My Sister's Wedding Picture: Jesus Knocking At The Door.

Brother Walthal seemed happy enough giving my sister away to a Conservative Baptist.

No brain drain there.

That's me second from right wearing the blue leisure pants with polyester shirt.

Had my sister bring her wedding album with her last visit so I could scan this picture and add it to my Methodist folder with other pictures as proof of my Methodist upbringing.

Also wanted a picture of the main stained glass window at the front of the church 

of 

Jesus knocking at a door.

God forbid he ever knocks on Bob and Janet Gary's door.  Probably accuse him of banging on their door like they did me!

Don't know why I would have knocked/banged on their door to begin with.  

Doorbell always worked just fine.  

I'm only able recalling them not answering the doorbell on three occasions.  The  first time was the Friday morning after Thanksgiving 2010; causing me to be concerned enough that I called the police to verify they were okay before I continued on to work that morning at Beaver Crossing Animal Hospital where I also told them that day of my crystal meths addiction. 

But I waited until two police officers showed up at the Gary's home first; one black female in one police car and a tall heavy set white male arriving in the another.  The Gary's didn't answer the doorbell or phone call by them either.  The two police officers had to go around to the back of the house before speaking with the Gary's.

The second time, I believe was this mention of me ringing their doorbell August 08, 2011 at 2330 hour.  Believe this was the evening I screamed toward their home while standing on sidewalk my side of the street:

"All right...Bob, Janet!  

Let's not go forgetting our rural country doctors delivering babies 24 hours / 7 days a week.  

Again...Bob,Janet!

Don't go forgetting our rural country doctors delivering babies 24 hours / 7 days a week!"

No lights turned on.

Causing me to walk back to corner of my home where I can overlook Charles W. Bliss backyard and backside of his house.  This is where I sreamed toward Mr. Bliss home:

"ALL RIGHT, CHARLIE!ARE YOU A GOOD FAGGOT, OOR