Bikes drown, mailboxes disappoint

I did a 2-year full time LDS mission in Pennsylvania in the 70’s. Knocked on thousands of doors. Met lots of people. A tough experience I wouldn’t trade for the world.

August 1974. An inebriated gentleman came up behind me one night and held a knife to my throat just outside a bar. It was pretty intense for five minutes plus. Our apartment was on the second story, just above the bar. I was pretty happy to finally walk up the stairs to our apartment that night without any red on my white shirt.

Another time my companion and I stopped a suicide on the subway. It just about started a race war since we were the only two white guys on the train. Some folks were not happy we meddled and yet others were. There was a lot of yelling on that particular underground train ride.

During our door-knocking extravaganza, we happened by the door of the home that Grace Kelly grew up in. Another time, we sat and shot the bull with a lady in her very old home that George Washington slept in one night.

No vacations, no visits home, no parties, lots of work. 2 years. Great experience.

Got my feet on the ground concerning God. That’s the best part of a mission.

My son Will served a mission in North Carolina. He shot a video of himself and his companion riding their bikes in the rain. His comp does a nice wheelie and then goes off road to get cleaned up before they get their boatload of mail out of the mailbox from home.

 

Will is my remote IT guy. That is, when he’s in the mood to answer his phone.

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