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.