I vowed to never write about religious beliefs on my blog because, well, to each their own, and I know whatever I write could possibly spark someone trying to convince me otherwise. Since I am firm in my beliefs, I really don't need to welcome someone telling me I'm wrong about my them, which, in and of itself, makes no sense.
The other day, around 4:30pm, the doorbell rang at our house. I was working at home that day but just about ready to leave to pick up my son from daycare. I've been working what seems to be non-stop for months now, so some days I shower, other days I don't; some days I manage to put on a real bra, other days I just wear my sleep bra (and yes, I know what this makes the girls look like). On this day, I was wearing my sleep bra and what I consider my PJs, so I quickly changed out of my PJ bottoms and put on jeans.
I looked out the peephole, and two men were standing on the walkway. We are renting a house, so I always feel like I should answer the door lest it's the maintenance men (who, I've come to realize, likes to show up at random times/days since we've moved in) because they will just come in on their own accord, and my biggest fear is that this will happen while I'm in the shower or on the toilet. Yes, I know they are supposed to give 24-hour notice before entering the premises, but somehow they get around this by giving us a 4-week window of when they may possibly show up.
I opened the door. The two men were in black and white, both wearing name tags saying stating they were working for Jesus.
Oh. hell. no. I thought.
"Good afternoon, m'am," the one nearest the door said.
Being suspicious by nature, I'll admit that I freaked out then. Instead of being nice and polite, and telling them to go away, and that I didn't need to hear their spiel on whatever it was they were going to tell me, I simply said, "OHHHHHHHHHHHHH. I AM NOT INTERESTED!"
That was when I noticed the box on the walkway, near the door. Ever since we moved here, as I previously mentioned, I've been working non-stop, which means I rarely get a chance to go shopping like a normal person. So I order from Amazon a lot. And other places. But mostly Amazon. I think the UPS and FedEx delivery people are done with me because they stopped letting me know a package is being delivered by ringing the doorbell or knocking on the door. They've even started leaving other people's packages at my door, which I assume means they think if they are delivering anything in my court, it means it's for me. I then end up trying to figure out whom the package belongs to and delivering it to that person.
So I had two choices. Ignore the package and get it later, or try to get the package and hope the two starry-eyed missionaries leave me alone and go away.
For whatever reason, probably out of stubbornness, I decided I had to have that package regardless of these two men standing on my walkway.
I opened the glass door further (I guess this is what would be known as a screen door in California, and it might possibly be called a storm door in Minnesota, but I have no real clue on such matters) in hopes I could grab the package and run back into the house, but the man closest to me bent down to grab it first.
"Let me get that for you," he said. He was all smiles and possibilities.
I was all panic and irateness.
"Um, thank you," I said, trying to grab the box from his hands as quickly as I could.
"Is there anything we can help you with?" the man asked. "We would like to help you."
Help me? What the heck? How can these two men...help me?
See how their ploy almost worked? It got me thinking...Help me. Could they clean our bathrooms? Pick up all the boy's toys? Do the dishes? Cook dinner? Do my work so I could spend time with my family on the weekends? And then I remembered they were working for Jesus, and I was having none of that.
"No, thank you. I'm NOT INTERESTED!" I said in a tizzy as I closed the door.
I ran back to the bedroom so I could throw my sweatshirt on and wait until I thought the men had left our court so then I could leave to get my kid from daycare. I was trapped.
I decided to call my husband to tell him what just happened. Because if anyone was going to be as appalled as I was, it was him.
"GUESSWHATJUSTHAPPENEDTOME!" I said.
"What!?" he answered.
So I told him the story and expressed my annoyance that we live in an area of the state where starry-eyed missionaries feel it's okay to show up on your doorstep and try to...help you.
He told me he had to go back to work.
When I left to get my son, the two men were just walking out of the court and to the sidewalk. Off to help someone else in the name of hey-sus. Crisis averted, I thought.