TrueTomHarley

I worked with someone in field service recently who was—shall we say—in over-enthused mode. The householder, accordingly, was doing all he could to ensure that the brother did not lay a glove on him. He did not want a fire and he was trying for all he was worth to hose us down. He brought up how he believes each one has his own belief, and furthermore, each one has the obligation to respect the other person’s belief, and so forth. 
Did the brother take the hint? Not a bit of it. He remained convinced that just one more point—just one more sentence from him would turn the whole situation around—and so he kept pressing, while the poor householder was practically working himself into a frenzy.
I interrupted. I rarely do. Contrary to those videos in which the two witnesses stand side-by-side in oddly choreographed behavior, or at least it seems that way to me, I usually hang well back and give the appearance that I am just barely paying attention—this is so it does not appear to be two ganging up against one. I especially do this if it is a woman that answers the door.
With the householder getting agitated—an entirely reasonable response given the brother’s full court press, I interjected: “Let me tell you how it works with Jehovah’s Witnesses.” They both paused. “We ARE going to ask you to convert,” I told him. “But it is not going to happen until the 100th call, and what are the chances anything will go that long? In the meantime, it’s just conversation.”
The tension instantly broke. The person visibly relaxed. “Oh—it is just conversation,” he reflected. Then he allowed that over the years JWs had already probably called upon him 100 times, but even so he (and the other brother’s) demeanor changed. We wrapped up without fuss and moved on. It is a method I heartily recommend, having seen it bear good fruit many times. Search for those who are interested without putting into a panic those who are not.
I probably also said something at the end about how we come without appointment—something that is almost unheard of today—so if someone is gracious to us—as he had been (for he was not at all unpleasant)—we truly appreciate it.

What would you say about those items, then—those teachings referred to—trinity, immortal soul, kingdom is in your heart, all good people go to heaven, etc. ?
Is there any longer for you any concept of some beliefs being biblical and some not?

The WT has long identified the “man of lawlessness” as the clergy of Christendom, not primarily for its conduct, but for its teachings—trinity, immortal soul, kingdom is in your heart, all good people go to heaven, etc.
If Witness truly thinks that the “man of lawlessness” is JW elders, does that not mean that she finds no problem with all those teachings of the churches?

The picture below speaks to a fundamental problem with women in the minds of many men.

I don’t know what in the world you are talking about. There are no such brothers in the USA. Maybe in other places.

Lol. .... I have met many....... in USA and other places..... 

There is a line one does not cross when it comes to loyalty.  The line is when one looks like an opposer...... then you have gone too far.  I have seen this happen on this forum where on thinks one is speaking to an opposer because their ideas have strayed so far from the truth...... and then you find out they do still attend meetings.   
I have noticed here that some are so careful to see both sides that they get their loyalty to jehovah mixed up with secularism and all other kinds of other worldly ideas.
I knew a brother in USA who had an extremely quirky personality and his ways were sometimes unacceptable to others. He was a good man but struggled to bring his personality in line - to control his really offbeat way of looking at life.  He had grown up in an orphanage and had a lot of issues .....and it showed.
I liked him but struggled to relate to him at times.  
We all know we have to try to accept others with their warts and flaws...... but it is hard when one detects disloyalty to Jehovah and the truth.  Yes we are a very imperfect nation with all kinds if weird personality traits as individuals because we all carry baggage from our lives (before and after becoming witnesses).  
 
 
They are human - just like you.  Bring me anyone on earth who has not shot themselves in both feet on occasion

Several times you have likened yourself to Mickey. Now you are proposing a trinity of sorts—you, Mickey, and Joe.
It holds in some surface ways. All three would stand up for the little guy and be angered if that one is treated unjustly. All three have thick hides—they can take it as well as dish it out. All three have a personality that might chafe at the “corporate” nature of the theocratic organization—though I have no evidence that Joe ever did not easily work it out.
Similarities end after this. I can’t imagine Mickey indulging the same complaining spirit as you. One reason that I cannot imagine it is that he had the perfect stage on which to do it and never made use of it. Disfellowshipped at least once, he humbly worked his way back towards reinstatement.
Why? Unlike you who carries on ad naueum about how the Mighty Eight can ruin someone’s life forever, they had no power to “ruin” his. His 2nd wife was not a Witness (she is intensely political—I follow her on Twitter—my guess is that she has no high regard for JW, and may hold it responsible for sabotaging his best work), no family members in the truth so far as I know, professional success and thereby lots of friends—he was a close friend of John Wayne, for example....He could have told those brothers to kiss off—he had no need of them. They couldn’t “ruin his life” at all. Still, he submitted to congregation discipline and took steps to get reinstated. I believe that he feared God and realized that such fear included treating with respect those taking the lead for the work they do. I think he was able to “man up” and not cry when discipline came his way, even if it was not discipline spot-on in every regard. 
Certainly Joe and probably Mickey was able to overcome any distaste for “organization” to appreciate that it affords far more benefits than liabilities—particularly since the earthly organization strives to refine itself. I think Mickey, and certainly Joe, would see the disrespect you show for those taking the lead and become fed up in a hurry. Joe was familiar with the ways of the mob—speak out against their headship and you lose your life, though they might on first offense merely cut out your tongue as a friendly warning. So we may imagine him seeing your rabid maligning and ridiculing of theocratic headship today, coupled with whining should you receive any kickback. “What does the idiot expect?” he would say, and Mickey, too.
That’s one dissimilarity I see. There are more.
 

The WT has long identified the “man of lawlessness” as the clergy of Christendom, not primarily for its conduct, but for its teachings—trinity, immortal soul, kingdom is in your heart, all good people go to heaven, etc.
If Witness truly thinks that the “man of lawlessness” is JW elders, does that not mean that she finds no problem with all those teachings of the churches?

For multiple reasons the scriptures do not portray dogs in a favorable light.
I just thought of another one..      
 

Now you’ve stepped over the line.
JTR is NOT a Democrat!!!

No, you misunderstand. That is Hailstone Massage. It’s the latest craze in health care fads and many of the top Bethelites have gone in for it whole hog.
It is so embarrassing.

Now you’ve stepped over the line.
JTR is NOT a Democrat!!!

Now you’ve stepped over the line.
JTR is NOT a Democrat!!!

If it wasn’t so much work, Hoss would come around and do that for him
This reminds me of the court musician in Amadeus who presents to Mozart a clunky little ditty and Mozart instantly transforms it into a masterpiece.

Joe knew dirty rotten lowlifes well, to use one of his favorite phrases. “You know that car dealer on TV?” he’d say, speaking of certain commercials. “I know him. He’s a dirty rotten lowlife. I’ve seen him at the auction. He always has a woman in one arm and he holds a drink in the other.” Joe knew dirty rotten lowlifes because he had been dirtier than any of them. When he muscled in on the mob’s territory, the mob came to pay him a visit. He emerged from his shack with a live grenade in each hand! “Now, what is it that you boys wanted?” They suddenly remembered that they really hadn’t wanted anything at all. 
Years later, after Joe had become one of Jehovah’s Witnesses, my son began to sweat when police stopped the car his friend was driving. The two had some fireworks inside—not exactly legal at the time. “Watch this,” the friend said as the policeman approached. The cop asked for his license. “Officer,” the friend asked, ‘“do you know my dad, Joe Markow?” A pause. “This doesn’t say Markow,” the cop said, examining the license. “It says Sanchez.” “Yeah, Joe married my mom. He’s the one who raised me.” This got the officer thinking, and presently he bid my son and friend a good evening and let them go with a friendly admonition to drive safely.
“See that fellow over there?” one cop said to his buddy at the coffee shop, pointing to Joe. “He used to be the meanest SOB around and he turned out better than all of us.”
At a committee meeting over an elder who turned out to be a real stinker and Joe saw it before anyone else—in fact, he spotted it instantly, mostly because he had traveled in the same circles—Joe stated what he had seen and that elder called him a liar. Joe reached across the table and half yanked him out of his chair by the lapels. It was all the other brothers could do to persuade him that “we don’t do it that way here, Joe.” 
“How can you brothers be so naive!?” he said astounded to those ones, who could not believe the evidence unfolding right before their eyes. But after the dust finally settled, one of them approached to say: “You’re right, Joe. We are naive.” Sometimes elders are naive.
He also told off a certain overbearing traveling overseer. His body of elders had worked and worked and had a huge number all pumped up excited during the month over auxiliary pioneering—people that hadn’t done it in ages or even ever. They had rearranged priorities and were all hopped up. The visitor came along and said: “Well, it’s a good start.” “Way to crush the spirit of the congregation,” Joe told him.
Besides my sympathies to the family, his death made me sit up and take notice. It didn’t shake me to the core—that would be too strong to put it that way—but it drew more attention than the deaths of most people for whom I am inclined to pass off as ‘another one bites the dust.’ Sounds callous, I know, but I really am one who believes in the resurrection—death is just the beginning of a long but temporary leave-of-absence and I know that I will not see them for a long while but in most cases I was not seeing them anyway. I have said before that “nobody wants to die—it’s inconvenient and it makes people feel bad,” but other than that—so what? The resurrection will undo it all. Joe’s death was different. 
He really wasn’t that old—maybe just two or three years more than me, I think. He might even have been younger. Your definition of what is ‘old’ increases as you get older yourself. I am of the age where I think that I have 20 good years ahead of me, plenty of time to get everything down in writing. But you never know. Maybe life will throw a me curve ball and I will be gone tomorrow. What is that verse about how we are a mist appearing for a little while and then disappearing? Ah—here it is: James 4:14. “Tell your dad you love him,” Davey-the-Kid said to me after his dad died unexpectedly, for which notice they had paged him at the Pittsburgh Special Assembly.
I have said once or twice—no more than that because I really liked the man—that Joe was the originator of 100 stories, each one of which he was the hero. Ordinarily this would be an extremely tiresome quality, but in Joe it was not—I think because I never doubted (and still don’t) that each and every story was true, unembellished, and he really did act as a hero. One can tell when something has the ring of truth and corresponds with experience and known fact in every conceivable way. Having seen it all, he had turned all his energy and empathy towards the congregation and the ones within it.
I have fond memories of our family camping with his at the campground In upstate New York. The two of us would talk for hours by the campfire and then continue while walking the grounds. Sometimes the most trivial details are the ones that survive. Joe used an expression that I had never heard before (or since). I asked him about it. I found it humorous and thus it became a running joke—“throw one over the hoop.” It means taking a leak, and I suppose it is a reference to slobs too lazy to put the toilet seat up. “I’m off to throw one over the hoop,” we would tell each other throughout the weekend.

Joe knew dirty rotten lowlifes well, to use one of his favorite phrases. “You know that car dealer on TV?” he’d say, speaking of certain commercials. “I know him. He’s a dirty rotten lowlife. I’ve seen him at the auction. He always has a woman in one arm and he holds a drink in the other.” Joe knew dirty rotten lowlifes because he had been dirtier than any of them. When he muscled in on the mob’s territory, the mob came to pay him a visit. He emerged from his shack with a live grenade in each hand! “Now, what is it that you boys wanted?” They suddenly remembered that they really hadn’t wanted anything at all. 
Years later, after Joe had become one of Jehovah’s Witnesses, my son began to sweat when police stopped the car his friend was driving. The two had some fireworks inside—not exactly legal at the time. “Watch this,” the friend said as the policeman approached. The cop asked for his license. “Officer,” the friend asked, ‘“do you know my dad, Joe Markow?” A pause. “This doesn’t say Markow,” the cop said, examining the license. “It says Sanchez.” “Yeah, Joe married my mom. He’s the one who raised me.” This got the officer thinking, and presently he bid my son and friend a good evening and let them go with a friendly admonition to drive safely.
“See that fellow over there?” one cop said to his buddy at the coffee shop, pointing to Joe. “He used to be the meanest SOB around and he turned out better than all of us.”
At a committee meeting over an elder who turned out to be a real stinker and Joe saw it before anyone else—in fact, he spotted it instantly, mostly because he had traveled in the same circles—Joe stated what he had seen and that elder called him a liar. Joe reached across the table and half yanked him out of his chair by the lapels. It was all the other brothers could do to persuade him that “we don’t do it that way here, Joe.” 
“How can you brothers be so naive!?” he said astounded to those ones, who could not believe the evidence unfolding right before their eyes. But after the dust finally settled, one of them approached to say: “You’re right, Joe. We are naive.” Sometimes elders are naive.
He also told off a certain overbearing traveling overseer. His body of elders had worked and worked and had a huge number all pumped up excited during the month over auxiliary pioneering—people that hadn’t done it in ages or even ever. They had rearranged priorities and were all hopped up. The visitor came along and said: “Well, it’s a good start.” “Way to crush the spirit of the congregation,” Joe told him.
Besides my sympathies to the family, his death made me sit up and take notice. It didn’t shake me to the core—that would be too strong to put it that way—but it drew more attention than the deaths of most people for whom I am inclined to pass off as ‘another one bites the dust.’ Sounds callous, I know, but I really am one who believes in the resurrection—death is just the beginning of a long but temporary leave-of-absence and I know that I will not see them for a long while but in most cases I was not seeing them anyway. I have said before that “nobody wants to die—it’s inconvenient and it makes people feel bad,” but other than that—so what? The resurrection will undo it all. Joe’s death was different. 
He really wasn’t that old—maybe just two or three years more than me, I think. He might even have been younger. Your definition of what is ‘old’ increases as you get older yourself. I am of the age where I think that I have 20 good years ahead of me, plenty of time to get everything down in writing. But you never know. Maybe life will throw a me curve ball and I will be gone tomorrow. What is that verse about how we are a mist appearing for a little while and then disappearing? Ah—here it is: James 4:14. “Tell your dad you love him,” Davey-the-Kid said to me after his dad died unexpectedly, for which notice they had paged him at the Pittsburgh Special Assembly.
I have said once or twice—no more than that because I really liked the man—that Joe was the originator of 100 stories, each one of which he was the hero. Ordinarily this would be an extremely tiresome quality, but in Joe it was not—I think because I never doubted (and still don’t) that each and every story was true, unembellished, and he really did act as a hero. One can tell when something has the ring of truth and corresponds with experience and known fact in every conceivable way. Having seen it all, he had turned all his energy and empathy towards the congregation and the ones within it.
I have fond memories of our family camping with his at the campground In upstate New York. The two of us would talk for hours by the campfire and then continue while walking the grounds. Sometimes the most trivial details are the ones that survive. Joe used an expression that I had never heard before (or since). I asked him about it. I found it humorous and thus it became a running joke—“throw one over the hoop.” It means taking a leak, and I suppose it is a reference to slobs too lazy to put the toilet seat up. “I’m off to throw one over the hoop,” we would tell each other throughout the weekend.

Joe knew dirty rotten lowlifes well, to use one of his favorite phrases. “You know that car dealer on TV?” he’d say, speaking of certain commercials. “I know him. He’s a dirty rotten lowlife. I’ve seen him at the auction. He always has a woman in one arm and he holds a drink in the other.” Joe knew dirty rotten lowlifes because he had been dirtier than any of them. When he muscled in on the mob’s territory, the mob came to pay him a visit. He emerged from his shack with a live grenade in each hand! “Now, what is it that you boys wanted?” They suddenly remembered that they really hadn’t wanted anything at all. 
Years later, after Joe had become one of Jehovah’s Witnesses, my son began to sweat when police stopped the car his friend was driving. The two had some fireworks inside—not exactly legal at the time. “Watch this,” the friend said as the policeman approached. The cop asked for his license. “Officer,” the friend asked, ‘“do you know my dad, Joe Markow?” A pause. “This doesn’t say Markow,” the cop said, examining the license. “It says Sanchez.” “Yeah, Joe married my mom. He’s the one who raised me.” This got the officer thinking, and presently he bid my son and friend a good evening and let them go with a friendly admonition to drive safely.
“See that fellow over there?” one cop said to his buddy at the coffee shop, pointing to Joe. “He used to be the meanest SOB around and he turned out better than all of us.”
At a committee meeting over an elder who turned out to be a real stinker and Joe saw it before anyone else—in fact, he spotted it instantly, mostly because he had traveled in the same circles—Joe stated what he had seen and that elder called him a liar. Joe reached across the table and half yanked him out of his chair by the lapels. It was all the other brothers could do to persuade him that “we don’t do it that way here, Joe.” 
“How can you brothers be so naive!?” he said astounded to those ones, who could not believe the evidence unfolding right before their eyes. But after the dust finally settled, one of them approached to say: “You’re right, Joe. We are naive.” Sometimes elders are naive.
He also told off a certain overbearing traveling overseer. His body of elders had worked and worked and had a huge number all pumped up excited during the month over auxiliary pioneering—people that hadn’t done it in ages or even ever. They had rearranged priorities and were all hopped up. The visitor came along and said: “Well, it’s a good start.” “Way to crush the spirit of the congregation,” Joe told him.
Besides my sympathies to the family, his death made me sit up and take notice. It didn’t shake me to the core—that would be too strong to put it that way—but it drew more attention than the deaths of most people for whom I am inclined to pass off as ‘another one bites the dust.’ Sounds callous, I know, but I really am one who believes in the resurrection—death is just the beginning of a long but temporary leave-of-absence and I know that I will not see them for a long while but in most cases I was not seeing them anyway. I have said before that “nobody wants to die—it’s inconvenient and it makes people feel bad,” but other than that—so what? The resurrection will undo it all. Joe’s death was different. 
He really wasn’t that old—maybe just two or three years more than me, I think. He might even have been younger. Your definition of what is ‘old’ increases as you get older yourself. I am of the age where I think that I have 20 good years ahead of me, plenty of time to get everything down in writing. But you never know. Maybe life will throw a me curve ball and I will be gone tomorrow. What is that verse about how we are a mist appearing for a little while and then disappearing? Ah—here it is: James 4:14. “Tell your dad you love him,” Davey-the-Kid said to me after his dad died unexpectedly, for which notice they had paged him at the Pittsburgh Special Assembly.
I have said once or twice—no more than that because I really liked the man—that Joe was the originator of 100 stories, each one of which he was the hero. Ordinarily this would be an extremely tiresome quality, but in Joe it was not—I think because I never doubted (and still don’t) that each and every story was true, unembellished, and he really did act as a hero. One can tell when something has the ring of truth and corresponds with experience and known fact in every conceivable way. Having seen it all, he had turned all his energy and empathy towards the congregation and the ones within it.
I have fond memories of our family camping with his at the campground In upstate New York. The two of us would talk for hours by the campfire and then continue while walking the grounds. Sometimes the most trivial details are the ones that survive. Joe used an expression that I had never heard before (or since). I asked him about it. I found it humorous and thus it became a running joke—“throw one over the hoop.” It means taking a leak, and I suppose it is a reference to slobs too lazy to put the toilet seat up. “I’m off to throw one over the hoop,” we would tell each other throughout the weekend.

No, you misunderstand. That is Hailstone Massage. It’s the latest craze in health care fads and many of the top Bethelites have gone in for it whole hog.
It is so embarrassing.

No, you misunderstand. That is Hailstone Massage. It’s the latest craze in health care fads and many of the top Bethelites have gone in for it whole hog.
It is so embarrassing.

No, you misunderstand. That is Hailstone Massage. It’s the latest craze in health care fads and many of the top Bethelites have gone in for it whole hog.
It is so embarrassing.

My wife has them both. To be sure, I watch her closely.

If it wasn’t so much work, Hoss would come around and do that for him
This reminds me of the court musician in Amadeus who presents to Mozart a clunky little ditty and Mozart instantly transforms it into a masterpiece.

My wife has them both. To be sure, I watch her closely.

The picture below speaks to a fundamental problem with women in the minds of many men.