I grew up in North Idaho. Well, for awhile. Sort of. From five to 10. I have vivid memories of the Mormon kids telling my brother, sister and me that we were going to Hell. Hell. HELL. Because we didn’t believe in the Book of Mormon. (We have the Book of Common Prayer, but that is much, much different.)
At any rate, it’s not a very welcoming message. And so scary when you’re seven!
At any rate, it’s not a very welcoming message. And so scary when you’re seven!
Being raised in an Episcopalian, coffee drinking, cocktail hour, wine with dinner, family planning house the whole thing seemed foreign.
On the occasion that the missionaries stop, I usually say something to the effect of, “I’m Episcopalian, love coffee and booze and have no plans on converting”. That’s usually enough. They know enough to know we won’t give up coffee. Or booze.
Plus, my seven year old self is still smarting from those threats of hell. So, get off my porch with your white shirt and your tie.
Tonight, whilst sitting on the porch, drinking wine, talking about our days and listening to the rain, we watched the Mormon Elders walk by the house. They haven’t stopped in awhile.
The rainbow flag and me often running around in a tool belt seems to be enough that they know we aren’t going to make a big religious leap.
But, Deb. God love her. Literally. I love that woman. She had to get to know them. She had to know how they feel about ‘the gay’.
They gave a very nice response about love, etc. Then offered to come over and do some yard work.
We do have this big ol’ wedding happening in a couple weeks... Big ol’ gay wedding. Lots of yard work needed...
“Please don’t”, I said as I swallowed the last of my wine. Bottle.
“I think I can teach them. They’ll learn about real love if they’re around here.”
“No, please”.
“I think this is an opportunity for growth”.
“They hate us”.
“What if we can change them”?
“We can’t. They were born this way. Just like us.” Then I laughed hysterically. Maybe that was the influence of the wine.
“I think we can”.
“Jesus Christ. On a bicycle”, I rolled my eyes. Hard. I probably pulled a muscle.
I don’t have a lot of bias. I live a fortunate life. I know I’m lucky. But, my seven year old self, carrying a lot of baggage, has some bias. Maybe even a lot of bias.
She’s got some stuff to work through.
Perhaps she can work through that while they do yard work.
