The Sister Mormons

Did I mention a few months ago I saw some over heating Mormon Missionaries on the side of the road and picked them up -- because my code of ethics says you don't leave people you are slighted connected to out on a hot day on a busy road with no side walks in stupid Tennessee?

Well, I did.

I could have lied and told then I only knew about Mormons from a friend. But I just politely explained that I went to BYU and used to be Mormon. This was good because in that same moment -- Quinn was in the back telling the other one we used to live in Utah. My lie would not have made it very far.

Anyway, now they stop by the house once a week or so, but we are usually not home or asleep or "can't hear them knocking."

Today we were home, and I let them in. They hung out with the kids while I cleaned the house and checked all the kids' backpacks for tomorrow. It was mostly nice except the anticipation of them probably and eventually saying something frustrating or infuriating. But then I would remind myself that I am an adult and they are children. And MANY people I love were once Mormon missionaries -- including my dear husband, my in-laws, and the first Lizza in my life, who actually served here in stupid Tennessee and had a hard time. I picture those young people and others so far from home and having bad days sometimes. My sweet husband was in Chile for two years trying as hard as possible to believe what he was preaching. And he did it while dreaming of coming home to marry me. I'm a softy. And, again, I'm the adult and these are children on a life quest and who knows what's going on with them. They're just people. So what do you do? Be a good person, right?

So, we hung out with the missionaries. We took selfies with them. Offered them Mac N Cheese. Read them stories. Played Spot it with them. And then we invited them to family circle where -- far from home -- they sat with my little family and sang a song, listened to each person share their joys and concerns, and then did a breathing exercise -- and then we let them pray "like grandma and grandpa" before they left.

Maybe they left thinking, "Sweet! We got our foot in the door with that inactive family." Or maybe they thought, "Those were pretty nice non-Mormons." Or maybe they noticed how respectfully I spoke to my kids about honoring other people's faith. Or maybe they'll just keep trying to make me be Mormon, which I realize is the reality. Whatever. It's harmless. My life is pretty good. I'm happy to share it AND my Mac N Cheese with anyone -- even the "Sister Mormons," (which is what Quinn calls them.)