Celeste Vlasic, “God blessed me with the precious Bible again”

One day after being on MFT for several years I was given the opportunity to be a receptionist at the regional MFT center. One sister asked what kind of sweaters I liked and was describing this beautiful white sweater that was really in style then. She surprised me with it for my birthday and I was so happy! Then, one brother suggested I give it away to a sister in the center. I was flabbergasted, because this was new and just what I wanted, and new and beautiful clothes were hard to come by on those MFT days. Also, the sister he was suggesting I give it to was having a difficult time generally and with me as well, as I was the team mother for a while. She went as far as rudely slamming the door in my face just because I went in to wake her up with a cheery good morning. I hadn’t really sacrificed something I had wanted so badly (except for my dog when I joined the church!) but I gave this sister my new, never-worn-before sweater. (This sister later went on to say that an angel had given her that sweater -- referring to me.)

Anyway, a few days later, we were cleaning out the attic in the MFT center and an old suitcase that I swore was lost years before, reappeared and as I started looking through it, my dear Bible that True Father had once handed to me was in the suitcase. For years I thought I had lost it and felt so terrible, I could never read another Bible.

I am convinced that because I made that condition of giving the sweater away, that God blessed me with the precious Bible again, that I still have and cherish to this day.

From 40 years in America, p. 310.

Ralph Schell, “I’d rather go to Hell with Rev. Moon than go to Heaven with you ANY day!!!”

I was out fundraising in the Mid-West one summer day of 1981 and, as sometimes happens in the Bible belt, was constantly harassed with the question

"What church is this for???" Oftentimes I dodged the question, but it did me no good. At one house no one came to answer the doorbell. After a while I decided to move on. Just then a bucket appeared out of the window and I received a free shower. Fortunately the water was clean and the weather hot, so it quickly dried. Sometime later I came to a door and a man answered, naturally asking the same question as above. A rough guess on my part made him out to be (most likely) a fundamentalist Christian. I decided I would be rid of all the questions and answer this man straight to his face. I replied "It’s for the Unification Church. You know, Reverend Moon."

"Yes, I know Rev. Moon," he replied, and proceeded to name a number of negative reports he had gleaned from friends, news media and otherwise, and concluded with the remark "You’ll go to Hell with Rev. Moon!!!"

All the while, hearing his response, I thought to myself, "What a self-righteous...." When he was done, my reply to him was terse, "Well, I’d rather go to Hell with Rev. Moon than go to Heaven with you ANY day!!!" His jaw dropped, completely aghast, his eyes almost popped out of his head. He just could not believe what he had just heard. I politely bid him farewell, saying "Well, I’m sorry but I cannot talk with you anymore; I must go on. You have a nice day, sir....’’ and left him standing there and proceeded on my way. He looked at me all the way down the street in pretty much the same pose until I turned the corner. Around the corner I myself proceeded to laugh until my belly ached with laughter. From then on my day took off and only got better. I can really say he made my day.

From 40 Years in America, p. 241.

D. Payer, “The police have been looking all over for me but I ditched them!”

I was a fundraising leader in Western New York, outside of Buffalo. We had 13 guys in a van when we went out and it was quite a family experience. One of the most memorable was when we visited towns that were not too friendly to our being there.

This was 1977. I had a new high-tech device to help me -- a voice pager. Team members could call in, leave a message and it would be broadcast to me. They would tell me where they were and I could find them in the evenings better that way.

One night we had a bit of a problem. Several of our team were stopped by the police for fundraising. I had to go into the police station and take responsibility for them. As I was discussing the situation with the sergeant, his assistant and our three members, I got a beep on my pager. It was Tom Iversen shouting: "The police have been looking all over for me but I ditched them! I’ll see you at 9:00!!"

I turned several shades of red, acted like it never happened and walked out with my teammates. (That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it!)

From 40 Years in America, p. 243.

Heather Lykes Partis, “The power of God’s presence was electrifying”

Probably the most dramatic experience I ever had on MFT was around the year 1982. I was working in Houston, Texas under Commander Tsujimura. During my first year I had pushed my body very hard, even though I had rheumatoid arthritis. I ended up working in a wheelchair for the next year. At some point, I just physically couldn’t keep up with the tough schedule even though I had been off and on, on challenge teams.

My body felt like it just broke down. I worked half days, or only the nights on the weekends. I repented deeply every day that I couldn’t work harder. That desire burned inside of me. I was so sorry to God that I wasn’t more useful for Him. Anyway, one Friday night I went first to sit outside of a very classy restaurant, and I did surprisingly well. After that I went to my usual weekend nightclub restaurant, a place that I liked and where I was known to the owners and security guard. I believe the place was called "Harlowe’s." Early on, a cowboy came up and started talking intensely to me; I don’t think he was really making sense. Then all of a sudden he pulled out his wallet and (one at a time) handed me four hundred- dollar bills. I offered him my bucket of flowers, but all he wanted was one rose. Imagine that. The power of God’s presence was electrifying.

From 40 years in America, p. 243.

Teresa Ledesma, “Within a moment he had me by the throat of my jacket and a pistol in my face”

Maybe I should have known better than to be in that part of town, but I thought I would be all right, especially in broad daylight. Besides, I had been in many neighborhoods like this in the past: poor, rundown store fronts with old crusted and faded paint chipping off the doors and yellowed outdated signs beckoning passersby to come in and take advantage of the fantastic sales. I did not see how this neighborhood could be any different. That inner voice weakly cautioning me to stop and do the other side of the street, the nicer side, went ignored.

It was the fall of 1978 and I was living in a lovely little bedroom community nestled away just about a half an hour outside of Akron, Ohio. I had already been fundraising every day for two years, including weekends, to support a variety of missionary projects our church was involved with. By then, I had gotten into the daily routine of getting up early, sharing the one "sisters" bathroom with a dozen other young women trying to take showers, brush their teeth and get dressed all at the same time. It was a time in my life I both loved and hated. I loved the ideal of living sacrificially for the sake of others, for a purpose greater than myself. The horrid reality, however, was that of being confronted daily with my personal battle to keep a positive attitude and my inability to conquer time. It seemed like I was always the last one ready no matter how hard I tried. That frustrating reality was enough to start each day off feeling a little less charitable.

We were fundraising in Cleveland on this particular day. The air was crisp and windy, with early autumn sun. My area for the next two hours was in the southwest part of Cleveland, in a section marked for renovation. The contrast between the old and new was clearly evident in the scene around me. There were new office buildings, street lamps and sidewalks on one side of the street, and old, dilapidated storefronts on the other. I stepped out of the van, took out the boxes of peanut brittle I planned to sell, and inhaled deeply the clean smell of the autumn morning. I was feeling better now after my usual rough start.

I rejected the warnings of my inner self as I headed toward the older section of the neighborhood first, about a block in from the main road, toward a small group of shops, certain I would meet friendly, even lonely storekeepers anxious for someone, anyone, to come into their worn-out little shop and have a look around, a friendly chat, and hopefully, buy something. I became aware of an unusual stiffness as I neared the shops, an emptiness around me that I failed to notice just moments before. It was nearly mid morning. Where was everybody? There was not a soul in sight. As I come closer I realized that the old shops were, in fact, abandoned. Dust and cobwebs covered the windows and doors. Torn screen doors creaked in the wind. I stood there for a moment, staring at the disappointing sight before me and cursing myself for abandoning the dictates of my conscience. At the same time I momentarily imagined these shops in better days with cash registers ringing, candy jars on the counter, five-and-dime bargains on all the goods, neighborhood locals standing around chatting about the news of the day and the weather.

In disappointment I turned around and headed back toward the main street. I looked up to see someone walking briskly toward me and immediately sensed danger. Something about this person was not right. His look was unfriendly and his walk determined. He had both hands in his pockets and his shoulders shrugged up around his neck as he walked. Suddenly I felt my heart begin to race faster and faster. The closer he got the more threatening he looked. I tried to avoid making eye contact with him and instinctively started to cross the street to the other side. He was so quick to block my way and within a moment he had me by the throat of my jacket and a pistol in my face.

I was stunned. I could not think straight. I could not talk. He was nervous and scared too, I could see that. He was cursing and demanding my purse and grabbing at the long strap I had draped across my torso, all the while nervously wielding the pistol and yelling at me to hurry up. Despite the terror in my heart, I felt anger rising from somewhere deep inside me, anger at his impatience, anger at his cowardice, and anger at the fact that I had become somebody’s victim. This rising anger gave me the courage to squeak out a plea that if he let go of me, I could get the purse off more quickly. Cautiously he obliged and in a moment the purse was his.

I could only guess at what might be going through his mind. What was he going to do now? He got what he wanted, I hoped. He was calling the shots now and I was at his mercy. I fought to keep from thinking the worst was yet to come. He grabbed the purse and fled down the street into the old neighborhood of abandoned houses and storefronts. He turned back only once to see me for the last time and then disappeared. I was still alive. In numbness and disbelief I gathered my belongings and walked back to the main street. I thought of my mom, the little pocket Bible I had purchased just a few days before that was in the purse, and of the money that was not there for him to steal.

From 40 Years in America, pp. 308-309.

Shinji and Helen Kashiwa, “You just send the extra straight in to the Rev.”

Once while True Father was in Danbury, I was fundraising in Tempe, Ariz. for CARP and I entered a dentist’s office. I gave my spiel and then he looked at me and said, "This wouldn’t have anything to do with (leaning toward me) Rev. Moon, would it?" I gulped a little and said, "Yes, he’s the founder of CARP." He said "Good, because I think it’s unfair how they’re treating him. I’ll take one of those prints. But instead of $7.00 I’ll give you $10, and you just send the extra straight in to the Rev."

From 40 Years in America, p. 297.

Susan Felsenthal Janer, “He spit on me”

I was on MFT fundraising in the late 70s. I was going door to door and had just left a house where they did not buy. The teenage son and his friends came home as I was walking back down the driveway on the way to the next house. So of course I asked them if they wanted to buy. They asked me, "What Church?" and I said, "The Unification Church."

"Oh a moonie!!!" he said, and then he hawked one up from deep in his throat and spit it on me and then walked into the house laughing. I felt so terrible...nothing like that ever happened to me in my entire life. I went into another world at that moment, almost like I left my body, but at the same time, I also felt angels gathering around me to pick me up spiritually. I felt how much God loved me for being the one to receive that insult and share in His Heart.

From 40 Years in America, p. 244.

Laura Hornbeck, “We are a very DIS-organized religion!”

Here’s one thing that happened when I was on MFT, fundraising on the streets and byways of Michigan. It was the summer of 1977 and I was in some town, maybe Lansing (I can’t remember for sure). I was carrying peanut brittle and walking down a lovely, tree-lined street. A young man of about 25 had just parked his car and was getting out of it as I came along. I said to him, "Greetings! Can you help our church and get some peanut brittle?" I was wearing my Unification Church identification badge, by the way. I liked to be up front about my purpose for fundraising. He looked at my badge and said, "I don’t like organized religion."

Without missing a beat, and without feeling a bit disloyal, I said, "Oh, don’t worry. We are a very DIS-organized religion!"

He laughed and gave me $5 for some peanut brittle.

From 40 Years in America, p. 243.