Mandatory Rest

1976.10.26

I haven't been selling for almost a week. Sunday a week ago I developed a boil on my right leg, just above the ankle. I went on working all the same. By Monday night I felt really ill and in much pain, but I didn't stop. Tuesday I went up north with Tony's team. I went to the doctor and fundraised about half the day. But I haven't been fundraising since.

The next day I drove for Tony and he went selling, but then I was called back down to Lafayette to drive for Christopher. I spent the whole day traveling on the bus. Tony said because I never seek rest, God is giving me rest. Even now my leg is almost all better, but still I am just driving and pretty much staying off my feet.

I've been using the time to pray a lot. I've been feeling how much God is crying for the world and crying for us. He wakes us up in the morning and He cries because He'd rather let us sleep. He cries as He sends us out, because He knows how much difficulty we experience every day. So I feel how much worse I make God feel when I complain. God is already grieved. Why should I cause him to grieve more? So I've been trying to comfort God in my prayer, not ask Him for anything and tell Him not to worry about me, let Him know it's okay for Him to push me, that I won't complain or give up. 

1-4-2,3-4-5

1976.10.27

This may be the last time I will be able to write for several weeks because competition begins on Friday, the day after tomorrow. About two-thirds of the Japanese brothers and sisters who came to America for Yankee Stadium and Washington Monument must go back to Japan now, so in many ways we will have greater spiritual responsibility than ever before.

We have been struggling very much. Of course, without the struggle we could have no victory. So really I want to try to chart my course through this struggle. My goal will be $400 a day.

Yesterday I sold for about one hour at night, the first time in several days. Today was my first full day selling in a week. I did some industrial area along the Harvey Canal on the West Bank of New Orleans. I only made $55 the whole day because I couldn't feel desperate. In the evening I did a Woolco parking lot. I felt a strong desire to make a good result to inspire the team. My goal was $100 but I only made about $60.

Still I had some really good experiences out there and was able to subjugate the area fairly well. HF said some pretty amazing things through me, and many people bought who otherwise would not if I had been even a little bit spaced out.

Chanting helps keep me focused and dominate the spirit world. I say, "One for two, three for five / One for two, three for five / One for two, three for five..." over and over all day and night when I'm out selling. It has an easy rhythm and mobilizes the spirit world to make people give. I see the evidence of the spiritual activity when people are pulling out $2 even as I approach, and I sell a lot more of the three boxes for $5. 

Victory or Die

1976.10.28

Today had to be one of the heaviest days of my life of faith. The lesson of the day is love God first, put God before everything, save God from His grief, fulfill God's desire.

Steve Rappoli and I began the day at the Woolco parking lot I had fundraised last night, but we got kicked out. We left a message and went to a different area, but Satan stole the note so we were spaced out from the team. I returned to the parking lot later this evening and found the note was gone. Turns out the whole rest of the team got spaced out too.

The sisters had a $37 average. The brothers had around $50 average. I was high seller with $107. Nothing to brag about.

Captain spoke to us tonight and took full responsibility for not putting God first, for always trying to comfort brothers and sisters rather than comfort God.

Tomorrow begins competition, but our leaders are very worried. I feel I must get victory or die. 

Bayou Lafourche

1976.10.30
All Souls Day

Yesterday was truly a day of miracles. We had a small team: Steve Rappoli, Diane Bentstoder and me, led by Christopher. We did small towns along Bayou Lafourche and did pretty well. Everyone had at least $150 by 6 o'clock.

Most of the businesses along the bayou were tied to either fishing or offshore oil drilling. A lot of boat and engine repair shops, and steel fabricators with yards full of drilling pipe. Inside the cavernous shops were guys with welding helmets and heavy leather gloves, and every time they touched the rod to metal it would create a brilliant spark that would light up the whole room. The air was thick with the smell of ozone and hot metal. I loved it and wanted to stay and learn how to to weld. One of the guys handed me a helmet to watch, because it was too bright to see otherwise. They told me I would burn my eyes out and go blind if I looked directly at it too long. They said it was just like staring at the sun.

Farther down the highway I fundraised a helicopter service that takes crews back and forth from the oil rigs out in the gulf. The pilot was in the break room having black coffee in a styrofoam cup. He looked like the Marlboro man. He was leaning back in the chair, his cowboy boots propped up on the table. He had mirrored sunglasses and a mustache and smoked a little cigar and wore a leather jacket and a Saints ball cap. Even sitting down he had a swagger. He looked like he was on top of the world. And he had a lot of money. But he only bought one box -- "for the office," he said. I could see he had a huge amount of pride in what he did, and the shiny blue helicopter in the yard was his baby. I really envied him. He was so cool. I wanted to fly helicopters.

At lunch I went into a convenience store and on the counter were several big jars and a crock pot. One jar held pickled pigs feet and the other had pickled eggs in beet juice, just like my mother used to make.

I looked in the crock pot and saw about seven or eight big fat links of sausage. I asked the man what it was and he looked at me like he was surprised I didn't know. Obviously, I was new in town. "Boudin," he said. He had a heavy French-Cajun accent, and just the way he said it -- "boo dahn" -- sounded exotic and delicious. So I bought two links, a bag of Doritos and a Dr Pepper and went outside and sat under a tree covered in Spanish moss. It's almost November, but it was still warm and humid down on the bayou. It felt like rain was coming.

The boudin was more fantastic than I could possibly imagine. The combination of spices with the pork and rice was heaven. It was the best possible lunch I could have had. I felt one with the bayou. I couldn't wait to tell my team about it.

Around 10:30, while we were blitzing the bars and anything else that was still open along the solitary highway along the bayou, we all got arrested. Turned out the sheriff had denied Christopher permission to fundraise in the parish earlier in the day. We all got off on a $50 bond and drove back to New Orleans in the pouring rain. We blitzed around, and it's a miracle we ended with a $237 average.

Today was a totally different story. We went back to Lafourche and did parking lots. I didn't get started until almost 1 o'clock because we got up late. I hate being in the van that long. It makes it hard to get started. Satan uses our inertia to make us lazy and not want to fundraise. But I've learned the best way to overcome this negativity is to just jump out of the van with a loud "Monsai!" and start running around like crazy. It always works. Even if people don't buy right away, the high energy allows me to break through the satanic spirit world and subjugate the area.

By 6 o'clock I had almost $170. At 6:15 I got arrested by the same cop who busted me yesterday. I paid the $50 bond and was back at the parking lot by 7, but I couldn't sell because the cop was parked right there watching me. He was also waiting for the van, because as soon as Christopher showed up at 7:30 he flipped the lights on his patrol car and dragged me and Christopher back down to the police station. Their intention was to arrest Christopher.

In the meantime, another cop found Steven, who was still out fundraising, so while Christopher and I were in the station they brought Steven in. They set his bond at $500. Christopher and I talked them into letting us go so we could get the money. We went back out to the van. We only had about $400 and they still hadn't found Diane. We went to pick her up, but she'd only made $85 all day. She said she had seen the cops looking for her, but she'd managed to stay out of sight. She also got a case of candy stolen.

So we went back to the police station with $485 and counted out $15 in silver to spring Steven from jail. I drove us back to New Orleans. We had zero result for the day, except for about $25 in nickels, dimes and quarters. Christopher's spirit was crushed. We didn't even blitz when we got back into the city. We just went to the center, which was an apartment out in Kenner, and went to bed. The rest of the team was still out because we were in the middle of a competition and we were supposed to keep fundraising at least until 2 am every night. I should have pushed Christopher to go back out, but I didn't. 

MFT Ringers

1976.10.31

Today was the last day of the 40-day period of pentecost following Washington Monument. It was also a Sunday, traditionally a day of not so high result. We usually only fundraise half a day on Sunday and then go out to dinner and see a movie. But during competition, like now, we fundraise all day no matter how slow it is. I made $132 going door-to-door in an apartment complex, so it was a pretty decent result for a Sunday.

Richard Panzer and Nancy Breyfogel, two of the highest sellers on the national MFT, have come to be with our team for a week. It's a real blessing to be around such powerful fundraisers, a chance to pick up some tips on how to tap into God's heart so we can make big results too.

Right now I'm struggling to see the difference between a good day of fundraising and a not so good day, because a lot of times I feel the same internally. Or to put it another way, I've done really well on days when I felt totally spaced out and disunited and had no enthusiasm or energy. And I've done really poorly on days when I felt deeply connected to God and I had a lot of energy and determination to crush. I know that fundraising is all spiritual, I've had too many spiritual experiences to deny that, but I don't understand why it still seems like most of the time it's just a question of area. Some places are good for fundraising no matter who does it, and some places are impossible.

And then there are people like Richard and Nancy, who can crush anywhere, even places where no one else can get any result. It's presumed that our team average will go up sharply because they are here.

I asked Richard what his secret is, but he said he didn't know how to answer. He just talked about God's heart and determination, all the stuff I've heard a million times before. 

Ray's Theory on Black Holes

1976.11.26

I really don't know who I am. There are the lies that Satan has told me all my life, which make up my ego, and there is my true self, which perfectly resembles God but that I don't know at all. It is still hidden beneath all my sin, screaming to be liberated.

Three days ago, the 23rd, was Children's Day. Everyone met at a country club in the hills in upstate Texas. We spent the whole day playing volleyball and soccer and frisbee and running races and just being in love with each other.

Afterward we went out for pizza. I was talking to Raymond Hoffman, who told me his theory about black holes in the universe and the Second Law of Thermodynamics in light of the Divine Principle.

Raymond said black holes are places in the universe that are like a leak in a balloon. All energy that comes into the field of a black hole is sucked in and nothing can escape. No light, no heat, nothing. Raymond believes black holes are where evil spirits have congregated and greedily rob energy from the universe.

He says this explains the Second Law of Thermodynamics, which basically says that energy in the universe runs downhill. In other words, the universe is slowly losing power. Raymond believes all of this is a result of man's fall. Creation was perfect and was only waiting for man to fulfill his portion of responsibility and become lord of creation, to love and appreciate and use creation as it was intended.

But because of the fall, the purpose of creation was nullified and creation has been deteriorating or dying from want of true love. Like the Bible says: "Creation groans in travail waiting for the revealing of the sons of God." 

Danger: Entering Lunatic Fringe

1976.12.5

I was struggling very much, going door to door. I finally gave up and stopped. I sat down and let my mind space out, trying not to think of anything.

An angry voice came into my head.

"What's wrong with you? You are so arrogant. All though history I've taken total responsibility for everything. Only Sun Myung Moon has never asked me for my help. He has determined to gain victory at any price. His only concern is to comfort me."

What about Jesus? I asked.

"I will not speak to you about Jesus. The truth is more than you could bear. Sun Myung Moon is so humble. He has sacrificed everything for my sake, and still he feels he has not done enough. He is always worrying about paying enough indemnity. Your sin is greater than the people's sin. You have full knowledge that you are sinning, whereas they are ignorant of the truth and sin out of ignorance. They are more in a position to be forgiven."

The voice paused a minute. I was certain I was not imagining it because I was having my own thoughts at the same time. Then it continued.

"Whether you like or not and whether you believe it or not, I am holding you personally responsible for the spiritual lives of all these people. You are only thinking of your own salvation and your own glory. You are not thinking about loving the people."

I got up to go back to work.

"Run."

I started running, but my feet hurt from blisters.

"Maybe I should take your feet away."

I wondered how I was going to make my goal by 7 o'clock.

"Forget about stopping. Determine to make the goal even if you have to go for eternity."

When the van came, I didn't tell anyone about the voice. We went out to dinner and to a movie called "Two Minute Warning." It depicted the Last Days in the guise of a sniper at a capacity crowd championship football game. It was really heavy. 

The Crossroads

1977.1.1

We are in Dallas with all the other teams to celebrate God's Day and to have a Divine Principle workshop for the next few days. Tonight we received autographed pictures of Father, which we won for the November competition, for which I had a $190 average. I finished the December competition with a $263 average, and also broke my record with $451.

I made it selling candles down on the bayou, $3 each and two for $5. The candles were brandy snifters filled with scented wax, made by brothers and sisters at a factory in New York. It was a big business for the holidays. Candles were the perfect MFT product before Christmas. Teams everywhere made huge results with candles.

I was fortunate enough to be in one of the best fundraising areas in all of America: the Louisiana bayou. It is a deeply Catholic area, filled with simple, hardworking Cajun folk. All you have to say is "church" and they give you money, even if it leaves them broke. I've never met any people like them. They want to give. Cajuns, Catholics, Christmas, candles -- it was almost impossible not to make a big result.

A few weeks ago I was fasting and went up to a house and a man was grilling huge venison steaks on the grill in the car port. I told him I was selling candles for my church and he insisted I stop and eat with them. He called his family and they all came outside. They acted like I was a saint or holy person. Over and over they begged me to stay and eat with them. I explained I was fasting and could not, but they were so earnest. It broke my heart to turn them down, because I saw how much it meant to them to aid a stranger, especially a man of God. It was part of their code, their belief structure. But I was resolute. They finally relented and let me go, but I could see how disappointed they were. As was I. The grilled venison smelled phenomenal.

A full case of candles was very heavy to carry, and I had to constantly shift them from one hip to the other. It was also difficult to run with them, but I pushed myself.

There was a technique to selling candles. All of the candles were turned upright, so the bright color of the wax was most visible. But one I would turn over so I could easily take it out of the box by the glass stem. I would gently scratch the wax with my fingernail to release the sweet scent and then put it up to a person's nose and invite them to smell.

Late one night I got dropped off in the middle of nowhere, a crossroads far from anything. It was totally dark all around. The only things in sight were an all-night gas station and, across the highway, a juke joint. It was packed. I went inside the bar with my box of candles.

I surveyed the room of black faces. I was the only white person, but that wasn't unusual. I fundraised black bars all the time. But the vibe here was different. It wasn't good.

A few weeks earlier I had felt the same bad vibe at a black strip club in New Orleans. It was so dark inside I could hardly see, with only a small spotlight up on the stage where a young girl was completely naked. But I never looked at naked bodies. Not even the magazine covers in porn shops. I always kept my eyes on the people I was going to fundraise to so Satan would not have a foundation to attack me.

I worked my way around the strip club and came to a booth where I could barely make out a large black man. I approached him with my candles, but he pulled a small pistol out of his jacket pocket and put the barrel up my nostril and said very firmly to walk away. I glanced down. He was getting a blowjob. I slowly backed away and left.

All my instincts told me the juke joint I just walked into was not a good place for young white boy like myself to be in the wee hours of the morning, all by himself. I don't think anyone would have cared if I had come in there to drink and listen to music. But a white kid trying to sell something to black folks in the middle of the night tended to get some people irritated. I had faced those fears too many times to count and pushed them aside. I made my way to the back of the room so I could work my way toward the door. Every eye in the place was on me, but I tried to ignore it.

Some guys were sitting in the back corner and I asked them if they wanted to buy a candle. One guy took a candle out, looked at it, and then put it back and said, "Nah." I went through the whole place and didn't sell a thing. I went outside and looked at my box. A candle was missing. Immediately I knew what had happened. The guy who had taken the candle and put it back, didn't really put it back. He had held onto it and I hadn't noticed.

It was foolish, and I knew it, but I was determined to get the candle back. I went back inside and went straight to the table in the back corner.

"Wadda you want, bitch?"

"Give me my candle back."

The guy looked at my like I must have had some kind of death wish. "I ain't got yo damn candle."

"Yes you do. You pretended to put it back in my box and then took it. I want it back."

"Get the fuck outta my face, white boy."

"No. I'll leave when you give me my candle or pay for it."

"Yo is about to get fucked up."

"I don't care. Give me my candle."

The bartender was watching the whole thing. I guess the last thing he needed was some white kid getting murdered inside his establishment. "Aw man, give him his candle back. You had yo fun."

The guy thought about it a second and then reached behind him and pulled the candle out and slammed it on the table. "Get the fuck out here, you skinny ass honky motherfucker." All his friends thought this was hilarious.

I grabbed the candle, stuck it in my box, and left the bar.

Outside there were seven or eight guys waiting for me. They immediately surrounded me and started pawing at the box of candles. I pulled the cardboard flaps over the candles and held it to my chest, but I knew if they wanted to they could take the whole box and there was nothing I could do. Of course, they didn't care about the candles. The target was me.

They were waiting for me to run, or possibly try to fight. That's all they wanted. I knew I'd be on the ground in a heartbeat and I'd likely get stomped to death. I honestly felt I was going to die right then and there at that desolate crossroads.

I had only one option. I looked at the light at the gas station across the highway and started walking. I didn't turn or look back or anything. I just fixed my gaze on the light and walked toward it. My ring of tormenters let me pass. I expected at any moment to be tackled or hit with a brick or something. But nothing happened and I just kept walking toward the light.

I heard them jeer and call me names and laugh, but I dared not turn around. That's what they wanted me to do. That would have triggered it. I realized nothing was going to happen as long as I just looked forward and kept walking. I made it to the gas station, went inside, and waited for pickup.

I recently read in "Master Speaks" where Mother said Father loves us so much that their own children are jealous. I looked at Father's autograph in my hands. Getting this photograph nearly cost me my life.