“O give thanks unto the Lord, for he is good: for his mercy endureth for ever.” —Psalm 107:1

(used by permission)

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The old van pulls onto the busy four lane highway. The elderly man driving is Mr. Hank Kent. Today is his 70th birthday. Mr. Kent is a preacher of the gospel and loves to preach to the lost. Just as soon as he gets the van on the highway six or eight Harley motorcycle riders roar up behind him. As they zoom around his van, each one curses and gives Mr. Kent the finger. As the bikers pass, Mr. Kent smiles and waves courteously. In the back of the van is Mr. Kent’s wife Louise, and they have just returned from the hospital where Louise receives her chemotherapy.

Mrs. Louise is so tired she lays her head against the pillow Hank brought. “Is everything okay, Hank?” she asks as the bikers disturb her from her much needed rest. “Sure honey, everything is okay. Old Hank will take us home safe and sound.” Hank, a former Marine and veteran of Vietnam, has literally fought in many battles. In the rice paddies of Chui Lai, Hank Kent called on the Lord for salvation during a fierce fire fight with the Viet Cong. Yes, recalls Hank, foxhole religion got hold of me severely. I know that it is real, and I pray that I never get over it.

After traveling about 20 miles on their 30 mile trip home from the hospital, Hank sees the same motorcycle group who passed him earlier on the side of the road. Hank tells Louise, “Honey, someone is in trouble back there, and we are going back to see if I can help.” He pulls the van to the left lane and turns it around and pulls in behind the group of motorcycles. “Be careful, Hank," urges Louise as he exits the van.

As Hank walks up behind the bikers, he reads their clubs title on the leather vest: Pedro Diablo. This group is extremely dangerous and well known for their brutality. Hank, uttering a short, silent prayer, asks if he can help. On the ground moaning and groaning is a biker in obvious, physical pain. “Beat it, old timer. This ain’t any of your business.” “That man is in trouble, and he is probably going to die and go to hell.” They all laugh out loud, and one says, “Sure he is Pop, and we are all headed there.”

Suddenly the man on the ground calls Hank, “Mister, help me please. I’m dying.” Hank walks through the group and kneels down to speak to the man. The man’s skin is blue, and he has the look of death on his face. Hank reaches in his back pocket for his Bible, and one of the gang’s members says, “Look out the old man’s got a gun!” One long bearded tattooed dude flips out a knife in a threatening manner moving toward Hank. KABOOM, KABOOM! Two ear splitting rounds fire from what sounds like a cannon. All eyes turn around to see Mrs. Louise sitting in her wheelchair holding a shiny .45 magnum with an eight-inch barrel; a puff of white smoke rises from the barrel.

“Boys, be careful with Mrs. Louise. She’s an expert shot and a quick reloader. Now I suggest you fellows show some respect while I break open the bread of life to this hell-bound sinner.”

“On your knees,” shouts Louise. “We’re fixing to have church.” In a matter of seconds every biker is down on his knees as Hank opens his worn Bible to John 3:16. “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”

The message Hank delivers is short yet powerful. The sick biker comes under conviction by God’s Word and accepts Jesus Christ as his Savior. Hank looks up, and every biker is bawling and crying out for mercy. At about that moment, an ambulance and five sheriff cars pull up to the scene. Hank congratulates Louise on her quick thinking. Louise says smiling, "Hank, those men would never want to hear the Word of God without some gentle persuasion.