Tracts Still Work -Even at 55 Below Zero
Working in Prudhoe Bay as a cook, I saw this comic on a table in the room of a high-level engineer. It was The Beast. Every day, I snuck in reading a few pages and then ordered from the back page. Years later I met the man at a Christian function and, lo and behold, he told me, “That was left for you. You were SUPPOSED to take it.” Who knew. I mean, an ARCO executive, something missing from his room?
Later, between North Slope jobs, I drove a cab. Every day I handed out 10-15 tracts. I was the highest earning cab driver every single day, a female in minus 55 degree conditions in Fairbanks. So many even requested me just to see any new tracts. It drove the cab office nuts. They tried to fire me, but the co-owner bought a brand new cab that only I drove.
Once a ride wanted me to take him to the woods. I probed —he was going to commit suicide, BUT I had the exact, right tract for him, and after 40 minutes of him breaking down, I delivered him to a Native Christian pastor.
Then there were numerous times driving and seeing someone on a corner, then THAT VOICE: “Stop! Give them a tract.” Then me arguing, “I am late!” Then these thoughts: “Are you not protected from injury, fires, loss of income? Can you not obey me? That person is precious.” So, many times, 3-5 miles later I go back.
When they are gone, I have to hunt them down; 80% of the time I find them, and wow, they are, like, at the end of their rope and some are crying, and MORE THAN ONCE, the person looks me in the eye, bending down into the passenger window and said, “Do you have something for me?” or “I thought you would come back.”
When vacationing in a remote village every year in Mexico, I always went down with, like, 1,000 tracts. The pastor where we attended then was ashamed (not of me) and said, “You do this on your vacation?” I was, like, “Well, of course. It’s a mission field, and an easy one at that.”
Once, my order was messed up. I was so mad at Chick administration; I mean what am I going to do with 600 Jehovah’s Witness tracts? I needed, The Beast, Tiny Shoes, Bad Bob, etc. Well, my village was inundated with JWs. A village elder accompanied me and we gave out each of the 600. So then, the doctors and nurses sought me out and asked for more (only had 3 left) —for their waiting room. They thanked me because they had “had it” with the no-blood-transfusion stuff. They mounted the last three in a frame in the waiting room. This is a village, life-and-death, heroic-care type hospital. They almost bowed down to me.
Twice in Mexico, I was sought out by pastors. One from Puerto Vallarta who heard about me, drove 40 miles and begged me for all the tracts that I had available. He ministered to people who lived in the city dump. When my son was only like 5, he would go up to big federal police and hand them tracts. They loved him.
Without Chick tracts, I never would have fulfilled the great commission ordered for me to follow. Sometimes I get nervous, slipping them into unattended gym bags, coats on racks, but I just think, “Okay! You never know. -Mrs. M. R.