Missionaries

I see the missionaries more than I would like here in Spain. My first place, it took them about 5 months to track me down (they probably got the addy from someone in my family who is trying to save me). I had to talk to some missionaries to get them to stop irritating my roomies who worked from the piso. I was told that I had a rebellious spirit, and I am obviously in Spain to sin (reminds me of the chastity line in the dorms at BYU. Members of the opposite sex are not allowed in your bedrooms or bathrooms, as if the only place people have sex are in beds and in bathroom-wtf? Sin can happen anywhere, which is what makes satan so popular).

I see them walking down the street, trying to make contacts. They look very young to me. They should be at university; they should be with their friends; they should be devoting two years to actual service, instead of a proselyting mission masquerading as service.

That could have been me. When I graduated with my BA, I was 21, and could have gone on a mission. When I asked my dad if he would help me pay for it, he said "only if you feel like god wants you to go on a mission, not if you are just running away from real life." So I didn't go. God didn't tell me to go on a mission. The leaders of the church would rather have me married and breeding anyway.

I could also not stomach the thought of "bearing my testimony." Constantly. To strangers. I was never a good representative of the church. I don't care what others do with their life, what other people believe. It's not my place. And if god wanted them to do something, he can come down and tell them his damn self (infix swearing is my favorite kind).