A knock on my door. Two strangers stand on my porch, Holy Bibles tucked under their arms.
When I open the door, a tall, dark-skinned woman stretches out her hand, smiles as she gives me her name. Then she introduces her husband Henry, a shy man who lingers self-consciously behind her. I acknowledge him with a nod of my head; he tips the brim of his feathered fedora.
From her briefcase, she pulls a copy of WATCHTOWER. She offers it to me and I accept.
Bold-faced headlines scream from the cover: GOD WILL END ALL SUFFERING. WHEN? HOW?
"Are you famiilar with God’s promises about suffering?" she asks.
"I sure am," Chapter and verse, I think to myself. "My father was a tent preacher, so I’ve heard many, many sermons on this topic."
She pulls back her head, as if surprised by my explanation. She scours my face, no doubt searching for the thoughts I leave unexpressed.
I don’t offer anything further, and she doesn’t ask. And in that silence, we share a moment of Grace.