Mystery solved: she's Mormon!
And by "she," I mean "me."
Two Sundays ago, I came home from church and stopped to talk to Mrs. R., my downstairs neighbor, who invited me in for a couple of minutes. (Mrs. R. is my landlord's mother, so while I'm not her tenant, exactly, I'd better be nice to her if I know what's good for me. Happily, she's also a very fun and energetic woman, so it's no trouble to stop by on occasion. I just worry that I'm being too noisy at night or early in the morning.)
Anyway, she invited me in for a bit and we got to talking about the beautiful Catholic church which is right across the street from us. (It even has a church bell that tolls on Sunday morning, adding all kinds of authentic New England charm to the neighborhood.) As we continued to talk, I mentioned that I had just come back from church, myself, and Mrs. R. asked what church I attended.
"I'm Mormon," I said.
"That's what I thought!" she responded, triumphantly.
I have been living over you for less than one week, I thought. How on earth do you already know that I'm Mormon? Have I been conspicuously not drinking? Is my pioneer genetic stock that obvious? Are there outward signs that I'm already subconsciously counting down to sleeping in on General Conference weekend?
"Really?" I asked. "Why?"
Apparently I had mentioned something to Mrs. E., my landlord's secretary, about how I'd been staying with a couple from my church during my first week in Maine. (I had called ahead several weeks and asked the bishop in the ward I thought I'd be living in if there was anyone who could put me up, so that I'd be spared the expense of a hotel.) Mrs. E. had been impressed by that information, and had mentioned it to Mrs. R., with whom she is good friends. Together, they puzzled over which church it could be that took such good care of its members. They ruled out their own respective denominations, because they knew of no new members in their congregations, and finally decided that it sounded like something the Mormons would do.
I guess we could do worse than to be known for taking good care of people.
10 Comments:
taking good care of our own people, actually.
see, the beehive symbol is perfect: if you're one of us, you get some honey. if you're not, we'll sting you.
Alea - :P
There's nothing wrong with caring for one's own flock, and it's not like we don't spend tons of money on humanitarian efforts.
Perhaps you aren't familiar with how we distribute a lot of our humanitarian aid.
Guess what guys, we brought free clothes and food!
Needy people : YAY!
all you have too do is promise to talk to the missionaries.
slightly cautious needy people : ...Okay, please can I have some food?
* Next Day * Knock knock, time to collect, the missionaries are here...
At least that was my experience with anything resembling humanitarian aid in Brazil. You only get help if you promise to investigate the church, and we will be doling out plenty of guilt.
I am sure that isn't the way every single humanitarian project goes, because sometimes there are cameras.
:) It is still helping them though :)
That sounds like a neat location, with the bell and all. dreamy, really.
(I apologize if that last comment is a little sharp, I am kind of bitter about a few things :D)
Thanks, guys. Way to ruin my post.
[laughs] That's great.
(Tangent: You're worried you're being too noisy? Are we talking about the same Katya here?)
This reminds me of that Divine Comedy "Mormonad" parody with the one daisy in a vase full of roses: When you're different, it's painfully obvious.
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Sheesh. The post, I thought, was awesome.
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I thought this post was rad.
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