IT WAS MEMORIAL NIGHT. I had been assigned to give a talk at the Kingdom Hall of Jehovah’s Witnesses about the need to follow the elders’ directions. Some in the congregation had been talking negatively about a decision made by the elders to sell the Kingdom Hall. I was sitting writing my talk notes. I decided I would be very direct and tell the congregation that obeying the elders was essential for peace and unity.
An old friend called Lucy turned up at the door. She asked me, “Have you got your bread and wine?” It turned out that the memorial services were going to be held in small groups in private homes. I was disappointed, thinking only a few Witnesses would hear my talk, but then Lucy told me the groups were going to be connected via a telephone link.
I walked around outside of the house. It was my parents’ house, the one I lived in from 17 to 24 years old. A young “brother” called Scott was walking around with a clipboard doing an inspection of the walls. He didn’t seem to see the large cracks. I showed him how to do the inspection properly, noting the cracks on his report. We walked around to the front of the house and noticed the entire front wall had collapsed. We could see my parents’ bedroom from the outside. What’s more, the entire top floor was now resting precariously on a toilet. I pointed to my mum how dangerous this was but she wasn’t bothered. I then told her my bedroom at the back of the house swayed from side to side by 12 inches if I moved too quickly.
I looked at a clock. It was 17:30 but I read it as 5:30. A group of Jehovah’s Witnesses would be arriving at 7 pm for the memorial so I decided to get ready. I got in the bath and started washing. Just then, a bearded Witness called Fred turned up with his family. I was annoyed that they were so early. They sat outside the bathroom door chatting while I bathed, but then they started to wander in. Fred started shaving in my bathwater.