62: He opened the door.
Two people stood on his porch. Teenagers, a boy and a girl of about sixteen.
The boy was the first to speak. He wore a white shirt and black tie beneath a heavy down coat. “Good afternoon, sir. We are visiting you and your neighbors today to spread the truth. Mind if I ask what religious beliefs you follow? Are you Protestant? Catholic?”
The girl was staring up at the wound on his head, an uneasy smile on her face.
He tugged the black knit cap down tight, covering the inflamed incision as best he could. He returned her smile. “I . . . I recently had surgery. I’m sorry, I usually keep it covered. It can be . . . offensive.”
The boy glanced over at the girl, then turned back to him. “If you are still with us, the Lord clearly meant to spare you. Scars are not offensive. They are a sign of healing, proof of faith, as are the trials that lead to them.”
The man in the black knit cap found himself nodding, the pain and itch all but gone. “Would you like to come in? Get out of the cold?”
The girl shuffled her feet. She weaved her fingers into those of the boy at her side.
The boy smiled. “We’d love to.”