The Vision

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0 height="100%"><tr> <td valign="top" width=168 BGCOLOR="#000000" TEXT="#F7F7FF" background="002a11c3.png"> <div> <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Home Page"><U>HOME</U></A></div> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id4.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Book Page"><U>BOOKS   </U></A></div> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id6.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Articles"><U>ARTICLES</U></A></div> <bR> <div>  <A HREF="id7.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Tapes"><U>TAPES</U></A>   </div> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id8.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Spiritual Warfare/Occult "><U>SPIRITUAL WARFARE, OCCULT   </U></A></div> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id77.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Sexual Abuse Issues"><U>SEXUAL ABUSE ISSUES</U></A></div> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id11.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Exposing the Darkness Seminar"><U>***EXPOSING THE DARKNESS SEMINAR***</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="mailto:greid@elp.rr.com" TARGET="_top" TITLE="mailto:greid@elp.rr.com"><U> <img src="HTMLobj-821/aniGif.gif" border="0" align="bottom" width="67" height="50">  </U></A></div> </td> <td valign="top" BGCOLOR="#111111" TEXT="#F7F7FF"> <bR> <div> <B><IMG SRC="38bb5fa0.jpg" border=0 width="181" height="250" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></B></div> <bR> <div> <B>Chapter One</B></div> <div> <B>The Vision</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>  </B><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#0000FF" FACE="Arial" ><B>I grew up spiritually during the great Jesus movement of the late 60's & early 70's. It was an awesome time. We spent hours just worshipping - a young bunch of kids, street kids, kids scared and scarred by life and sin and loved and redeemed by Jesus. We had baptisms in the ocean. We couldn't wait to get out of school or work so we could grab our Bibles and meet for coffee and talk and read and pray together. All that mattered was Jesus. Remember?</B></FONT></div> <div> <B>     </B></div> <div> <B>The changes came slowly. First, the circle of Christian friends I had when I first came to Jesus began to change, and some fell away. We began to lose something precious - the sense of home, of family. Then, the pastor of the first church I attended kicked me out because my friends and I were offending the folks who had been there for years. Why? We worshipped with our hands raised, and we hugged each other. I was deeply wounded, but God soon set me in another youth group. All went well until some of the kids raised in that church complained that the youth pastor was spending too much time on us stinky street kids. He was fired. Most of the street kids left - fell away - wounded - abandoned.</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>     I went on to serve Jesus in ministry. I was still filled with enthusiasm and fire. It took a full ten years to break me, but it happened. A big factor was watching as organized religion gathered in the Jesus kids and then systematically put out our fire. I think we frightened many religious people with our zeal, simplicity and love. So Satan used the oldest strategy he had - and the most effective - if you can't STOP a move of God, then capitalize on it, merchandise it, exploit it, organize it, control it, kill it. So ended a great move of God. 90% of my friends got discouraged and either joined the boxed set, or just gave up and now spend their lives longing for what was.</B></div> <div> <B>     </B></div> <div> <B>     I was neither fish nor fowl. I was a noted speaker and moved freely on the evangelistic circuit, but my messages of God's love and grace started to become unwelcome. I longed to connect with believers who just wanted more of Jesus, ones who weren't living on seminars or pet doctrines or flashpan revelations. I felt alone. I feared I would never again see the sweet gathering of those who just loved Jesus under no Lordship but His, though I cried for it desperately. "Please, God", I pleaded. "I can't go on without Your Presence, without the hope of seeing Your Fire fall again." It seemed my only answer was the painful gathering of believers who tried to artificially stimulate God's Presence. Oh, we sang the same old songs, pumped up the adrenaline and preached loudly. The problem was, the party was over and nobody had the grace to just go home. Like the scriptures said: "They knew not that the Spirit of God had departed from them." I began to understand that when the spirit of control comes in, the Spirit of God walks out the door without a whisper. It hurt. I feared becoming like so many who could only talk about "The good old days", testify only to what God DID, not what He was doing now or who He was.</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>     In the meantime, I saw thousand of kids who were battered, strung out, hurting, none of who felt comfortable in our formal settings. It seemed we had reverted to our pre-Jesus movement days in our lack of acceptance of people who were not socially acceptable. Long-haired Jesus people had cut their hair, put on the suit and tie and stepped into church power, forgetting where they came from.</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>     In November 1985, in a particularly desperate time in my life, the dream-vision came. It was more real than any dream I'd ever had. </B></div> <div> <B>     </B></div> <div> <B>     It was midnight. No stars - no moon. A group of street kids gathered. One lone boy came to me crying. "I've got to go", he said sadly. "Pray for me. It's so HARD on the Jericho road!" He walked away and I began to weep and prophesy. "He's found no home in our hearts. Jesus has found no home in our hearts!" A religious exploiter stood beside me and started to yell, "Listen to the man of God!" I walked away in disgust. The boy's face ripped my heart. This man didn't care about him. </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>     Suddenly the street kids took my hand, and we gathered in a circle, and altogether, we raised our hands and began to worship - pure, powerful worship like I'd never heard.</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>     I woke up with my face wet with tears. In one of my darkest moments, hope was kindled. "God", I said, feeling like the High Priest Zachariah, "Let me behold His face before I die! Just once more...let me see Your Fire-Love fall on this generation!"</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>     Like Abraham, I left all I knew and moved to El Paso, not knowing what - if anything - was left for me to do. I met a missionary's son - Tim by name. It was a thoroughly unremarkable meeting.</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>     A few months later, Tim called and asked if me to meet a young man, a Satanist who had just turned to Jesus. His name was Tony. Tony came and heard me give my testimony  at a church. He cried. I held him and cried and prayed with him. We were connected at the heart. Despite abandonment by his father and a life of pain and rejection, he was precious to Jesus - and so to me.</B></div> <div> <B>    </B></div> <div> <B> Tim called in August of that year. He was meeting with a bunch of kids involved in heavy metal, drugs, the occult. Would I come one Monday? I did - and met 5 hungry, open kids who wanted to hear about Jesus. The next Monday, there were 15 - the next, 30 - then 40. Pete - Vicky - Syndie - Desi - PJ - Michelle - Sean - Billy - Paulette - Tony - Jamie - Bryan - Tina - and it grew and grew. Overnight it was born, the little band of ragtag warriors we finally called J.O.E.L. (Jesus Our Eternal Lord). The kids wanted to call themselves Misfits for Christ - which Tim said was too tied to their past - or Satan Squishers, which was my personal favorite. But J.O.E.L. it was. Tim and I were plunged into outings, counseling, meetings and crises. Suicide attempts. Homeless kids. Family abuse. God had brought us kids who were in deep pain and without hope. Rejection was all many of them ever knew. The world didn't want them. They scared church people. But Jesus wanted them, just as they were. We had home Bible Studies and we sang. We became family.</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>     In November of that year, I arrived late to Bible Study. Tim was leading worship. The house was PACKED. I peered in and saw all these kids worshipping and singing,</B></div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <B>        You're my friend and You are my Brother      </B></div> <div> <B>  Even though You are a King      </B></div> <div> <B>  I love You more than any other, so much more than anything      </B></div> <div> <B>  You alone are my strength, my shield ; To You alone does my spirit yield       </B></div> <div> <B> You alone are my heart's desire, and I long to worship You.</B></div> <div> <B>     </B></div> <div> <B>     Some were holding hands. Many had their hands lifted in worship, something we had not taught them to do. Some had tears running down their faces, kids who hadn't cried in years but suddenly felt safe in the presence of Jesus. I was crying so I had to walk out.</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>     For in one moment I had seen His Face. I understood the dream-vision. The boy in my vision - he was EveryKid, alone on the Jericho Road of rejection and abandonment by the world and the religious who could not look beyond their hard faces and hair and clothes. And I knew - if these kids - hair, earrings, ripped clothes and loud music and all- if they don't find a home in our hearts, NEITHER DOES JESUS! "Inasmuch as you have done it to the least of these, my brethren, you have done it to Me."</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>     In this midnight hour when kids know no security, have no hope and feel no love, God had joined me with a bunch of kids whose worship is the Song of the Angels. Oh, they don't do too good in everyday life. They fail, they backslide. But they always come Home, it seems, and in a crisis, they will go to the gates of hell for the life of a hurting friend.</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>     I'm not a Shepherd to these kids, I'm just a Sheepdog. Jesus is the Shepherd. The Command was clear from the beginning: "Just build a safe place for them. Love them. Teach them. Defend them! Let Me be a Father to them."</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>     For 7 years, I've done my best to do that. I've failed, gotten angry, been un-Jesuslike and a whole lot more. I've apologized a LOT. These kids helped me grow up. They're pretty forgiving. They accept my flaws and still love me. It's beyond my grasp. They'll forgive anything, it seems, but phoniness. They'll accept anything but rejection.     New kids come. Some first kids fell away. They all know they can come home. No questions asked. They all stay in touch. It's safe here. That's all I ever wanted to give them - a safe place off the Jericho road, where they can rest and let down their defenses and just be who they are. They have found - and always will have - a home in my heart. And in His.</B></div> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id155.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Four Winds"><U><B>CHAPTER TWO - THE HOUSE OF THE FOUR WINDS</B></U></A></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div>  </div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div>      </div> <bR> <bR> <div>          </div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>