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know it was my first time as well!
     
    As I moved out into the park, entourage trailing, I remember thinking: “What am I doing? What if I fail? I want to go home!” Yet at the same time I was thinking: “This is exciting! This is God’s work—and I’m part of it!”
     
    I spotted a young man, perhaps 17 years old, slowly pedaling a bicycle. “Hi!” I said. “I’m from California and I came here to talk to you about Jesus.” He stopped and gave us a cautious look.
     
    “Are you a Christian?” I asked.
     
    “No,” he said, “I’m a Catholic.”
     
    He stayed on his bike, spinning the pedal with his foot.
     
    “Great! Then you know about the plan of salvation?”
     
    “No. I’m a Catholic,” he repeated.
     
    “Then let me ask you a question. If you died right now, would you go to heaven or hell?”
     
    He hesitated, glancing around the park. “I don’t know,” he answered. “I hope I would go to heaven.”
     
    “Well, if you don’t know if you’re saved, then you’re definitely not saved,” I said. “The bible says you can know for certain that you have been redeemed.” I continued with the plan of salvation, explaining that we are all sinners worthy of eternal damnation, which he already knew. I described the need to confess sin, repent and accept Jesus into his heart and his life, letting the blood of the cross wash away all guilt and shame. Listening politely and shyly, as did the rest of the team, he indicated he understood all I was saying.
     
    “Then, would you like to be born again?” I asked.
     
    “Sure,” he said.
     
    “You would?” I asked, trying to swallow my astonishment. It couldn’t be this easy. “What do I do now?” I thought. “Well, then, uh…let’s pray,” I said.
     
    “Here?” he asked. “In the park?”
     
    “Sure. This park is part of God’s sanctuary of creation. He can talk to your heart right here, right now.”
     
    We bowed our heads and I prompted the fellow to repeat the “Sinner’s Prayer” after me. Actually, I had to make it up, digging the words from my memory of past revival meetings. He prayed with me, out loud. When we were finished I said, “Now, do you know you are saved?”
     
    “I think so,” he responded.
     
    “Great. Now be sure to read the bible and pray every day, go to church and find some Christian friends.”
     
    We let him ride off and never saw him again. But the group became quite enthused, spreading out to share the good news of the gospel with the poor lost souls who had come to spend a nice summer afternoon in the park.
     
    For me it was an exciting moment. I had won a soul to Christ; I had a star in my crown. It was like earning my wings, or getting the first notch on my six-shooter. Of course, I gave all the credit to the Holy Spirit, but I accepted it as an authentication of my calling to the ministry. It was a heady moment. I was a real evangelist, an active participant in God’s holy cause, a soldier of the cross. It was like the first taste of blood, and I wanted more.
     
    Back in California, as a teenager singing in the Anaheim Christian Center choir, I had accepted the small but important ministry of choir librarian, organizing the music, proudly carrying it all home in the basket of my bicycle, and neatly arranging everything for the next rehearsal or performance. I had started doing this even before I was called to preach.
     
    When Kathryn Kuhlman started coming to Los Angeles for her regular faith-healing services at the Shrine Auditorium, our choir formed the initial nucleus of her stage choir. I was there for her first regular visit in the mid ’60s and for two years I hardly missed a meeting, remaining choir librarian as the group grew in size, eventually incorporating singers from dozens of charismatic churches in Southern California.
     
    It was the sound of the organ, more than anything else, that established the mood of the place. With its dramatic sweeps and heady crescendos