Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Dad and the Jehovah Witnesses

The missionary commitment and zeal of the Jehovah Witnesses is commendable but intrusive and often undesirable. Most people want to be respectful of another’s religion no matter how incorrect it is. After you have politely said “No thank you.” For the umpteenth time, you lose patience and can get a little testy.
This is a story about my dad and mom and an unannounced encounter with the Jehovah Witnesses. Their home was situated along a busy highway and often had visits by travelling salesmen, lost drivers, and the Jehovah Witnesses..
My mom and dad were working in the garden one afternoon, getting it ready to plant, when a car pulled into the driveway. When three people, two women wearing nice dresses and a man in a suit and tie got out of the car with a wad of papers in their hands, my mom figured out who it might be and slipped away.
At the back edge of the garden ran a small stream. It was at the bottom of a drop off. The bank was steep and she rolled over the edge, hiding. She peeked over the rim, escaping the confrontation and the unwanted solicitations and yet seeing what was going on.
My dad found that he was left alone to face the inevitable and zealous barrage of their cult’s misrepresentation of the Bible. Dad turned, only to see that Mom had disappeared and it was too late for him to follow. Frustrated and angry at being left to face them alone, he could only watch as these unwanted people approached.
Politely, the Witnesses tried to persuade my father (a staunch and devout Christian) to understand the point of view of their religion. He knew their twisted view on Christ and His deity made them a cult.
My father stood there refusing their premises politely and refuting what they were saying. All the while, my mom would peep over the top of the bank. Because of where my dad was standing, he could see her looking, but the Witnesses couldn’t. My dad got more and more upset, mostly at my mom because she had abandoned him.
In a final attempt to persuade my father to understand what they were saying, one of the misguided missionaries tried to give my dad copies of “The Watchtower” and “Awake”, (Now they try to sell them to you.) saying, “At least take some of our news letters to read.”
Dad made no movement to accept the proffered tracts. To him, it was the last straw. The irritation and anger that had him seething during their visit, bubbled over and Mom’s hiding had lit the fuse.
He responded with a honey sweet refusal, saying, “No thank you. We have enough toilet paper.” His response terminated their visit and stopped their visits for many months.

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