STORY: Oskar showed me his small tennis shoes and asked if I had a pair he could have. It was hard to tell how worn they were because of the mud. Like most of our kids, he only has that one pair, and they remain wet and muddy day in and day out. His mother's back to drinking again. He's still home from school taking care of his brothers and sister. Tennies? I couldn't promise.

STORY: Emilia's typhoid fever attacks are coming more often now. Her temperatures get dangerously high. Days in bed. There seems no cure. We pray for her. She gets depressed. Her concern? Who will take her children if she dies? Emilia's little church is struggling to help meet her needs. They ask my advice.

STORY: Last Sunday in the children's jail, Alex met me as the heavy door opened to his barracks. He excitedly told me that everyone from "Pana" (the neighborhood of Pan America) was here. Well not quite, only five. I asked Alex why he and his brothers were in jail. He said " We stole a car, a Volkswagen van just like yours." I asked him if it was fun, and he said "Yea, man!" I then asked if it was fun in the jail, and he replied, "No man!" They'll get two months for that. I was hoping that I would make more of an impression on the kids than my van. Things don't always go the way you wish they would. I'll be back into their hard, dusty world tomorrow.

STORY: Location, Barrio Obrera in Tijuana. Jose was tough for his eighteen years. Fresh out of jail, in our area and part of the local gang, he started attending our Bible studies. The Lord grabbed him and he became saved ... a real obvious change. He spent some time with Mark Shultz in Porvenir. Soon Abel his brother found us, he came up from southern Mexico where he was a break dancer. Abel was the one with charisma. Within a few weeks he, too, became saved. Both of them went to join Mark to be discipled. In a short time, they felt they were ready to re-enter the world as Christians. We had our doubts. Time passed. Where they went we didn't know. We heard rumors that they were somewhere in L.A. Jose showed us a short newspaper article. Abel was shot in Santa Ana, California, as his wife and new child looked on from their home. Two young men, trying to push a dope deal, got tired of his witnessing to them, pulled out a gun and shot him in the head while he shared his faith with them. He belonged to the local church, a member in good standing.

STORY: Saturday as I was leaving the little market at Trincherazo after paying some on the grocery bill of two very poor women, I noted several older teens outside sitting together in the back of the building. Not unusual. I knew the boys and walked over to greet them. One young man about twenty-three looked up at me and asked me if I recognized him. He looked like a wrestler. Well built. Tattoos all over his arms. He looked familiar but, no I didn't recognize him. "I'm Javier," he said. "I used to live here when I was a young boy and I remember you. I remember the words you used to teach us. Your words helped me to become a Christian. I attend a church in Monterey." Quite a statement to make in front of the other guys. More than twenty of these teens gather every night to play basketball until dark. I asked them what they do then. "Just hang around and talk." "What if I came here and talked to you after basketball? Would you listen?" They replied, "yes! Saturdays we are here with nothing to do." Now, when can I carve out time to meet with these kids?