there been no “Merry Christmas,” there was no tree, no red and green lights, no decorations, nothing.
Curious.
When I asked why, Dustin told me that they were Jehovah’s Witnesses and thus didn’t observe holidays that weren’t sanctioned by the Bible. That was why they had returned home on Christmas Eve: they’d been visiting Laura’s parents and couldn’t celebrate with them without running afoul of God and conscience.
My relief was palpable. “Oh!” I said. “We’ve never celebrated Christmas, either!”
“Really?” he asked. “What religion is it again?”
“Baptist,” I said.
“Don’t Baptists celebrate Christmas?” Laura asked.
“Not … our church.”
Dustin’s brow furrowed, and they both nodded. “Well,” he said, “should we pause for lunch?”
What I actually wanted was to spend the rest of the day firing questions at them. What did they believe? And why? How had they chosen to become Jehovah’s Witnesses? If they took instruction from the Bible, why had Laura’s beautiful dark curls been chopped? What about the passage that clearly requires long hair for women and short hair for men? Doth not even nature itself teach you, that, if a man have long hair, it is a shame unto him? But if a woman have long hair, it is a glory to her: for her hair is given her for a covering.
I managed to suppress my curiosity at first, but as the day wore on and we became more at ease with each other, I couldn’t help bringing the conversation back to religion. I tried to assume the role of objective observer, but I found it impossible to discuss the Floyds’ beliefs without contrasting them to my former tradition—and since Westboro’s beliefs and practices were so unusual and well-known, it didn’t take them long to guess which church I might be describing. As with Cora and the dealers at the Four Aces, I was surprised again at how understanding of my past Dustin and Laura seemed to be. Instead of anger or judgment, it was fast friendship that resulted from our opening up to one another. For the next several days, we spent every spare moment we could find together, talking about belief during their lunch hour, chopping vegetables for dinner, and sitting around the living room afterward with Bibles and Web browsers at the ready.
When communications with Grace thawed again—always a mysterious but welcome process—she joined the discussion, as well. It would have been easy to spend all our days talking about theology, but Laura suggested we take our conversation on the road so that we wouldn’t sit at the inn and miss the beauty of the Hills. At Mount Rushmore National Memorial, Laura pointed out an old educational video featuring the fathers of both of our hosts—Dustin’s had been the first employee of the Mount Rushmore Society, and Laura’s had been the superintendent here for nearly two decades, later moving to Yellowstone National Park.
“I was born in Yellowstone when my dad was an employee there,” she said. “He’s the superintendent now. That’s where we went to visit my parents last week.”
Laura explained that her decision to become a Jehovah’s Witness in college had put a strain on her relationship with her parents and siblings. She’d been raised Presbyterian and was inspired to convert by Dustin, a longtime friend and love interest who had grown up in the faith. Like members of Westboro, Witnesses are instructed to date and marry only those who share their beliefs—but Laura hadn’t blindly converted for her future husband. Instead, she had carefully studied with Witnesses for four years before deciding to seek baptism and membership in the organization. Although her parents had responded in different ways, both were hurt by her decision. Her father was stoic, but her mother’s pain manifested in occasional angry lamentations about the things Laura would be missing: participating in non-Witness religious ceremonies like weddings and baptisms, and celebrations of holidays and birthdays—important milestones in the life of their family. Laura’s beliefs now spurned the traditions that brought her family together, and inherently judged non-Witnesses as wrongdoers.
“I became something ‘Outside’ in my family,” Laura told me later. “Being present at family gatherings that centered around holidays felt like being a vegan at a meat feast. No one can figure out exactly why this person is here, and are they really just going to stand over the meatballs and judge us?”
In the eyes of her family, Laura was behaving irrationally. Canvassing neighborhoods to knock on the doors of strangers to explain to them the importance of joining an organization whose members were