<TITLE>25. Par 88-91</TITLE>L-88 So he begin to mumble something, and I thought, "Poor old fellow." And here I was in a good pair of shoes on, good suit. That old man maybe lived and never had nothing but a bunch of ameba lettuce to make tortillas out of. And anyhow, get about...
They ec--or their economics are so poorly balanced, it's terrible. And maybe Pancho gets about... He's a brick mason, get about fifteen pesos a day, but have to work about ten days to buy hisself a pair of shoes. What about little Pedro, with ten kids, and making about three pesos a day? What's he going to do to feed them? Martina can have one tonight, and Pancho can have one. But somebody'd have to do without one, because they've got to save enough to buy a grease candle to burn on a million-dollar gold altar.
It's not right. And I told them it wasn't right. I said, "It's not right. You have to pay nothing. Christ died to free you." A million-dollar gold altar with a candle on it, and starving people to death, with some priest to bless it. What's a candle got to do with it? Christ died. His Blood saves us from sin and trespasses. It's a free gift of God. You don't do one thing to--to merit it. It's the grace of God.

L-89 He come across there. And I took him in my arms, and I thought, "See if my shoes would fit him. I'll just slip them off." There was a big banister there. Give him my coat, but his shoulders were much bigger, and his feet much larger.
I thought, "Poor old fellow. Probably never eat a decent meal in his life." And I thought, "And there, nature... Look what's happened to him. He's blind; he's a poor old fellow. If my daddy would've lived, he'd been about that age."
You have to feel for people. If you can't, you can never help anybody. That's... You... That... You've got to feel for them. You got to take it upon yourself. And I just put my arms around him, and I said, "Heavenly Father, be merciful to this poor old man." I said... And I looked out there, and I seen him standing looking at me, out in front of me out there, with his eyesight. I knowed if he ever opened his eyes, it was over.
I just waited a few minutes, and he hollered, "Gloria a Dios." Glory to God. you know. There he could see as good as I could, walked around on the platform.

L-90 Next night, there was a... Platform was just about as long as this, just piled that high of old shawls and things. And you talk about having to come and set a half hour, or a hour or two in church? They come at eight o'clock that morning, not set down, stand leaning against one another, leaning like sheep in that hot sun. And I wouldn't be there till nine or nine-thirty that night. They stayed all day long, nothing, just standing there waiting to come.
That night, pouring down rain, they were so many (Oh, my.), that big ring, the ring out there, and I couldn't get in. They brought me around the other side, and put a rope around me, and let me down on the platform off the top of that ring: pouring down rain. Any of you know Brother Jack Moore? I guess many of you do. And he was with me, and Brother Espinosa, and down there in Mexico City.

L-91 And I got out, started to preach. And I was preaching "Faith, the Substance of Things Hoped For, the Evidence of Things not Seen," and Brother Espinosa giving the interpretation. And as I was preaching, Billy come, my son, and caught me by the coat. Said, "Daddy, you're just going to have to do something."
I said, "What's the matter?"
Said, "A little woman standing over there..."
Said, "I've got a hundred and fifty ushers or more, standing out there." And said, "Maana..."
I called him... Maana (means "tomorrow.") That's the slowest man I ever seen in my life. He was supposed to pick me up at seven o'clock, and he'd get me about nine. So then, I always called him Maana. And he'd give out the prayer cards, and he'd done give out all the prayer cards.


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