GOD S RECOVERY ROOM--I.C.U. Unless you have come from a place such as the cotton fields of Mississippi， you probably will not be able to un- derstand the excitement I experienced at my first glimpse of New York City. The vast Atlantic Ocean with its great ships， the Statue of Liberty posing as if I were taking its picture， and the millions of lights in the gigantic skyscrapers were absolutely fascinating. But later， as we drove down the back streets of Brooklyn， I began to see a different picture. A rock beat filled the air as the music blared from dimly lit taverns. Young people were dancing， twisting， playing cards and gambling in the streets. Drunken people lay in doorways and staggered around garbage cans. Groups of tough-looking young men were standing on street corners and at store fronts. The girls with them were dressed in bright， skin-tight clothing and were puffing on cigarettes. The look of emptiness on their faces broke my heart. I saw young people who had tried everything--alcohol， drugs， sex， wild parties--only to continue their search for a thrill to fiJ1 the vacuum in their lives. They were in desperate need o~ a recovery room， a place of healing， salvation and uncq~Iitional love.
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