her husband is crippled and can't work. He gets a pension of about $90. a month. She earns a little extra by selling candies, tortillas and nopalis (cactus) When Victor, 9, had his attack, they took him to the hospital, but then she had to return home to the young children.

Alone in the General Hospital isn't a good place for a kid to be. No mother would want to leave her son in a Hospital alone. She wanted so badly to visit him, but had no money to get transportation. One or two dollars would do the job. No one it seemed had the money to give her.

Well, Hortensia did give her the transportation money plus some food money for the family.

I met Victor last Saturday, the day he was discharged from the hospital. He had lost a lot of blood. Victor was a little shy but let me pull his lower eyelids down and I saw he was still anemic. He needed good food and some red meat.. (Iron)  So we made it possible for her to buy the food the doctor prescribed. In this case the proper diet was essential!

We appreciate those of you who make it possible for us to help in cases like this.

TIJUANA BLOODBATH

The kids woke up when they heard the screaming, ran out of their little shack and up the hill to a neighbor's house. Alex, a drug addict and local pusher came early in the morning with a machete to teach his girlfriend a lesson. He burst into the shack angry and high on crystal ... the more Sara, his girl friend, screamed the more he hacked her.

Her two sisters and 70 year old mother were in the room too and tried to intervene. They were yelling and screaming for Alex to stop cutting into Sara. The more they all screamed the angrier he became; In a rage he started cutting them all! The neighbors said the screaming went on for more than an hour.

It ended up a bloodbath!

By the time the police arrived two women were dead and the others were severely cut up, Grandma is still in the hospital.

And Alex, known in his barrio as "El Tigri (The Tiger);" ... he escaped down the canyon side.

The people are staying inside these nights.

On several occasions we've helped Sara get food for the four kids. Last night; in quiet contrast to the Monday before, the funeral was held. We placed flowers near the caskets and we'll help pull what's left of these families together, especially the kids.

We can always use your prayers for protection as we work these needy yet violent neighborhoods.

MY KIDS! WHAT ABOUT MY KIDS?

Unfortunately, this is a true story.

Patricia lives in Tijuana, is dirt poor, has several little children and no man in the picture ... and hungry they are.

A week and a half ago, she was so excited because she got a job working in a factory, but transportation to and from work took from their little stash of food money. In a factory job, you have to work two weeks before you get your first pay check. Translated; hungry time!

Half way through her second week she thought of a little scheme. At break time she would go through her fellow workers personal lockers and take their lunches; mostly tacos and burritos. She pocketed them and took them home.

When workers discovered so many lunches were missing, management took a look at their surveillance cameras and Patricia was busted. She didn't know about surveillance cameras.

Yesterday they called her into the office where four policeman slapped cuffs on her and told her she was arrested for stealing. One cop told her "you'll be going to prison for this." They drove off with Patricia sobbing and asking "what about my children?"

Management carefully checked all the affected lockers for what was taken. Only food was taken, no purses, no phones, no money ... just food.

People are hungry.

Today the Tijuana newspapers are reporting a growing increase in shoplifting in grocery stores ... what are people stealing? Food! Just food.

Getting food is now taking first priority, trumping education, rent and medical needs. No food stamps in Tijuana

People are hungry!

WHERE'S YOUR FATHER?

Victor is big for thirteen, Last night I asked him if his father was at home. "my father?" He said, and he drew his finger across his neck. I didn't quite get that, so ... Victor continued, "My father is dead, they cut his throat in prison." I mentioned I was sorry. He seemed indifferent.

I often ask the boys about their father, most have a different yet painful answer about their father. Many simply don't know and they don't seem embarrassed about it.

"Where is your father Daniel?" "He's in south Mexico somewhere." "How long has it been since you've seen him?" "Oh a long time, I think I was three or four."

"Efren, where is your father?" "He's dead, I have a step-father and I hate him, he beats us when he's high; he beats my mother; they're always fighting!"

"Michael?" "Oh, my father? He's with his girlfriend in another barrio."

Some years back I brought a happy load of teen boys home from our camp down from Ensenada. Everyone in the van was chatting happily. As we pulled into barrio Trinchi, Jorge 14, and his younger brother were last to get off. Their little shack was in a canyon below the road. The boys took their blankets and ran down the hill only to find that their father had hung himself that morning. Jorge came up and gave me the news. I walked down to the grieving family, I noted the rope the father used was still on the porch. I brought Jorge back up to my van and we talked for a time.

In barrio Trinchi, men don't cry, but I could see Jorge was fighting back the tears. His father wasn't a good man, but he was all that they had. I prayed for him and pressed a hundred dollars in Jorge's hand and told him he now was the man of the house ... and the money was to help with the funeral.

I could fill several pages with "Father Stories." Unfortunately most of these stories would be a tear-jerker. These are teen boys that have seen too much of the wrong kind of father

The unfortunate thing is that in many cases these kids are growing up to be what they have learned to hate ... a father.

INSIDE A LITTLE BOY'S HEAD

I don't often sit, but after my work in Barrio Ijido I was tired and decided to sit for a while. That's when ten year old Emmanuel came and sat with me, sort of snuggled up to me. Emmanuel is the youngest in a family of seven; he's quiet and shows little emotion. He sat close to me and didn't say much. In a little while he mentioned to me that he has no father. I replied, “O.K., I'll be your father then.” He looked up at me showing little emotion. He seemed to be comfortable just sitting with me ... saying nothing. Lucas took these photos a few weeks ago.

Just last week Emmanuel was put out of school. His teacher says he can't learn, sometimes he doesn't even remember his name. His mother got worried and began talking to us. She says he's going crazy. Lately he's been acting very strange; bizarre might be the word, and it's growing worse. We found out that four years ago he took a bad fall and hit the side of his head and was bleeding. His mother took him to the clinic and they stitched up the cut on his head and he was taken home. Concussion? Now it seems something is very wrong and growing worse. Often each day he holds his head and grimaces, it hurts he says. Sometimes staring off into space for hours. Other weird physical characteristics occur.

We scared the mother by telling her this is very serious. Something has to be done and now. Well, the family; no man in the picture ... is dirt poor ... in fact the other night she was going around trying to sell some of the boys clothing in order to buy a little food for the kids.

Well, she took him to the general hospital, where the doctor examined the boy and listened to the story and said it's urgent that he see a specialist as soon as possible.

I'm writing this just to say; the little kid needs your prayers! In fact the whole situation needs prayer. It's in our hands now. His mother needs intelligent help through this process. Neurologist, cat-scan, MRI ... yes, she iss a Christian lady.

There seems to be growing pressure in his head and we need to find out what's causing it.

Thank you for praying.

OLD FASHONED RELIGION

I've been churched most all my life! Over eighty years now, Wow! I could easily be one of those people that might say "I've been a Christian all my life." I was at Church week after week. Meeting after meeting ... at Sunday School I earned my pins for attendance, on time, bringing my bible and an offering. In those days we earned gold pins to wear on our suit coat. Oh yes you wore a suit to God's House!

In those days it was all about saving people or bringing them to Church to have the Pastor save them. I remember being in a contest, where if you saved so many of your friends, you would win a gas model airplane! Boy I wanted that plane. (Alas, I didn't win!)

To help us win souls we would have a Revival every year! We had a big cloth sign with REVIVAL written on it with the dates and times of the meetings. We would place this huge sign on our Church building, then we would hire an Evangelist to preach that particular week. "Old fashioned Gospel meeting" where we brought all of our sinner friends so they could be saved by the evangelist. We were all called to be "pew packers" that week. The Evangelist came with his six messages!

At those meetings I was saved! I didn't intend to be, but, you see my mother was very anxious that I be saved! I didn't know how anxious she was ... I remember the last night of the revival, I was sitting next to my mother in back on the last pew. We were singing the hymn "Just As I Am" while the Evangelist pleaded for one more sinner to come forward and be saved. I was hoping someone would come forward too, because then the meeting would be through. I was definitely not on the same track as my mom.

Believe me I had no idea how many verses there were to "Just As I Am." "One more, the Evangelist pleaded, there is one more person who needs to come forward!!" "He's struggling!" One more! My mother nudged me ... the Holy Spirit wasn't speaking to me ... but my mother was! Oh boy! At least that will end the meeting, I thought, ... so I dutifully went down the Isle to be saved! The Evangelist was praising God ... one more sinner, though a rather young thin one, was saved!

Two chubby deacons met me at the front and took me into a small room and saved me and also made me a Baptist!

I mentioned this personal experience for a reason. You see that night I was, "Still-born". (Sill born: having the form but lacking the life!)

This experience was the result of somehow thinking we can save a person. The truth is, we can't! Be it a pastor, evangelist or over zealous mother ... no one can save a sinner but God! When will we learn this? Why can't we wait until the Holy Spirit, in His time, in His way can do it right and the new life can start, as it should, from the inside-out?

We can do so much harm in forcing this intimate issue!

BANG!!!

I was studying Acts 1-2 and noting the dynamic of the believers in the early Church. I couldn't help comparing the Believers of that day with the Believer of today.

My Youth Group of about thirty all claimed to be believing Christians. They were for the most part Believers. I was eager to develop a lesson by which I could show the difference in Believers. But how, that was the question.

In thinking it over I came to the conclusion that there were "academic or intellectual" believers and "dynamic" Believers! Believers about Christ and Believers in Christ! When it comes to Belief it seems there are many degrees .

Now for a lesson to show the difference.

Being a youth director, I found several firecrackers I had stashed away. Nice juicy big red firecrackers. I took the fuse out of one and worked all the gun-powder out, then I stuck the fuse back in and lit the firecracker in my sink. Well, the fuse sputtered away and on down into the Firecracker and of course nothing happened. This neutered firecracker was going to be my object lesson for my teen Bible study.

Stuffing a new fuse into my neutered firecracker, I put the firecracker into my pocket along with a book of matches; I picked up my Bible and left for the meeting.

I recall I had about thirty kids in the room when I started the study on what it is to be a Believer. Most of them listened patiently while I tried to explain what it was to be a true Believer, like those in the New Testament. Men of action!

I said "Here, let me show you!" and I pulled the neutered firecracker from my pocket. Just seeing this big firecracker sparked the interest of all especially the boys. Boys love firecrackers! I talked a little on how powerful they are and how dangerous they could be.

Then I pulled the book of matches from my pocket! At that point here was a lot of thinking going on. Small room, thirty kids ... most of all; what's this guy going to do?

With one hand I held the firecracker while I lit the match with the other. All eyes riveted on the match and fuse. The group was clearly frustrated, scared yet fascinated ... what is this guy doing?

Well to their horror I lit the fuse!

While it was sputtering I threw it into the center of the group! As I expected there was a big reaction! A dynamic reaction! Boys in the back stood up! The girls screamed. Where the firecracker landed, the girl fell over in her chair. Movement, action, screaming! Chaos reigned!

But oddly nothing happened.

Now the setting was perfect to explain the difference in academic belief and dynamic Belief! All the commotion. All the action was brought about by what they believed was going to happen. They all believed the firecracker was going to explode, they all acted on their belief. A good example of real and dynamic belief.

No one just sat there intelligently thinking "this firecracker is going to explode, consequently I should do something."

You get the point. Just one good use of a firecracker laying around. (I was going to light it and stick it in my ear just to watch their expressions ... but the lesson proved of greater value.)

TO HELL WITH YOU!

In driving past Churches I notice the titles of the "sermon next week" ... some are quite catchy! After all, the pastor wants his sanctuary full Sunday Morning. Some of the titles are relevant and creative while others are losers.

Let me tell you the title that will bring them in!

This is a true story. Some years ago, as youth pastor, I was given an opportunity to preach. I was encouraged to announce my topic the Sunday before.

I went to the podium and casually announced that I was going to talk on hell, and name three people in our congregation that I wanted to see go to hell, and who they were.

You could almost hear a collective gasp! I don't think many listened to my pastors sermon that followed. The audacity of their youth pastor wanting people to go to hell was all they could think of! And of course, who were the three?

After the service ended I was swamped with people questioning me. Some even accusing me! It was as if I had committed blasphemy. I kept my cool and just replied simply that next week I would mention who I wanted to got to hell and why. You'll want to be there, I assured them.

Well, the following week the church was full!

Even people who didn't normally come; they were there too. The nagging question was "who" and "why".

My point was simple! I felt that if the pastor, myself, and the Sunday-School director were to go to hell for three minutes we would return different people! With a desire and passion we had never known to reach the lost!

It was just a jump-starter to speak on what it was to be a real Believer indeed. (I might mention that hell is full of believers ... simply those who believed too late.. ! )

Pastors, try that title and your church will be full the next Sunday.

TRUSTING GOD WHEN THINGS LOOK IMPOSSIBLE

Trusting His Word when it tells us to do the "wrong" thing, like bless and pray for our enemies! ... or turn the other cheek.

I was planning on teaching trust to my Youth Group!

I thought long and hard about how to demonstrate "trust". Then I got my answer.

I bought two big rat traps and fixed one so that it would not snap shut. The bate tag would function but would not trip the trap. The trap was wired open! Both traps looked identical.

At the proper time I took the two traps and a ten-dollar bill to the meeting. I was early and found a podium in which I set the two traps. No one noticed the two traps.

I started the meeting right off showing the kids the working rat trap. I snapped it loudly. I carefully set it and touched the bait lever with a pencil. Snap! The trap broke the pencil ... and everyone knew it would break fingers. I had everyone's attention, they were on the edge of their seats wondering what I was going to do with this trap.

While talking I put the working trap back down in the podium while picking up the second trap that was wired open. Behind the podium I pretended a struggle to set it and placed the folded ten-dollar bill in the bait lever.

I asked a question to the group. Do any of you want ten dollars? The answer was a qualified yes. (That was when $10. Was ten dollars!)

Then I asked how many trusted me? They all raised their hands. "Do you believe me?" I asked. "Yes" they said!

"Listen kids!" I held out the trap with the $10 in the bait slot, saying "Here's your ten dollars ... you just have to take it, I promise you the trap will not hurt you."

No one moved. "What's wrong?" I asked. No one moved as I tried to get them to take the money they wanted so bad.

Then I took the trap with the $10. To a small boy I knew that was sitting on the floor in front.

"Billy, do you think I would ever do anything to hurt you?" "No," he replied. "Would you like $10. Dollars?" He nodded his head. "Well, believe me Billy, just take the ten dollars off the trap, I promise you the trap will not hurt you." With that he looked at me, and then simply reached up and took the $10. Off the trap ... no snap. It was easy. It was his.

My audience was having mixed emotions, and now they just groaned.

I looked at them all. "You said you trusted me, but you proved you didn't!" We say we trust God ... but do we? "Just think you could have had $10. If you had just believed me."

Then I started the lesson on "Trust" and trusting God even when He asks us to do the impossible.

Yep! All the boys came up to see how I rigged the one trap. And how they were fooled ... and they still remember the lesson.

DIRT POOR

I can honestly say that I was born dirt poor. I was born in the Los Angeles general hospital in the year 1929; the start of the depression years. There aren't many around that can remember those years, where Americans actually stood in line for food. We patched our clothing, repaired our shoes and watermelons was a penny a pound.

My parents lived in a small studio apartment in Hollywood. Mother told me, years later, that they didn't expect me to live, worse they had little milk to feed me. My first bed was my father's suitcase; my second was a drawer in their dresser. My bed mattress was newspapers and my blankets were towels and whatever cloth they could get hold of. Note the photo above of my mother putting me to bed.

I grew up poor, like most of the kids in those depression years. My father, an artist, couldn't make money and my parents couldn't make a go of it so they divorced when I was about eight. Father left for San Francisco and we remained in Los Angeles.

With no income my mother, sister and I ended up on the State and Government Welfare. I remember those embarrassing days well. Second-hand clothing, few toys, small size meals.  Most of the kids at school got a little bit of spending money each week. My sister and I had little to no spending money. In those days a dime was a dollar, so pennies had to do.

We couldn't pay rent, so we moved a lot and lived in many places in Los Angeles and San Francisco. I remember living in a garage at one point. That meant changing schools often, too often. Making friends than losing them. Summers were bare-feet time. No shoes time. Sidewalks weren't bad, but the streets were really hot!

In a sense for the past half-century I've been working in the same economic strata in which I lived. I can actually say I understand living in poverty. I remember what ‘poor' feels like. I remember a strong mother who made do with what she had and a father who felt guilty for being a poor father.

Born poor, dirt poor and I don't regret it.

Indeed God prepared me for my ministry.

CHINESE CHRISTMAS

Every year, the day before Christmas, I spend the whole day cruising Tijuana, visiting families we know and visiting a variety of barrios giving toys out to the kids on the road.

Christmas Eve is a special time reserved for a meal with the kids at an orphanage.

Christmas Eve this year was no exception. We were invited to join the festivities at a large orphanage. Tamales and Turkey were on the menu. In Mexico Christmas Eve and New Years can be rather late ... at my age I just wanted to make a show, grab a tamale and head home ... it was another cold Christmas Eve!

We got there in the late afternoon, there were about fifteen teen tired boys. No sign of food or festivities. The afternoon moved into night-time then continued into late night and still no sign of any action. It looked like it wasn't going to be a Ho, Ho, Ho Christmas Eve, at least for these teens.

The kids mentioned they were hungry! I asked one kid when they ate last. "In the morning," he replied. "Well what did you have to eat?" "Cornflakes," another kid replied.

We waited, the kids were cold, hungry, tired and quiet. Then I got an idea. There was a small Chinese restaurant down the road. I asked a boy, "do you think that the Chinese restaurant is open tonight?" "Sure," he said, with a big smile! Others joined the idea.

So I said, "let's have Chinese tonight" Yeah! They all like Chinese food. A few of them jumped into my car and we headed down the dirt road hoping for Chinese Take-Out! Would the restaurant be open Christmas Eve?

Sure enough it was open! I ordered five big boxes of food! While we were waiting the kids came to me and said "Thank you von, we're so hungry!"

Indeed It was a Chinese Christmas this year!

WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE?

I took my youth ministry seriously. I took my time to teach and challenge my kids seriously and indeed it paid off. For the most part my kids, hundreds of them, were into the Bible. They were believers, young believers, but believers indeed. Upon their conversion, each was given a Bible.

I wanted to protect them somehow from a growing heresy that has caught many of us "Bible believers". So I figured out a good object lesson that would shake them up.

Baptist churches seem to collect old abandoned Bibles and we had our share of old and beat-up Bibles in our library.

I took one of these old Bibles with me to our big Bible study on Wednesday nights. I started talking about the Word of God, the Bible, and mentioned that there were verses I didn't particularly like. Verses that made me uncomfortable. I turned in the bible to a verse I didn't particularly like, read the verse, and then tore the verse out of the Bible, crumpled it up and threw it on the floor. You could hear the kids gasp! I continued on reading hard verses, uncomfortable verses and tore them from the bible and threw them on the floor. The kids were silent! Von, their Pastor, desecrating God's Word! I asked the kids ... what's the difference? If we aren't going to obey certain verses or believe certain verses or do what the Word asks us to do? It's the same thing! Are we allowed to pick and choose what we want from God's Word? The kids picked up on that, they got the point. That lesson won't be forgotten.

Many of us aren't aware that we are doing just that ... and that is heresy.

The Bible must be one of three things! (1) A book of Jewish myths and stories, or (2) a book that contains truth but is not necessarily truth itself, or (3) a book that is truth.

If the Bible is a book that simply contains truth, then I am allowed to pick and choose what I want to believe. A dangerous virus ... a very subtle heresy!

Many Christians don't realize they are doing just that! Think it over.

CHRISTMAS EVE 2013

For more than a half century I've spent Christmas in Mexico. Visiting homes and barrios distributing gifts and generally ending the night at an orphanage. Some Christmas Eve's are wet and some dry, but all are dark and cold in this area of Tijuana.

Near the orphanage we were driving to, we stopped and spent some time with a poor family we knew, living on a hillside. Lorie and her eight kids were working on a big pot of pozole soup. The soup was cooking outside over a hot wooden fire. Pozole is uniquely Mexican (pork, hominy, and jalapeno peppers). In fact most family's throw a lot of extras. A bowl of pozole would be their Christmas Eve meal treat ... no gifts under the tree this year!

When the three of us arrived they quickly pulled out some old chairs and gave us each a desert of store bought cake with a mix of whip-cream and fruit. The pozole wouldn't be ready for an hour or two.

For a few minuets we became part of a poor family doing Christmas Eve the way the poor do.

Of course we left them happy with their unexpected gifts. Mom now had enough money to think a few meals ahead.

MERRY CHRISTMAS

There are many ways to spell Christmas and many more ways to express this awesome occasion. God's love and light entered our world in the form of a humble baby; a baby born to start a revolution! The greatest gift man has ever been given yet this gift remains invisible to the majority of us. We recognize the occasion yet the reason for the occasion still eludes us.

To those of us who have caught the reason, Christmas is simply "Thank you Jesus time."

Children see Christmas so much differently than us adults. Children seem to express the joy and energy we once had, in a child you can see it and you can feel it. Raw joy!

We must never forget that Jesus entered the world poor to redeem the poor. We must not forget that the Gospel came first to the poor of this world!

Because I work in the Tijuana barrios I’m constantly reminded that the Gospel also came to those across the border locked in their darkness not by a fence ... but by ignorance and deception. They just don’t know!

Thanks for helping us bring the Gospel across the border in word and deed! Remember, eternal investments pay off big time! Keep us in your prayers and have a nice Christmas and New Years!

A NICE TALL KILLER

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

YESTERDAY WE HAD A RIFA

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

Every one is silent as the number is called.

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

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

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

KING JAMES BIBLE

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

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

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

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

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

ALL GROWN UP

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

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

In the eyes of many these people are social trash!

Irritating parasites.

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

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

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

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

STONED

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It grabs you.

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

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

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

LOVE HATE RELATIONSHIP

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

Well, until now.

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

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

I sense my marriage is crumbling pretty early!

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

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

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

I'm stuck in my first love hate relationship!

HE BLEW THE MAN AWAY

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

A sudden thing.

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

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

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

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

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

FIVE DOLLARS

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

Next big rain and where will they be?

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

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

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

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

BETO'S NO VEGETABLE!

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

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

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

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

Then, it started.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A FUMBLE, A STUMBLE ... AND SPLAT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

UPDATE ON FRANCISCO

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

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

He came out of the operation smiling!

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

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

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

A FAMILY WITHOUT DRINKING WATER

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

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

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

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

What happened next was totally unexpected.

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

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

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

CONNECTING WITH KIDS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TWO TOADS IN LOVE

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

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

Their love was to be short lived.

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

What a night it must have been!

FIRST CENTURY CONDUCT

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

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

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

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

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

OH HAPPY DAY

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy made the day!

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

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

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

TWO LITTLE BLACK SHOES

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks to whoever donated them to us.

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

THE NIGHT SHIFT

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

Sorry Lord.

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

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

Complacent I should never be.

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

The many opportunities still exist for this old man.

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

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

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

DAVID'S SECOND OPERATION

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

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

That changed things!

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

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

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

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

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

A DOLLAR'S WORTH OF LOVE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

HOW DO YOU SPELL MINISTRY?

I played a surprise visit to David and his family yesterday. He lives in a high hilly four-wheel drive area of Grupo Mexico. My car is good for that.  It was good to get to see David his mom and sisters.

Things have been Going well since his latest surgery in Mexico city. The surgeon changed the location of his catheter a little higher and closer to his bladder ... still, it's a deep insert into his abdomen. He showed me how he does it. Very carefully and a little painful. Thus it will be for life. (I was standing next to his bed; he sleeps on the floor.) That shouldn't be!

David's messed up back causes him to walk with a limp, he has been offered free therapy by the government, and was taking this therapy twice a week.

I found that they quit the therapy last week as the family simply couldn't keep paying the transportation cost; both mom and David traveling to the therapy location and back twice a week. I asked his mother what their transportation cost them each week, and she said about $20.

I asked David directly "Do you feel this therapy is actually helping you?" He said that it was really helping, and he told me what they do for his hour. Pretty impressive; hot packs, electrical treatment and regular physical therapy.

It's only right that we come in and help him keep up this free therapy ... isn't that the way you spell ministry?

HUMAN WASHING MACHINE

Last week I was hinting to my heavenly Father that my washing machine wasn't quite cutting it. It's quite old and can't seem to get up the spin it used to have, leaving me a load of half wet towels and clothing. So I have to do a second spin. Then they are ready for my dryer, which doesn't dry too well either.

I drove into the Tribo orphanage this hot afternoon and from the shade of the trees the kids came running across the hot dusty dirt to greet me. More hopping than running as the ground was hot!

Ben, the sub-director, mentioned how the kids had worked. I asked him to point out the ones that worked, and I gave each worker a dollar! Some jumped up and down with joy, a few were not too happy.

Thirty five dirty sweating boys ... bath day is tomorrow. Wash day is today!

I took a look at the side of the building where they were doing the washing. Ben explained that the washing machine they had wasn't washing properly and the spin dry cycle was really slow. So the kids were helping the washing along. (It was a ready made photo opt!)

The washing "machine" part was several kids in two tubs of soapy water and dirty clothing, stomping their feet. No grapes into wine here, just dirty clothing into, well ... slightly cleaner clothing. Others on the clothing wash-day were called to be spin-dryers! I might add that a few chocolate bars pushed the energy level up considerably!

The lines outside in the sun would serve as the Dryer. The electric bill is $300 per month! I might add that the clothing comes out a bit stiff but wearable.

I won't complain again about my washer and dryer.

By the way, would anyone be able to help get a new washer for the kids of the orphanage?

BOLIVIAN POLITICS

Bolivia is a small landlocked country in South America. I have visited it often speaking to Missionaries and their children as well as local churches.

One year I was invited to speak to the graduates of a large Missionary kid School in the city of Cochabamba. The graduation was to be held in about the best hotel in this big city. Indeed a classy affair!

I still remember what I spoke on "Build a Good Foundation: The Wise and the Foolish Man."

After the ceremony, a rather charismatic young man met me at the door. It seemed that his daughter was in the graduating class and in good English he complimented me on the message. "Would you visit me in my home, he asked, I would like to talk with you?" I agreed and we set a day and time.

Later my missionary friends told me who the man was. "He’s running for president of Bolivia and is being predicted to be the winner." Banzar, the old president, has been there forever and the people want a change."

He and I met in the afternoon at his large and heavily guarded home. I had no idea what he wanted to talk about. He told me who he was and talked of his various plans for the country. Good plans; he seemed like an honest guy. Then he popped the question.

He asked me if I would join his team. Surprised? You bet! He said he liked my speaking style. I was a motivator, he liked that. Could he use me?

Of course this wasn’t realistic, and later I politely declined his offer. The start and finish of my very short political career.

As I look back at these little occasions, I’ve had a very interesting life! ... ahh! A presidential advisor!