The Call

<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-875/aniGif.gif" border="0" align="bottom" width="67" height="50">  </U></A></div> </td> <td valign="top" BGCOLOR="#000000" TEXT="#F7F7FF"> <bR> <div> <B><IMG SRC="37617020.jpg" border=0 width="279" height="258" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></B></div> <div> <B>The Call</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>  There was never any question about it. I knew from the day I made Jesus my Lord that He had put His hand on me, called me, chosen me. I didn't know for what. I think that's the way it is for most of us. We don't know what we should be doing, or where, but we know that we cannot settle for the well-worn path. There's a burning inside stronger than all ambitions and dreams, a desire to do something eternal, a passion for His heart that won't allow us to anything but obey. It was always there for me.</B></div> <div> <B>  </B></div> <div> <B>  </B></div> <div> <B> I was out street witnessing within a week. I ended up passing out papers with Duane Pederson's Jesus People in Hollywood within a year. Talking to people about Jesus was the most natural thing in the world for me. Why not? He saved my life. I was proud to belong to Him.</B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>     I often irritated people with my desire to do something for Jesus. I went to a small church that didn't know what to do with me. I organized an Easter march for the youth. I was 17. The pastor grudgingly told me it was O.K., so me and a friend made up lots of signs to carry on a 5 mile trek to proclaim Jesus was alive. And sure enough, my friend and I made the walk. Alone. At least for two miles. "Mom?", I called from a phone booth, "Can you come pick us up?" What a sight my friend and I must have been. But I'm glad. I would've gone alone. I would've done anything for Him.</B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>     My attempt at a homemade street paper was less well received. I raised money for it, gave it to the pastor, asked the church to kick in. When it was ready to go, he said no. We had a major catfight in his office. "You're a rebel!", he screamed. "You're a Pharisee!", I screamed back, until we finally realized we needed to love each other. And he did help a little in the end. Three issues of 500 each of the paper were handed out before "The Last Edition" had its last edition in 1973. </B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>     We put a band together and sang for whoever asked us. It didn't matter to me that I sounded like Bob Dylan after gargling with Brillo pads. My heart was full of longing to reach the hurting. Even when our manager told me I sounded like a cat someone had stomped on, I was undeterred. I knew God wasn't looking for talent - just obedience. </B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>     But where was it going? Where do you want me, Lord? My constant prayer - and the most dangerous one on the books - was, "Whatever it takes, Jesus, do it. Use me." </B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>     My first glimpse of where it would go happened when I was 18. I was an up-and-coming employee of Colbuk, Inc., a circuit board factory. The bosses were impressed and giving me "you can go to the top" pep talks. I witnessed to everyone at work the Lord opened the door with. </B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>     I stopped by the post office on my lunch break one October afternoon in 1973. I hurriedly got the mail, threw it on the seat, and read it as I drove to work. I saw an unfamiliar address on one. I opened it, and enclosed was a 6 page printed newsletter I had gotten by mistake. On the front were half-naked underage teens and children in suggestive poses. I pulled over. It was a "pen pal" service for adults who were looking for children. I would be late back to work that day, because I saw those faces of these children, and it shattered my heart like a hammer. Their faces burned in me like an eternal brand - innocent, pain-filled faces full of torment and abuse. I put my head on the steering wheel and cried for an hour. "Jesus!", I cried out, "Whatever it takes, USE ME! I can't stand that this is happening to children! Use me to stop it! Use me to REACH THEM!" </B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>     I had no idea what that prayer would cost, nor where it would take me. "I sought for a man to stand in the gap..." And I replied, "Here am I, Lord. Send me."</B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>     A few weeks later, I went to a Gospel Quartet concert with some church friends. I didn't even LIKE Gospel quartets. But I was about to have an appointment with God. </B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>     I sat at the concert for the first hour, bored and wondering why in the world I went. Out of nowhere, I heard a voice as real as a literal one without being heard by my ears. "I want you to go to Bible School in Texas." I was stunned. "NO!", I replied without a thought. "What?", the friend next to me said. "NEVERMIND!", I said rudely. "I want  you to go to Bible School in Texas." "No!", I said to the empty chair next to me. "I don't want to go to Texas!", more afraid of THAT PLACE than Bible School! The command - and my plea for mercy - continued for several minutes until I remembered my telling Jesus, "Whatever it takes." "OK," I finally plea-bargained. "I'll go in September. But you have to get me out of debt and make my parents go along with this. And I need Your peace." The peace came at the moment I finished my demands, and it was like a wave. "Uh oh", I said to no one. God's already given me one answer. But I comforted myself knowing that even if He paid off my $1000 debt, He'd NEVER talk my folks into this. I'd already left home and moved back twice, and they were getting weary of my lack of direction and moving around.</B></div> <div> <B>    </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>     The next night, I confidently told my mother I was thinking about going to Bible School in Texas. I waited for the loud "NO!", already making exit plans. Instead, Mom said, "Well, your father and I were talking about it last night, and we both think that might be a good idea." My heart sank. Might as well go get some kickers, I thought sullenly. At least it was nine months away!</B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>     The next day at work, my boss got transferred, and the new boss was brought in from Redneck Hell. He took one look at me and determined to get rid of me. I was fired unceremoniously 5 days before Christmas. He merely summoned me to the lunch room, told me I was fired. "Why?, I pleaded. "Look, I don't know what the @#$% you're looking for, but I hope you find it!", he said angrily, and that was that. "Guess You want me to go in January, huh?", I told Jesus. I sold my broken down V.W. bug for $450, bought a Honda Civic and sold it three days before I left for school for $1000. God kept His promise, and I was about to keep mine.</B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>     I have never forgotten that incident crying in my car that day, or the faces of the children and kids. In the many years since then, I've come to understand what it would take to make me a vessel He could use. He has broken me, molded me, changed me, made me dependent totally on His grace and power. Every experience, every ministry, every circumstance was part of His Fire to make me ready.</B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>     In 1987 I began to work with a group called the W.A.T.C.H. Network. It was headed by an ordinary housewife God had called to expose Satanism and the occult and to love and pray for victims of satanic abuse. Here I got raw exposure to the worst underbelly of human evil. I'm thankful for the loving example of persistence and compassion I learned from Sue Joyner, WATCH's founder. In 1988 I began traveling statewide to train law enforcement and other civic groups on satanic crime and child abuse, and I can't count the hours Sue and I stayed up talking on the phone, discussing the horrors of what we had found and crying over the innocent victims of abuse. She too had prayed "Whatever it takes", and I was grateful I no longer had to weep alone. </B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>     Slowly, God put me in the center of several families whose children had been ritually and sexually abused, and I was able to help them find healing. All the anguish of knowing these children have been so brutally hurt seemed to be made right the day I finally met Bryan and Ashleigh, two victims whose mother we had helped by phone to get her kids well and keep them safe. As I picked them up in my arms, I held back tears. And I said again, "Whatever it takes, Jesus, use me."</B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>     If these years have taught me anything, it is that man's heart is totally evil and capable of anything. I once gave a graphic description of a satanic murder to a group of professionals, and a shrink on the front row said, "How do you explain - psychologically - what would make someone commit such a brutal murder?" I know he expected me to tell him the guy had an abusive mom and he kicked the dog a lot and suffered from unresolved guilt. Instead I said, "Mister, you've never looked evil in the face before, have you? Because when you do, you'll understand it's just plain evil. There IS no explanation."</B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>     I have not found easy answers in this quest to help abused kids and children. It shouldn't ever happen. But it does, in numbers far beyond our ability to accept or believe. Too often the Christian response has been, "Put it behind you. Stop talking about it. You're a new creature in Christ." So easy to say for those who have never had their innocence violated. </B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>     In 1989 when I was visiting my fiancee in Dallas, we were watching a docudrama about ritual abuse called "Do You Know The Muffin Man?". During the program a news bulletin came on about an 11 year old boy named Jacob Wetterling who was kidnapped in broad daylight at gunpoint while his friends watched helplessly. It shattered me. Knowing what I knew, I had every reason to be shattered. Kids who die are better off than those they keep for evil purposes. What could I do? That's always the hardest part. I'm helpless. </B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>     Over the next few weeks, Jacob's face would not leave me. I prayed desperately for his return. I put his missing child poster on my refrigerator where I'd see it every day. An anger raged in me. "Why, God? Why do you SHOW me these things? What do you expect me to DO with this kind of information? Why do you show it to me knowing I CAN'T do anything about it?" It would be so much easier not to know, and I was starting to understand why so many people, especially parents, told me, "I'd rather not know. I have kids. Please stop talking about this." </B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>     Slowly I began to understand. Maybe I couldn't do anything. Yet God hurts over it. Who could He share His heartbreak with? Who was willing to hurt WITH Him? If there were no other reason, that was enough. "I sought for a man to stand in the gap..." "Here am I, Lord, send me." If only to pray. If only to sit with Jesus and share His tears.</B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>     Yet, there was more. I knew that it was precisely because so many chose to ignore these harsh realities of abuse in the church that we've been rendered so </B><B>powerless to stop it. No, I couldn't stop it. I'll never find all the missing kids. But I began to realize: I can't do everything, but I CAN do SOMETHING. I was afraid of the helpless pain that sharing God's agony over hurting kids required. But a book title kept coming back to me, a book I'd never read but never forgotten the title: Let My Heart Be Broken With The Things That Break The Heart of God. And I was willing to let it be so. And who knows, but that some prayer prayed in deep agony of spirit might not set in motion the things God needed to bring healing to the wounded and bring the missing home. Like the saying: "Without God, man cannot; without man, God will not." He needs human vessels to do this work. </B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>     The seal on God's work in my heart on this came when I was praying one morning out of frustration of dealing with a criminal-friendly, bankrupt justice system and total apathy from all I'd met in it. "God," I said bitterly, "Solomon was right. There's no justice in the earth." "There may not be human justice", the Lord replied. "But there can be healing and love - if you will love them, if you will love them for Me." And I understood.</B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>     The prayer for God to do whatever it takes for me to be used has put me where I can actually touch the victims and bring healing to the wounded, abused kids and children. That is enough. For I cannot turn away, and I am willing to get inside their pain and walk them through the painful road to His healing love. After all, to not do anything is to be guilty of letting it happen. After all, don't the scriptures command us to do justice and love mercy? (Micah 6:8). I'll always try to help the victims find justice, but if it should not come, my heart is overflowing with the tender mercy for every wounded one that comes. </B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>     "You get too emotionally involved with these kids", some have said. So be it. I rather doubt the kids will trust me if they don't think I can cry with them and feel their hurt.</B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>     My pastor once told a story about a missionary in Africa who labored thanklessly for a tribe who did not respond.  After years, his son took ill with jungle fever. The man prayed for healing. His son died. </B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>     He marched through the Christless village with a shovel, on the way to bury his son. A tribesman said, "Where are you going?" "To bury my son", he replied. "I will go with you", the tribesman said. He stood by the missionary through the burial service and watched the man cry bitterly and loudly over his son's death. The tribesman ran back into the village, calling at the top of his voice, "He weeps like us! He weeps like us!" And the next day, the church was full. Fruit from death. Conversion from compassion. I WILL feel victims' pain. I don't mind the cost.</B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>     There are so many abused kids, missing kids, devastated lives of innocents with no hope. At times it's so big, so ugly that you wonder if you do any good at all. No matter; to do nothing is to die. And, I remember another story that has kept me going in some discouraging times. You may know it.</B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>     A jogger on a beach in Australia saw a little boy throwing starfish into the water. The waves washed up thousands of them, and if they didn't get back into the water, they would die. The jogger looked at the boy, then all the thousands of starfish, trying to tell the boy how useless it was in light of how many there were. "Do you really think what you're doing makes any difference?", the man said. The boy picked up a starfish, looked up at the man, and said simply, "It does to this one."</B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id172.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Michelle"><U><B>CHAPTER TWENTY ONE - MICHELLE</B></U></A></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>