Knock Knock

For the last year that we lived in our house in Chandler, I somehow found myself on a pair of Jehovah's Witnesses project list.  It started out with me not being able to handle any sort of uncomfortable confrontation.  On their first visit, I graciously accepted their Watchtower magazine.  On their second visit, I accepted compliments for how beautiful my children are, then introduced them.  On their third visit, they greeted me by my first name.  On their fourth visit, I reluctantly accepted their Watchtower magazine and silently promised myself that I wouldn't open the door then next time.  By their next visit, I had cracked their schedule and realized they were visiting me every Tuesday morning between ten and eleven in the morning.  This went on for months and months.

I came to expect the knock at the door, and then the persistent doorbell ringing.  I tried to run errands on Tuesday mornings because I got tired of convincing Mylie to crawl around inside the house with me, lest they spot us through the front window.  

They began waiting for me.  For how long, I cannot say.  They would wait, standing in the middle of my driveway.  Sometimes, I would keep driving past my own house, and circle the neighborhood until they left.  See?  I will go to great lengths to avoid confrontation.

One day, they tricked me.  They were hiding in a nearby van, and when I pulled into my driveway, they began to approach.  I did what any rational adult lady would do, and closed the garage door before I got out of the car.  Obviously, they knew we were home, but I still made everyone hide and be quiet once we were inside.  After about five minutes of knocking and ringing.  I gave up and answered the door.  Would you believe that I actually acted surprised that someone was at my front door?  No shame, this gal.

I finally got the nerve to tell them while I respected what they were doing, I just couldn't waste their time any longer.  I pointed to the "For Sale" sign in our front yard, and told them why were were selling our house and moving... that we were moving to Haiti as missionaries.  Christian missionaries.  And that I was very secure in my beliefs, but thanks for stopping by!

So earlier this week, I was hanging out with the kids when I heard a knock at our front gate.  Sometimes I don't answer our gate if we aren't expecting anyone, particularly if Gary isn't home.  After several minutes of knocking,  I ran upstairs to see if I could see who it was over the fence.  I saw a pair of nicely dressed men.  I deemed it safe, and went to open the gate.

After several minutes of a regular old broken English, broken Creole awkward conversation.  He pulled out, no joke, a Watchtower magazine.  Overcome with bravery, I put my hand up and just told him to put on the brakes.  Not really, I'm not sure that would have translated well.  I told him WE were here in Haiti as missionaries, so we're good on the religious beliefs front.  Thanks, but no thanks.  

When Gary got home I related the incident.  He told me he was sure those ladies from Chandler sent them.  I'm pretty sure he's right.