Mrs. Lannie Newcomb had always boasted that she wouldn’t open her front door to anyone but Jesus Himself.  Those who didn’t know Lannie too well would invariably ask how would she know if it were Jesus.  To which she would always reply, “Oh, I will know.  I will know.”  However, Lannie slid back the deadbolt just the same after peaking from behind the curtain that tightly covered the narrow window that ran parallel with the solid front door.  It wasn’t the big toothed smile of Baxter Cox, or the sweet wave of Sandy Simmons that made Lannie open the door, but it was Norm Clearwater that had made the difference as he stood behind the other two attempting to hold a T-shirt so it could be seen over Baxter’s and Sandy’s heads.  Printed on the T-shirt were the bold words, “I Am Saved.”  They were the Soul Patrol.

            The Soul Patrol had been the brainchild of Sandy Simmons, who was the marketing director at KMEN, radio 101.1, 100,000 megawatts of pure saving grace in stereo.  Listeners could pick up KMEN bumper stickers at the radio, select area churches, and local Tasty  Burger restaurants.  It was simple.  If the Soul Patrol happened to see a KMEN bumper sticker on your car, then you were a winner.  The Soul Patrol had seen a KMEN bumper sticker on Lannie’s ’72 Ambassador Station Wagon.

            “And you’re a winner!” chirped Baxter Cox, never breaking his smile.

            It was a hideous T-shirt, and Lannie wouldn’t’ve ever worn it, even if she wore T-shirts to begin with.  On the front was a large cross that had big, bright red drops of blood dripping off of it.  Arching over the top of the cross were the bold, blue words, “I Am Saved.”  In large black letters across the back was the radio station’s motto, “Hell is for Thee, Not Me.”  Norm had shown Lannie both sides with the flourish of a TV game show host modeling the prize for the studio audience.  Though the flourish didn’t make the shirt any more desirable, Lannie wanted it just the same.  It was free, it was hers, and by God, she wanted it.  As she reached for it, however, Norm pulled it back.

            “Yes, ma’am,” Baxter explained, “you won the shirt.  But can you wear it with a clear conscience?”

            “I most certainly have been saved,” Lannie testified without hesitation.

            “And may the Lord be praised for that.  But let me ask you just one question.  If you were to meet the Lord Jesus this very minute, would you meet Him with no troubles on your mind?  Is your soul truly free of sin?”

            Lannie hesitated, and worry clouded her countenance as the words she had heard just that morning on the radio came back to her:  “It’s not the big sins.  It’s the small sins.  They’re like moths chewing holes through your soul.”  And with those words the memory of every transgression that Lannie could’ve possible been guilty of came fluttering through her mind like a swarm of blackened moths.  The tears followed.

            “Praise Jesus!”

            “Praise Jesus!  Amen!”  Sandy Simmons and Norm Clearwater had echoed Baxter Cox twenty minutes later, when Lannie, emotionally drained but filled with the joy of an unburdened soul, was finally allowed to hold the coveted T-shirt firmly in her hands.

            “Through the forgiveness of the Lord Jesus, you have once again been saved,” Baxter exclaimed.

            “Praise the Lord,” Sandy followed.

            “Amen!”

            “For none of us can truly be free of sin as long as we live in a world filled with the evil temptation of the Tempter himself, the evil Satan!”

            “Lord help us!”

            “Amen!”

            “Except for you, Lannie.”

            Lannie looked up questioningly with her tear streaked face.

            “Yes,” continued the soothing voice of Baxter Cox, “you can be free of temptation.  You can be guaranteed never to backslide again.  You can be sure, once and for all, that the Kingdom of Heaven will most assuredly be yours!”

            “Praise the Lord!”

            “Hallelujah!”

            Lannie started to ask how that could be possible, but she was suddenly unable to speak.  The only thought that came to her mind was, “Oh, shit!” as she saw Sandy Simmons pull the small, chrome pistol out from inside of her jacket.