Jehovas Witness Online

My early education of the Mormon faith, as well as the Jehovah Witness, wasn't the most enlightening. I was being babysat with my brother at Nanny Blackburn's home. She lived at the very end of a little lane in the Johnson Trailer Park in Timberlea, N.S.

The trailer's location by the lake allowed us to view the entrance of the park, having a perfect view of who was coming and going at any given time.

When my grandmother got a glimpse of people, mostly young men dressed in white shirts and black pants, going door to door, she'd draw the curtains and make us sit quietly as they knocked on the door.

When pressed about why she wouldn't greet her guests, she felt she didn't want to waste their time, and that she already had her own religion (we're all Catholic) and wasn't interested in hearing about theirs. I didn't question her thinking, believing that if my grandmother felt we should avoid talking to people who arrived on your doorstep unannounced and uninvited and peddling religion, then that's what we should do.

I was young then - maybe 7 or 8 when this first happened. I remember my skewed thought process went something like: these men would come to your door and sign you up to their church, so you had to avoid them so you could stay in your own faith.

I am older and wiser now, and have a better understanding of multiple faiths. I embrace those who come to my door - some figuratively, some physically.

Unlike the unwanted telemarketer who calls our home interrupting our supper hour and family time, these people, members of the Mormon Church, are taking a risk every day for their faith.

They wander neighborhoods, literally on a mission, spreading their word, and fulfilling what their church believes should take place - a type of outreach. They run into many people like my grandmother, who would hide and avoid answering the door, and they also get a few doors shut on them.

But in my house some of the young people who new to our community, sent here on required 'Mormon missions,' have been invited in and fed.

Some of the young men I've met over the years have been far from home - some living on their own for the first time. A few of these young men are shy, some have told stories of family members being sick at home and being unable to go visit, but all are kind human beings who just want to connect and be validated in their conviction.

Much has been written about the Mormon faith and, in particular, their 'missions.' Some have called situations cruel - a young son unable to go home to be with his mother when she died, another unable to go to his father's funeral - told they must fulfil their mission work. I'm not here to judge, I leave that up to a higher power.

But I am here to mother. I can't turn that off. Knowing these young men, many just 18 years old, are here without family and friends softens my heart. I think of my own boy and what I'd want for him if he were living away. I look at them differently because I know they're here alone.

I talk to them, I provide them with a cup of tea, or a bit of lunch, and kind words. One day two young men spent an entire afternoon on my back deck talking to my kids about Utah and geography, and water balloon fight strategies. After hearing me talk about plans for cleaning out the storage area under our back deck, they arrived unannounced the next day offering help.

I teased they were wasting their time because we were practising Catholics and are active members of the St. Gertrude's Parish.

They teased back saying they can always hope, and that maybe lifting heavy things for me would change my mind. We shared laughter over the moving of wood, a barbecue and a snow blower.

People have a right to choose religion in our country; people have a right to have opinions about other religions; people have the right to not answer their door too. What I think we fail to remember is that is that 'people' have faces - we aren't just nameless 'people.' We are all caring human beings who should be treated with respect - no matter what church we belong to.

Just last week a woman came to our door, took one look at my husband, and asked for me by name.

We met once at the Hilltop Vegetable Market in Woodstock. She introduced herself then, telling me that even though we hadn't met previous, she knew me well - she read about my family in the Gleaner each Monday.

When she came inside she was holding a Watchtower publication. She is Jehovah Witness.

We hugged, she quoted scripture, I asked her if she'd like to come in for a refreshment. She declined the offer, saying her and her friend were with others, and had to get going. She left me some literature and I sent her off with a copy of my magazine and a big hug.

We connected, but not in relation to her faith or mine. We connected because we took the time to listen to one another and we cared enough to respect each other's beliefs. Religious beliefs aside, I think God would approve.

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Theresa Blackburn is a wife, mother and New Brunswick Community College instructor who lives and writes in Woodstock. You can email her at theresa@mybigfatlife.ca, or join her group, Big Fat Life, on Facebook.

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