I'd been invited by David Wilkerson to his ranch in Lindale, Texas in March of 1980 to meet him. He called me himself. You might as well have given me an invitation to dine with the president. I was flat-out in awe of David, a prophet, a mentor, and a true man of God. He'd raised up the most successful drug rehab centers ever - Teen Challenge- and his message, "The Vision" had been the absolute call to full time ministry for me. When he called me, I was scared to death but excitedly said I'd come.

I drove the 2 hours to his ranch. My knees were weak when I walked into his office. There he sat. So, I did what I ALWAYS did when I was nervous - I cracked jokes. He didn't laugh. I had a momentary compulsion to try clicking my heels three times and say, "There's noplace like home..." but I'd already made a complete fool of myself. When I finally got back to normal, he asked if I would go with them to San Francisco for a week outreach. I was overwhelmed & honored. I was also thrilled to death when I was able to leave before I said something else really stupid like, "Thank you, your Highness." He handed me over to his son, Gary, who I was relieved to learn was kind of a goof off himself, which made me wonder if he was adopted, and he was a pretty good card player too. I spent the rest of the time touring the ranch and playing cards with Gary and the Dallas Holm band guys.

Three months later, I was with the World Challenge team in San Francisco. We stayed at a college south of the city where we all attended classes, ate together and prayed a lot. It was a comfortable place, but they'd never heard of iced tea. I'd been thoroughly Texanized by then, and the thought of a week without iced tea was frightening and unacceptable. So I found another desperate Texas compadre on the verge of dangerous withdrawals, so we bought a small bottle of instant tea from a girl for an outrageous price, scraped freezer frost off of a small refrigerator and made it work. Addiction is a strange disease.

We had just a few days to distribute 200,000 copies of "Two of Me", David's powerful piece on the two natures of man. We had some incredible adventures. The Blacks, Hispanics and homeless were open and wanted to hear more. We led a lot of them to Jesus. One gang kid looked at it for about 30 seconds, started crying and asked me how to get saved. I knew Jesus called us fishers of men. I hadn't expected the fish to just jump in the boat!

On the other hand, the yuppies and rich businessmen just ripped them up in our face or threw them in the trash. A lot of homosexuals screamed angrily at us, and I even got punched by one.

There were some funny moments, like one man handed the book back to us and said, "Thanks a lot, man! I read it, and now there's EIGHT of me!" A little Chinese man looked at the book, looked at us, back at the book, scratched his head, then grinned and said, "Two of me? Ahh! Two of YOU!", and happily walked away. Or the young man Michael, a lapsed Teen Challenge kid who we persuaded to go back to Texas and try again, who we looked for all the next evening and missed seeing several times as he'd walked past because we didn't recognize him in makeup and a mu-mu.

It was a dangerous mission. We had a coffeehouse set up in the Tenderloin, where people were stabbed nightly right across the street from us. We gave coffee and food and love for anyone who ventured in. It was awesome to see David and Gwen Wilkerson, world respected evangelists, out on the streets every single night talking to people about Jesus and praying with whoever came in.

That song became forever part of me on our last evening. I was in the coffeehouse helping serve when in walked a bag lady. She really didn't LOOK like a bag lady. Her clothes, though old and worn, were neat. Her hair was in place, and she carried her little purse with dignity.

Bravely, two young ladies on our team went over to her, introduced themselves, asked her name and asked if she wanted a sandwich and some coffee. "Why, yes", she said weakly, a little astonished by the kindness. The girls helped her to the table, fed her, loved on her. She listened to every word they said. Her eyes began to well up with tears, and she said, "Jesus really does love me, doesn't He?" "Yes He does", they replied smiling, and we were all crying as they gently led her to Jesus. She cried, and after she met Jesus, she was glowing with happiness. Our Mystery Lady left after a while, back to - who knows where? We were all glad she came.

Our Mystery Lady remained a mystery until a few days after the crusade, when we learned she had died in a San Francisco hospital, her body completely consumed with cancer. That's why she smelled so bad.

We all cried, I think. And we were stunned. One woman - one night - one chance! What if we'd self-righteously been put off by her appearance, the smell? What an opportunity - lost - forever! Jesus said, "Man judges the outward appearance. God sees the heart." Do we see the heart - really? We're so proud of our dress, our comfortable, well-appointed churches. A bag lady who enters our sanctuary, or a drunk, or a girl with black makeup and evil jewelry, a young teen with a shaved head and dirty clothes reeking with cigarette smoke - how can they feel welcome among the judging eyes? How can they not feel out of place? We stand aloof - we judge them from a distance. And if it was their last chance to hear of Jesus' love, what have we done, how do we explain THAT on judgment day? "I was sick...you didn't visit me....in prison, you never came...hungry....you let Me starve."