Salvation Boulevard Read Online Free PDF Page B

comfort in our lives. We made a home that was a suitable place to raise a child, and I was able to get sole custody of Angie, the child of my second marriage, when her mother went to prison, because it was genuinely the best thing for our daughter. It would not have been so without Jesus Christ, without the church that brought me to Him, and without the wife that He sent unto me.
    Going to church is like going home, going to a picnic with your old friends, getting hugged and loved, and being reminded that there are people, lots of people, who have the same kinds of troubles that
you do and who have found the same solution, Jesus Christ. That puts us all on the same team.
    And when church is full, that’s over sixty-four hundred of us.
    That and being uplifted in song and giving your soul a chance to rev its engine all the way up, screaming and crying if you want. Make no mistake, it’s a high, a high that doesn’t leave you crashing, dirt in your mouth, shame smeared all over the memories you wish the morning light could wash away. A high that lingers and keeps you balanced and sane through the strains of the week to come.
    A lot of military and law-enforcement people are members of the church. You can tell who they are just by looking at them.
    The people in the service, mostly from the air force base seven miles down the road, are fit, upright, and have short hair. The state police are similar, but their hair is shorter, and they’re angrier. The cops from the city and the various towns look like they were once in the service, but now they only work out once or twice a week, if that, and they eat donuts. The correction officers look like they were headed for a life on the other side of the bars but then somehow took a right turn and now are trying to look like they’re cops.
    Leander Peale was there with his wife and several other Christian COs. We made eye contact and traded smiles of fellowship. I saw Jeremiah Hobson, who was once my lieutenant when I was on the job, living for the city. Now he runs security for CTM, which is more than just the church but a whole empire of enterprises. He was wearing an expensive suit, tailored to hide his extra weight. Alan Stephens and I hugged each other on the way in. Since he brought me here the first time, I owe him my life.
    A lot of my job is about contacts like them. It’s part of what make me good at what I do and why I make a decent living from it.
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    â€œThere are one point two billion Muslims,” Paul Plowright, our pastor, said, standing up in front of the thousands, microphones and cameras recording him too, and he was as comfortable as your neighbor sipping an ice tea at a backyard barbecue.

    He spoke as a man of reason; he spoke of facts. “And the vast majority of them, I am sure, I am sure, are good people. Yes, they are.
    â€œIt’s only a tiny minority who believe in jihad, violent jihad.
    â€œIt’s just that pesky minority.
    â€œI don’t know how small that minority is. Some people say it’s just ten percent. Some say five percent. Some say it is as little as one percent. Just one percent.”
    â€œJust one percent,” Pastor Plowright mused. “There are those who want to make you think you should not be concerned. Just one percent. There are those who would like you to think you have no cause for worry. Just one percent.
    â€œAstonishing, isn’t it, when the math is so easy to do. Why don’t they do the math? Why don’t they? What is one percent of one billion two hundred million? What is it?
    â€œWhy, it’s one million two hundred thousand.
    â€œOh, that’s a relief! Just one million two hundred thousand jihadists.”
    That got a huge response, led by the military guys and their families. Someone was acknowledging the size and power of the enemy they faced, understanding their job, what they were up against. They laughed and said, “Oh yeah! Oh yeah!” They