I set out to enjoy a walk with the baby on this beautiful, sunny spring day. I made it two houses before I noticed a trap. There were sets of people, walking in pairs knocking on doors, sauntering up driveways, leaving literature in mailboxes. It was either a group of political canvassers, reverse trick or treaters, or my annual ‘run-and-hide’ from the local chapter of Jehovah’s Witnesses was about to take shape.

I looked at my watch (the battery has been dead for two days but, it gave me a purpose and a fake place to pretend I needed to be). I knelt down and whispered to the baby, “We’re going to run home and play in the backyard now to hide from the people who want us to pray with them.”

She winked at me and nodded and we moon-walked back to the house.

I watched as my bible carrying friends moved from house to house. The men dressed in dark clothes, the women in bright jackets with hoods. The women always seem to be struggling to hike up the driveways, arms linked, one leaning on the other, they move slowly.

Why the hoods? Is it because they worry someone is going to yell out the window, “Jane? Is that you? Why aren’t you at work?” The men don’t seem to be in hiding. They walk with purpose, appear to be enjoying themselves and are dressed as if their next stop is at Happy-Happy’s funeral home.

I don’t know why I have such a hard time accepting these people and their message. I think it’s because they are uninvited guests in my home and like anyone who drops in unannounced, I am on edge about the state of cleanliness and whether or not the avocado is ripe enough to whip up some guacamole. I simply can’t handle this kind of pressure so early in the morning.

I guess I also feel violated. While I encourage everyone to find joy in their lives and a sense of community, I just don’t want other communities knocking on my “house of messing” to spread their hooded message of love.

So we hid like cowards in the backyard and long after I heard them ringing my door-phone I feared they were going to walk into my yard and force the baby and I into a prayer circle with the soccer ball as the hot-potato of forgiveness while I excused myself to find the chips for the guac.

It’s not that I don’t love a sharply dressed, hooded woman with something to share about what keeps her inspired. I simply don’t have time for this. I’m merely throwing it out there that my credit card was skimmed last week and used at various gas stations and fast food restaurants in the area. I’m not suggesting for a second this team of do-gooders was in any way involved, I’m just saying there is irony in this group arriving on my doorstep with pamphlets about forgiveness so soon after the skimming.

Besides, we are setting up our preview of the Polly Pocket Lost & Found shoe-a-thon and I’m going to need time and focus.