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