Allowing for the possibilities...

“There are some guys who don’t believe in God and can prove he doesn’t exist, and some other guys who do believe in God and can prove He does exist, and the argument stopped being about God a long time ago, and honestly, I don’t care. I don’t believe I will ever walk away from God for intellectual reasons. If I walk away from Him, I will walk away for social reasons, identity reasons, deep emotional reasons, the same reasons that any of us do anything.” - from Blue Like Jazz (page 103).

It's Saturday at 11:30, and a friendly mom-like women is standing on my front porch. I smile and muster my cheeriest "Good Morning?!?". She smiles and hands me a pamphlet containing insultingly simple theological questions like "Is God Real?" and "How do I get into heaven? My smile fades to an obvious grimace, and I consider running out into traffic to avoid the coming conversation.

"Do you believe God is real?", The Jehovah Witness asks, pushing the open pamphlet closer to my face.

"I allow for the possibility", I reply. (Note: You should never reply positively to any question from a Jehovah's witness. It's like dumping blood into a pool full of sharks.)

We verbally spar through a few more questions, and by the time I close the door, I feel judged, annoyed, inconvenienced, angry, and further from God than I ever have before.

Sigh. How did a two minute conversation, make me loath this friendly mom-like women to the point where I wanted to verbally smack her off my porch? Why do I loath her at all? Weren't her intentions good?

To the friendly mom-like Jehovah's Witness...
I don't care about your pamphlet or your beliefs or your intentions because you don't care about me.

You have to earn the right to have a conversation about God with someone. People come to God through trust... not solicitation. You have to dive into the dirt of people's lives if you want them to trust you and ponder eternity. If you want to talk about God with me, you need to take the time to learn and accept my dreams/my flaws/my mistakes/my successes/my friends/my problems/my family/my desires and my secret desires. You need to get to know me.

I don't think you give a damn about me or my soul, but I allow for the possibility that you might.

If we ever meet again, before you ask me "Do you believe God is real?", try asking me my name. It's Patrick, by the way.