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96 Chapter Twenty-nine Tongue-Tied I walk down Seventeenth Street praying Jesus will provide me with powerful words to convince the Road Knights and the Lock family to want Jesus. Though I’m only thirteen, I have visions of becoming a famous evangelist, the youngest one with a TV show. It’ll be called something hip like “Freaked Out on Jesus.” Billy Graham can still have his show and audience. My show will be for the more difficult converts, the skeptics who ridicule everything. But even they will come around after watching my show. “Come on, Jesus,” I pray while walking, “Give me the words and I’ll do your work.” My first stop is at the Road Knights’ house. Once when they were drunk playing poker, a friend and I were collecting money for a school project and they emptied their pockets for us. And Grandpa bowls next to them on Tuesday nights. He says they’re all right. They just like long hair and loud mufflers. One of the guys even helped him fix his lawn mower motor. Yet, there’s something about making these house calls alone that’s a bit intimidating. God is not their thing. Jesus didn’t always drag his disciples along when he preached. He was strong and didn’t get humiliated when people ridiculed him. “That’s it,” I remind myself, “I’ve got to be humbled. Be like Jesus. Come on, Jesus, give me the words and I’ll be humble no matter what they say or do. Let them pick me up by my shoulders and throw me on the streets. I won’t be embarrassed. I’ll return. I’m doing this for you. I hope you’re paying attention, Jesus.” Sometimes Jesus seems to get distracted. I can be certain he’s about to fill me with words and when someone opens their door, I freeze. I get tongue-tied for Jesus. This is especially unfortunate for someone who wants to have her own TV show. Except for all the Harleys parked on the lawn, no one could tell this was the home of a motorcycle gang. Many other homes look like they need paint and windows fixed, too. The difference is that this is a house filled with people wearing leather, both men and women, and none of them seem to be parents or family-oriented. I have never seen one motorcyclist Diane Payne 97 leave alone. If one pulls out, all the rest follow. Guess that’s why they call themselves a gang. That’s it. Jesus just gave me an idea. Before I lose my nerve, I knock on the door. A large man with a long scraggly beard answers. He’s being too friendly; must not have any idea I’m a Christian on a mission. “You bowl on Tuesday nights?” I ask him. He looks suspicious, so I quickly add, “My grandpa’s team bowls next to you.” “Who’s your grandpa?” “Hans. The guy who mows lawns.” A deep smoker’s laugh vibrates off his chest. “Hans. He’s a good man. Reminds me of my own grandpa. He’s all right, isn’t he?” “Oh, yeah. Fine.That’s not why I’m here.” Come on, Jesus. Don’t leave me tongue-tied now. “You know, I was wondering if the Road Knights might like to get involved with my church. You know, start a club called Jesus’ Mufflers, or something like that.” The big man spits out his beer laughing. Leaning over the kitchen table, he pounds another guy on the shoulder, the one who is waiting for him to get back to their poker game, and says, “Did you hear that? She wants us to start a motorcycle club called Jesus’ Mufflers!” Come on, Jesus, I’m losing them. Make me say something sensible. It’s not like I’m trying to sell them a used Pinto. Don’t you want these guys on your side? Think about it, Jesus. They could be your crusaders with other bikers. That’s it! “Okay, that name may not be right. But what about Cruisin’ Crusaders? You could cruise all night and when you see people, you can tell them about Jesus.” “What do you want us to tell people about Jesus?That he is a hypocrite who hates people like us.” “Oh, no. As a matter of fact, you look a lot like Jesus. Jesus would have been driving a...

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