<TITLE>14. Par 62-66</TITLE>L-62 So I'd got on the platform. The night before that there'd been an old Mexican brother come up. And the whole rack piled full of old clothes that night. Poor old Mexican, little old dirty feet, about eighty years old, stone-blind, old hat in his hands sewed up with twine cord, dust all over it. And he was going along there saying something in Spanish, and I couldn't understand him. And so, he was trying to get to me when he found out... He reached down in his pocket, and brought out a rosary and started... Not necessary. He was blind, and I pulled the old fellow up to me.

L-63 I thought... You know, you have to feel the person's condition, or you'll never help him. You've got to enter into their suffering. If you don't, just cold-heartedly it'll never work. You've got to place yourself as... I looked. He... I thought, "Poor old fellow, maybe a big gang of little children out here somewhere."
And their economics are very poor. That's right. Maybe Pancho gets thirty pesos a--a week, and he's a brick layer; and the other one gets fifteen pesos, Pedro, and he's a section hand. And--and he's got a bunch of kids to feed. And then, old greasy tortillas somewhere made out of ameba lettuce, and things they'd throwed away, but he's got to save so much to buy a grease candle to go on a million dollar altar for his sins. Nonsense. Christ is our Sacrifice. Christ is the One. We need no altars of million dollars. We need a open heart.

L-64 So that little old woman down there, Billy said... And first, about this old man. I put my foot up to see if my shoes... There I was standing there with pair of shoes on. He probably never had a pair. I thought, "If my shoes would fit him, I'll give them to him." Put my shoulders against his. He was much bigger, so I couldn't give him my clothes.
And I put my arm around him. I thought, "If my daddy would've lived, he'd have been about that age." And I said, "O, Lord God." Brother Espinosa (he's probably here somewhere), he never interprets the prayer. And I prayed, "Lord God..." And I heard him holler, "Gloria a Dios." And he looked around. He could see better than I could. He was--could see. And there he went screaming.

L-65 And the next night, old shawls and coats piled up like that all over the platform. And Billy said to me; he said, "Daddy, you cannot keep that woman off there." He said, "She's got a dead baby." Pouring down rain, and they'd been standing there. No place to set down--that big place, no place to set down, just leaning against one another since nine o'clock that morning. And this was about ten-thirty that night, standing in that sun and rain. (Oh, America, America, how one day you'll come up on the little end of the horn unless they repent. That's right.) Loving God... That night I saw about twenty-five thousand people coming to Christ at one time there at Mexico City.

L-66 Then I noticing this little woman, down there screaming. The ushers would try to stop her. She'd stick that baby under her arm and run right between their legs. They'd try to hold her. She'd jump up on top of them, climb over them, scratching, fighting, everything to get up there. And they said, "You can't get up," holding her back.
So I said to Brother Jack Moore (I was wondering if he was at the convention); I said, "Brother Jack, go over there and pray for her. She don't know me. So pray for that baby, and that'll stop her." And I turned back. I was like this, turned to look. And I saw in a vision, right here in front of me, a little dark-skinned Mexican baby, no teeth, grinning at me. I waited a minute. I backed away. I looked again. I said, "Wait a minute (paradox); bring her here." The ushers opened up the line.


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