They live in your country, your city, your neighborhood. They try to speak your languages and observe your customs. They ride bikes in dark suits or conservative skirts and blouses. They stop you in the streets, in the park, or in the grocery store even if you are making it clear that you have no interest in talking to them.
They knock on your door, wake up the baby, interrupt dinner, and disrupt the only sliver of time you have managed to dedicate to unwinding. They always—always—just want to share their message about Jesus. And they all say this with that toothy smile that someone, somewhere, must have taught them because they all have it. They are door-to-door salesmen of their salvation, in all the most unpleasant ways.
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