l live in a cookie-cutter…in a small town…in the South. I’ve been here longer than anybody else on my floor. I don’t bother anyone, and nobody even cares that I’m here.
It happened a few times in Nashville: Some Jehovah’s Witnesses came to my door to preach their version of religion. They would always give me copies of The Watchtower or Awake! A neighborhood lady said that it’s bad luck to have those magazines inside your home.
A few years ago, two young caucasian women came by to preach the teachings of the Church of Latter-day Saints. They seemed nice. About thirty seconds into the conversation, I told them I was Catholic–just to throw them off the scent. They were like, “Oh, you’re Catholic, that’s the most amazing thing we’ve ever heard!” I hate that whenever I reveal my denomination, the first question that gets asked is, “What church do you go to?” It doesn’t matter if I go to church. Out of politeness, I said, “I used to go to Holy Cross in Lynchburg.” She excitedly asked, “Oh, are we in Lynchburg?” We weren’t in Lynchburg. She asked if I would like her to read from the book of Mormon, and I said I’d prefer not. She held out a pamphlet. I said, “On no, it’s bad luck to have that in your home.” As they turned to leave, she asked my name. She looked me in the eye and said, “Bye, David.”
It was after dark on a chilly day this past Winter. I was napping on the couch when a knock came on my door. There was a strange noise. I put on my cap and opened the door. There were a dozen or so people singing a Christmas tune–mostly women. They were all white. Not knowing what to do, I shut the door. They kept singing. I reopened the door with what must have been an uncomfortable expression. It’s good that I wasn’t still smoking pot–who knows what my reaction would have been. They sounded beautiful. It was the first time I’d been caroled–I wondered if I was supposed to give them money. The guy in charge was standing closest to me. They were from the local Baptist Church. After a couple of songs, he gave the hard sell–how nonbelievers scream in agony in the fires of Hell for all of eternity, and such.
This morning, a slow but steady knocking came upon my door. It was two older black women. They told me their names and asked mine. I thought that they were neighbors, but they were really Jehovah’s Witnesses! One of them asked, “Is living without pain or sadness possible?” I said, “No.” They gave me a card and went away.
Life would be boring without pain and sadness.
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
dust exchange 