HE AIN'T HEAVY, HE'S MY BROTHER

About eleven years ago I met the threesome living in a small hillside shack in a barrio called Pedrigal. The shack didn't even have a solid door but an old blanket draped over the side served as the door. Inside was mama, little Diego, a severely retarded eight year old boy, and his older brother Jovany, who was about 9 years old.

The situation was bad. We brought them food and provided pampers for Diego. I remember buying them a small propane stove and tank, which mother sold two weeks later to buy more food.

Spectrum with the help of a Church purchased property and built them a small house in a better area. We moved them in. Other Churches became aware of the situation helped with food and pampers. The situation was looking better. Suddenly the three disappeared. The house was empty. We looked for them but couldn't find them.

That's where I lost contact.

A few days ago Hortensia saw Diego's mother staggering around she was really drunk. Hortensia questioned a lady there about where she lived. What about the two boys? Soon we had a phone contact with Jovany; now a young man twenty-two years old.

He happily greeted her. "Hortensia I remember you coming to our house. Where is Pastor Von? Is he still alive? He used to visit Diego and bring me chocolates and little cars. Is he around?”

He filled Hortensia in on the missing years. It seemed their mother walked out on the two boys when Jovany was about ten. Just left! After a few days neighbors called the police and the boys were given to a family for care. In about a year their mother returned and took the boys back, but the house we built them was occupied, so again, they moved into a hillside shack where they live now.

At sixteen Jovany got a job, went back to school and in addition supported and cared for his handicapped brother. Soon Jovany will have his High School diploma to get a better job. What about your mother, Hortensia asked? "My mother? She's always gone, she's the town drunk! She embarrasses me.”

I wanted to visit them, but at my age I couldn't manage the hike down the steep hillside to their little shack. Jovany brought Diego up so I could meet the two of them again. Jovany, now a young man, was happy to see Hortensia and myself ... Diego, well, he still doesn't know who anyone is.

Fortunately their old house is occupied but still in our hands. We want to hand it over to Jovany. First, we've got to pay $1500 for the unpaid water bill and move out the occupants. It will be worth it; a young man like Jovany deserves a break! He really loves and cares for his brother.

It's the kind of stuff you enable us to do ... find a true need and meet it! This is just one of many challenges that come our way each month.

MAMA! YOU MADE HIM A UNISEX WIMP

Talk about bully bait! I'm disgusted at what the influence of many, many mothers through the years has done to the balance of men.

Too much perverted loving on the part of mama. Estrogen is rubbed, hugged and kissed into their man-child the first ten or twelve years of their boy's life and when their man-child goes into puberty his testosterone somehow gets watered down with estrogen. . A balancing father figure is strangely missing. (Fathers day? What's that? Who's he?)

Can there be too much mama love?

Apparently so, even though MaMa's will deny it. Look at, and listen to, the average young American male today. He is  definitely a different species of boy and or man then decades ago. Balls full of estrogen, a sickening paradox. Unfortunately, if you are looking for balls of testosterone you will find them in a gang or the prison world where male hungry kids band together to become collective males.. a wrong and dangerous route to manhood. But indeed who's at fault here?

Fathers where are you?

Watch the media and it will tell you in short order how hungry men (and boys) are for a macho male. Look at the media's artificial male. Look at his image (and acts) He looks about as male as you can get!

Distilled manhood!

Men of muscle, iron and steel.  Alas, just an image! A wannabe image!

FERNANDO'S RECOVERY

Well, it's all a memory now, the blood tests, the trips to the doctor, the hospital and the surgery; now it's get well time for Fernando. I saw him a few days ago at the orphanage in his new pajamas. I had promised him a remote control car if he went through the surgeries like a man ... he did cry a bit as they stitched him up, but after all he is only ten. Yep! He got the car.

His little red remote control car went over big.

When he saw me he gave me a smile and a hug and a picture he drew for me. As any true artist, he put his name and date down on the bottom of the drawing. I was amazed by his drawings, this little boy is gifted!

Fernando doesn't know the many of you who pitched in and made his surgery possible, but he does know that a lot of Americanos got together and helped him.

Thank you from Fernando and I want to thank you too, by the way, he's going to draw a picture for his doctor friend too.

A THOUSAND WORDS

It's been said "a picture's worth a thousand words"; that was yesterday add the glut of text today and a good picture is worth thousands of words. A photo impacts you, I've had photos change my life.

How can I express compassion by text, I can't. Yet compassion for the poor is a root of our ministry. This photo shows a father passionately trying to communicate with his brain dead son! Indeed it's one thing to look at this and let it grip you; it's quite another to be there watching Bernardo begging for Tony's life. I stayed. I prayed, and after pressing some transportation money in his hand, I left.

Bernardo lives with the memory of his wife dying of cancer a month before, and now this unhealed wound. We helped Benardo with some food and medical expenses. Giving is one way we can show gratitude to God for His goodness to us.   

Thanks to the many of you who pitched I and helped us afford Fernando Angel's hernia operation. (His mother, a very poor lady thanks us in tears.)

In the next few weeks we have to raise the money to send both David and Abraham, and their mothers, to Mexico City for what we hope will be their last surgery. Several specialists will do the surgery free if they are done in the big hospital in Mexico City. These boys just want to be normal, they are both incontinent. David has to stick a catheter through his abdomen three times a day ... often causing major infection! Not good! Jesus had compassion! Sacrificial compassion (Thanks for our Salvation!) His compassion is what drives us to help the helpless. Your compassion is what makes this help possible. (I might add my own money is part of that help too.)

Both of these boys could use your prayers along with the surgeons. We appreciate the break they are giving these boys. (By now the boys are good friends.)

Now remember the kids in our neighborhoods don't get money like our kids who live across the fence. A dollar to an American kid is nothing; a dollar to a boor barrio kid is everything. I'll admit, sometimes I do get weak with the dollar bills. For instance I've found that paying a dollar for a kids good grades is a gigantic motivator in our world. (Wrong motive? I'll agree! ... but it work Oh yes and I give a dollar for a child who had a birthday. Birthday celebrations are rare among the poor. A dollar for a tooth? I've done that for years!

Thank you for these photos Lucas.

Thank you for trusting our good judgement in helping the really needy! Over fifty years experience in navigating the land mines of "helping" the truly poor. Compassion in action.

In The love of Jesus, Pastor Von

A REAL REWARD

Many of you followed the story of little Maribel who lives in Laguna. Her plight was brought to our attention! Maribel had a deteriorating heart condition. No energy, lips and fingernails had a blue tint. Maribel's mother carried her to school and back on her own back. With Social Security Insurance from her father's factory job she was going to get a critical heart do over; her heart was just to small for her. The date was set for surgery. We asked for prayer.

Then her father lost his job and was unable to continue paying her monthly Social Security bill. Without Social Security a surgery like that would cost thousands of dollars. So our only option was gamble on it and continue paying the monthly S. S. cost hoping the surgery would be soon.

The months passed and the hospital postponed Maribel's surgery dates for one reason or other ... still we kept her Social Security going, paying almost $100 per month.

Finally Maribel got her operation and what a success it was! She's a different girl now! Energy, normal color. But the hospital was to give her follow-up care and later another surgery, so we kept up our monthly payments. Month after month.

Surprise! Last week Maribel's mother came to us and expressed the family's gratitude for all we had done. They now have a healthy daughter.

Surprise! Maribel's mother told us that got a factory job, and now is able to pay their own monthly Social Security Health Insurance.

They could have kept quiet and taken our monthly money as additional

Income. But they had gratitude, and dignity and were honest. A real reward!

We are grateful to have had a part in saving another little kids life. (Yes, there have been others!) Thanks to each of you who were a part in helping little Maribel. They're on their own now!

RISK

Risk is for the young. The older I get, the more I shy away from risk. Back then, I used to do a lot of risky things as Youth Director, our camps were always a lot of fun when mixed with a little risk and in Mexico was no exception. We had a lot of fun, but risk was involved. Risk was like a spice! I was young! I was naive.

In the past half century I grew to accept risk as part of my life. The thin strata of society in which I work is a high risk strata! The poorest of poor; dirtiest of the dirty. In these many years I'm afraid I have grown calloused to the dangers in my working environment. Ministry to the deserving poor ... the poor that deserve their plight.

At 85 I'm becoming more aware of just what "could" happen. I've always been a prime candidate for kidnapping. In driving Mexico, if I hit a child, or anyone for that matter, I go to prison! In a car crash, if anyone is injured or killed I go to prison. If a group of young "malandros" or young thugs beats me and takes my money designated for the poor; that's the way it is. If I'm accused by one person of a moral violation, I go to prison. If the cops want me, all they have to do is plant some drugs in my vehicle and then arrest me. If my arrest will gain someone money, I'll be arrested.

Anyone who thinks there is justice in Mexico is a fool ... in the government, as in the judicial system, only money matters. Mercy? No way!

The only way I can account for fifty years Ministering in Mexico with no problems; and thousands of Tijuana miles with not one major accident. It has to be God's provision!

Thanks to the many of you who lift me up in prayer. Indeed the safest place you can be, is in God's hands. I continue to solicit your prayers as I finish out my course. Thanks.

FINALLY EMMANUEL SEES A DOCTOR!

Last week we had a neurologist look over little Emmanuel, and indeed he has some real problems. His concussion four years back did him some real harm. The neurologist's exam took over two hours. The Doctor gave Emmanuel's mother a box of pills, (one a day), and she took him home. His next appointment is this coming Monday where he will hopefully, undergo a CT and/or MRI scan so we can find out what's going on in that head of his.

The Instructions the doctor gave were simple, one pill a day! So for fourteen days he was taking the medicine.

During that time he wanted to go back to school, and his teacher was surprised that he remembered things and he had a different attitude. His mother mentioned that Emmanuel was remembering little things like what he ate and what day it was, and his name. It seems those little pills were really helping. The box the doctor gave him was a two-week course. Well, they ran out of the medicine the doctor gave him, so we were asked if we would get some more.

Hortensia went to the pharmacy to buy medicine for a month. Wow! What a surprise! This medicine is going to cost over a hundred dollars a month! Elizabeth, with her family of seven, hasn't enough money to manage food for a day. No way can they afford to continue with this medicine for Emmanuel.

I guess that's where we enter the picture! The little boy's worth it! We'll take it a month at a time. Above is a photo of Emmanuel holding a months worth of his medicine.

Let's see what the next step shows.

HOW DO WE FIND THESE PEOPLE?

I'm interested in the way we find each other. At present we have over 120 needy families ... mostly widows. We try and help them with emergencies that come up. Lets include helping three orphanages and always a couple hundred kids ... and of course Chuy's large Old Folks Home.

How do we find the needy?

Yesterday was a good example; as we were about to leave our working area, an old beat-up car drove up and parked along the curbing. Several people asked if we would go talk with the young family inside the car.

It seems that one of their relatives, knew of us and talked them into coming, and a young man drove them to our location. Inside were young Tony, his wife and little daughter who live in one of Spectrum's areas, Barrio Laguna, but never show up on Spectrum's food give-away day. They had no need, so they proudly stayed away. Everything was going fine until four weeks ago, then in a few minutes their world collapsed.

It seems the little family was driving south, a two-day trip, to visit relatives. Late the first night a big truck sideswiped them; their car left the road and started rolling down the canyon. Tony had a seat belt on and made it out O.K. Sonia, his young wife, and their little girl were thrown from the car and were badly injured.

Tony called for an ambulance but the ambulance trip back to Tijuana cost more than they had. He got a quick loan from his company job and they made it to the general hospital where they operated on his wife and little girl. At this point Sonia can't walk and the little girl is in a big two-leg cast ... and Tony, well he feels guilty he made it out without a scratch.

At this point, they didn't have enough money to buy the prescribed medication (pain medication and antibiotics). They were also out of food (Pampers). And so they came for help. We immediately got the medication and food money to them.

How do we find each other? It's simple ... word gets around that we're willing and able to help in a crises like this. Thanks for making our ministry possible.

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.