I opened the door to some woman I'd never seen before. She was in her late twenties, with shoulder-length dark hair that almost looked fashionable. Her button-down coat was fastened all the way even though it wasn't that cold outside. She held something in her hands but I didn't notice right away what it was.
"May I help you?" I asked.
She smiled at me, the way someone does when they do it all day long and can't even tell you when they're smiling because they don't hardly know anymore. She asked if I'd like to discuss Bible-based liturgy, but I thought she said, "bowel-removal surgery."
I gave her a look. "What kind of surgery???"
She looked away and tried to hold back a grin. It made her seem more human and down-to-Earth than any other door-knocking Jesus recruiters I'd ever met.
But it wasn't enough. Even a conversation about bowel-removal surgery would have been preferable.
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