For me, the hours have always been more or less meaningless. I never really cared about being precise, and besides, there was always the need to be above average. In the end, it was just a number. As I got older, I realized that reporting hours became a convenient way to pressure the elders, especially since I was always at odds with those pigs—not all of them, but only a few could be called friends.
In 2018, since I hadn’t signed the privacy policy, I added that to the list. So, no names on the notice board—neither mine nor those of my two unbaptized boys. The fools who only know how to talk nonsense needed a serious lesson. That’s why I made sure they were publicly shamed before the elders’ committee and forbade them and their wives from contacting us. I made sure to leave one of them, the best one, without any restrictions, so no one could say I was out to get them all. But it had to be clear: anyone who opened their mouth would be hunted as if it were open season hunting
—no prisoners, ever!
For decades, I would call them dogs in front of everyone in the congregation, and no one ever did anything to me for it. The preaching report was something that really annoyed the elders—a lot.