Is it weird that I cringe every time someone rings our doorbell?
Part of it has to do with Cpt. Augustus McCrae going ape crazy nuts, which sends Crash into a fit of terror. It’s nothing short of awesome (insert sarcasm).
The other part of my apprehension revolves around the fact that I probably don’t know the person standing on my front porch. (If I do know them, they’re more apt to just walk in. They know Gus is all bark and all crotch sniff.)
Saturday, we got some unexpected visitors.
Cue the Hell Hound!
Cue the shrieks of fright!
I raced to the door – mainly to calm down Gus. There were two gentlemen standing confidently on my front porch, unfazed by the madness they initiated.
“What’s up, guys,” I asked, peaking my head out the door and trying to keep Gus from acting like he was going to eat them in one bite.
“We’re from a local church. Can we ask you a couple of questions?” They were unfazed that my dog was trying to go through me AND the plate-glass door to get to them.
“Sure,” I said. “I haven’t had adult contact in 48 hours…whatcha got?”
They asked my name. I said Greg Jones (my college roommate).
They asked my age. I said 25 (my standard answer since I turned 32).
They asked if I have a church home. “Yes.”
I watched as they wrote down my answers on a semi-formal form produced by the church.
“When you die, will you go to heaven?”
Then, they asked the million dollar question: “How do you know?”
“I’ve accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior.”
They expressed their approval of my answer – knowing their door-to-door discipleship could be saved for another house. Then one of the nice gentlemen started writing my answer down on the form.
I started to correct him, but I stopped myself.
“It doesn’t matter,” I thought to myself. “You don’t have to be a good speller to get to heaven.”