DELEGACIÓN MILPA ALTA

OPEN VISIONS

It was a hot day in July, the kind when sweat pours from your head and you are desperate for shade. It was also the last day of grueling youth outing where 35 high school kids and three of us leaders had been jammed into a 900-square-foot house for days. Th kids, of course, were still full of energy, but I was frazzled. On this final day we had taken the youth group to the Santa Cruz Boardwal for one final hurrah before we went home.

It happened to be muscle beach day at the boardwalk, and bodybuilding contest was taking place on a large concrete platfor

rising out of the sandy beach. While the kids were riding the hug rollercoaster down by the water, I sat up against one of the four larg pillars that supported the beach stage, trying to enjoy a few minutes

of solace in the shadow of the platform. The beach was packed wit sunbathers and their towels covering the hot sand looked like a larg quilt. On the platform above me, the bodybuilding judges were yellin their decisions over the P.A. as spectators watched from th

boardwalk about 50 yards from the stage. My tattered nerves wer

ust beginning to unwind in spite of the chaos when my peace was suddenly shattered.

I glanced out to the water’s edge and I noticed Dee running along the beach with a man in full black motorcycle leathers chasing her. Dee was our foster child, and though she was 15 years old, she ha the emotions of a 12-year-old and the figure of a mature woman. Sh had evidently given up the rollercoaster ride to use her beautiful body

to “troll” for men along the beach.

They were about a hundred yards away, with a sea of people separating us. I could tell he was yelling something while he ran afte her, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. I struggled to my knees, gripped with concern. Dee was looking for help, and finally our eyes locked across the crowded sand. She turned and began to rush toward me with the motorcycle dude in tow. He was closing in on her, still shouting wildly as they ran over people lying on th beach. When they grew close, I could finally hear what he was saying.

“I love you! I am taking you with me!”

I was so scared that my body shook uncontrollably, my legs wobbled like a newborn colt, and my mouth felt filled with cotton. Dee dove to a spot next to me on my right, landing on her knees.

The young man reached down, grabbed her by the straps of he halter-top, lifted her from the sand, and yelled, “I love you! I lov you! I am taking you with me! I am taking you with me!”

I was paralyzed with fear and couldn’t move a muscle. A voice in my spirit yelled, “Tell him about Me! Tell him about Me!”

I protested, “God, I don’t know if You noticed, but this man doesn’t seem to be open to evangelism. He wants to hurt someone!”

But God kept forcefully pressing me, “Tell him about Me!”

My mind was racing but suddenly I grabbed his arm and yelled, “That is enough!” I thought, Kris,

what the heck are you doing?

He turned his gaze to me, penetrating my heart with eyes full o rage. Dee, still trying to break free from his grip, shouted, “That’s my dad!”

lifted me off the ground, and started shaking me like a rag doll, yelling, “I am taking her with me! I love her! I’m taking her with me!”

I actually thought about telling him that I knew from persona experience that it wouldn’t take much time living with Dee before h would bring her back. But the last ounce of strength drained from my body and the voice in my spirit grew louder and more intense: “TEL

HIM ABOUT ME! TELL HIM ABOUT ME!”

Crowds of people were gathering around us and the folks who wer watching the bodybuilding contest were now poised to watch a fight instead.

“I love her. I love her. I am taking her with me,” he continued. But then suddenly something happened. His face changed, almost lik someone struck him in the head. He looked at me and said, “What ar you doing here?”

“I am a yo-yout-youth pa-pas-pastor,” I stuttered.

He dropped me in the sand, stepped back a few feet, and lookin stunned repeated, “A youth … youth … pas-pas-pastor?”

“TELL HIM ABOUT ME!” the voice yelled. Just then, still on my knees, I looked up and saw something like a TV screen hoverin over his head. Pictures of his life began to appear on the screen. “Just tell him what you see,” the Lord insisted.

On the screen above his head I saw the young man at a funeral, so I said, “Your father died last year, didn’t he? And you blame yourself for his death, don’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, that is true,” he said through tears.

The pictured changed and I saw an old woman lying in a hospita bed with this motorcycle guy standing by her bed. “Your mother’s in

the hospital, isn’t she? And you blame yourself for her sickness, don’t you?”

“Yes, oh my God … you’re right,” he wailed.

The scene changed again … I saw a young boy about eight years old, going forward to receive Jesus in a little, white, country churc with a steeple. “You asked Jesus into your life when you were eight years old, didn’t you?”

Crying uncontrollably he blurted out, “YES! YES I DID!”

Boldness began to rise in my soul. I jumped to my feet and ra over to him. He was already kneeling in the sand, crying.

I got a few inches from his face and yelled, “You need Jesus!” “I know!” he yelled back. (I had no idea why we were yelling i each other’s ears.)

“Pray this prayer with me,” I yelled. “Jesus, I need You in my life,” I began.

“Jesus, I need You in my life,” he repeated, yelling with me. But then he seemed to panic. He jumped to his feet and took off runnin wildly, stepping on people as he made his getaway.