Yesterday we went to an Alumni fest at on of our colleges. We spotted two empty chairs in the back.  In contrast to the hard folding chairs the two cushioned ones invited us right in.  There were actually three, one occupied by a heavyset guy with a faded dark blue state police shirt, a state police pin of some sort, and dark wool trousers.  He had his stuff sitting on one chair so I quietly asked if any one was using that one.  He smiled and said Harvey was sitting there.  It took a second but I smiled back when he said I was tooyoung to know what he was talking about. I assured him I had seen the movie classic "Harvey" staring Jimmy Stewart.  In fact I owned it. 

The program had already begun so we settled in.   At one point I looked over during the sermon and he was fast asleep.  At another point I saw him looking up at some skylights and saying the sun had finally come out.  I hadn't realized it, but saw it was true.  I then saw it was shining on him and one gray haired lady up front.  I was a little annoyed at his loud whispering of comments periodically, but decided he was a good guy who seemed lonely and it was just fine. 

Up front the minister was talking all about getting out of our comfort zones and reaching out to touch those who are unlovable.  The story was the Samaritan man who found the wounded one and didn't just ignore him but stopped for a while to do what he could.  The minister was pleading with the crowd to consider doing the same and he read some letters from a prisoner he had befriended.  That was his part in this picture. 

It felt good, for once, to be sitting in a sermon like that and realizing that now, after all these years of struggling with my latent convictions on this subject, that I am traveling across the ocean to a foreign land, to a foreign street and down into a dark hole to hug a child who is forgotten by the world.  For once in my life I have this feeling that I am doing something significant for myself and that this somehow agrees with the heart of my Father.  It has been a long time coming, this ministry of mine.  It has been a frustrating journey.  I even had dreams about using the sword of God in battles.  It was once a gold sword, refined by fire.  Later it became a flaming sword, an instrument of healing.   I would see this sword in my hands and believed that Jesus had a ministry planned for me. And now the unexpected has developed.  I am not in an obvious clash of swords.  It is spiritual. 

A few weeks ago my friend David and I were hurrying somewhere in Kherson when three dirty kids, wounded from lack and abandonment, crawled up out of the street.  One sweet girl held a puppy and she kept smiling.  Why, I wondered?   Many others were walking right by the kids just ignoring them.  This hole in the ground outside an Orthodox Church was a receptacle for those who had been beaten down and now ignored.  David and I stopped of course.  We talked a while and then two days later took them on a picnic with other kids.  A whole day of food and swimming washed away wounded ness for a few hours - in all of us.

I am not sure what has happened to the swords of my visions.  I do know that God has given us a service called Shepherd's Purse.  Someone in Ukraine misinterpreted it as, "the bag of the shepherd".  Kind of like a mid-eastern Santa Claus or something.   

It felt good to hear this young preacher pleading with people to look around them for the unloved and touch their wounds, knowing I am being given that opportunity.  Then I heard Bryan, the old guy next to me, kind of laugh and say something like, "Yeah, we can do as much with the staff of a shepherd as we can with a sword."  I'm not kidding.this just came out of his mouth.  I just looked at him and he didn't say anything more.  Later, as lunch ended and the day's activities were ending, I noticed Brian was preparing to leave but seemed to be searching for someone in this crowd whom he could say goodbye to.  For a couple of minutes I saw him kind of wandering through these people looking for someone who could validate his existence in this place.  He slowly made his way to the door and that is where I met him.  He repeated several times, "If I don't see you again here, I'll see you up there".  I assured him I would. Brian will not be forgotten and neither will the children in the streets.

So much has been happening that -- I felt myself going a bit off kilter.  Right I am watching a pre-911 drama of events leading to our current crisis.  The terrorists developed bombs for airliners.  The simple purpose was to kill lots of innocent people.  Men, women and children, it just does not matter.  What is it with the people of this world?  People intent on bringing pain and death, even to innocents.

I found this scripture tonight:

Psalm 10:13-15 (New International Version)

 13 Why does the wicked man revile God?
       Why does he say to himself,
       "He won't call me to account"?

 14 But you, O God, do see trouble and grief;
       you consider it to take it in hand.
       The victim commits himself to you;
       you are the helper of the fatherless.

 15 Break the arm of the wicked and evil man;
       call him to account for his wickedness
       that would not be found out.

The evil men -- and women -- of this world just do not realize the heart the eternal Father has for his children.  All around the world people are beating small children.  They are sending them out begging for alcohol money.  Children are sleeping in sewage and darkness.  There is war everywhere.  Economies are crumbling and lifestyles are becoming more and more confused.   The confusion of priorities clouds our direction.  There is so much darkness we cannot find our way. 

Three weeks ago I was sitting quietly next to a fourteen-year old girl.  I was writing and she was curled up watching, "Brother Bear" with her friend from the streets.  For a couple of hours I played the part of a daddy to Nastya, a girl who has lived on the streets since she was four.  When the movie ended Nastya and her friend sat sobbing for about fifteen-minutes.  I patted her headed and tried to bring some sort of comfort to the sadness that was stirred in her.

Now I am back to my reality.  People calling me for projects, for favors, for assignments and little of it having anything to do with Shepherd's Purse.  Today I began feeling overwhelmed with the tyranny of others urgency.  On top of that I have a cold or something and a bad ankle.  I feel like I am falling apart...losing my footing...losing sight.  

Then this evening I realized my reality again.  It is Jesus in those streets.  It is the fatherless.  It is the child I hugged only three weeks ago.  Tomorrow night I speak on their behalf.  I have decided tomorrow morning to be quiet again.  I will work on my book about the street kids and quiet my spirit.  When I walk into that meeting tomorrow night, I am an advocate.  It is not about me.  It is about them.  And that is enough.

We made it back again.  Despite the terrorist threatenings, airline crashes, and lost luggage - all went well.  We accomplished so much. We taped interviews, gathered information, and spent lots of time with the kids.  Did you hear about the Russian airliner?  One hundred and seventy people died.  Evidently the plane was hit by lightning at about 30,000 feet and plunged to the earth.  At that particular time David and I were driving from Kherson to Odessa in a blinding rainstorm.   We had no idea about the crash.  When we got on our Russian airliner the next morning we noticed peeling paint, old carpet, broken seat backs, and fingerprints on the inside walls.  Yikes! 

Oh...and did I say that, once again, our luggage was lost for four days?   Somehow wearing the same clothes from Sunday through Thursday didn't seem like as big a deal as last Christmas.  I think the Lord wants us to relate to the street kids who wear their clothes for weeks or months at a time.

And yes!  We did spend a lot of time with Nastya.  She is now fourteen and has lived on the streets off and on since she was four.  On October 31 she will be fifteen.   We had time to spend.  One morning we just sat in the center.  Nastya and a couple of friends were watching "Brother Bear" while I wrote in my diary describing our surroundings for our book.  At the end of the video Nastya and her friend were sobbing for awhile...watch the video and you will know why.

Last night I was watching a special on the spread of AIDS.  The story focused on Africa but then shifted to newly developing case countries, especially Ukraine.  They pointed out that there is now evidence that the disease is taking hold in that country.  While we were there  we drove through on small city and it was pointed out to us that this was the first city to discover AIDS cases in this country.  Our interpreter asked, "What is AIDS?"   I am so afraid that soon -- the street kids will become the newest victims.

This morning my mom called early and told me there was terrorist plot in London to take out jetliners returning to the U.S.  Great...  What timing.  We leave in a couple of days and now there is a raised threat again.  I remember coming back from Russia after 911.  There were several men of Arab descent sitting around me.  I really do not want to pigeonhole people but have to admit I was nervous.  As we neared New York a couple of them got up and began rummaging through their overhead luggage.  Nothing happened.  We landed safely. 

Another time our team was coming in for a landing in Washington D.C. when the plane suddenly