Recently, I posted on Facebook that I started a spreadsheet to help me remember my neighbors' names. I've lived in this rental for almost 5 years now, and I've seen a lot of turnover in the adjoining townhomes. So I've had a hard time keeping track of everyone.
But recently I was thinking about the kind of neighbor I used to be. Back in Wisconsin, in my first apartment. Without any kind of spreadsheet and even after years have passed, I clearly remember many of my neighbors and their names. I've blogged about some of them before. But most recently, I was thinking about the way I treated those neighbors.
There was Page, a very shy little girl I invited to VBS at my church, where she blossomed. Her mom came to the closing event and was amazed at how much Page had come out of her shell. I don't know where Page is today, but I hope she remembers that week at VBS and how much she loved learning about Jesus.
There was Olivia, a 5th grader who was delighted when I gave her a children's Bible. I had many conversations with her and her mom, and I wonder: does Olivia still have that Bible? Does she read it? Is she seeking to know more about God today?
There was Emmanuel and Shoshanda, a brother and sister in a home of neglect and physical abuse that I never could prove to CPS. But I gave them what their parents didn't: attention, care, and love. When Emmanuel hit his head and his parents just yelled at him to finish the task they'd asked their 3-year old to do, I helped him get them their keys and then I hugged him until the tears stopped. I played hopscotch and jump rope with Shoshanda. And I wonder: did my influence in their lives give them a glimpse that not all people are mean? That there is hope and love in this world?
There was Tish, a single mom with 6 kids under the age of 8. Like me, Tish lived on the 2nd floor. But unlike me, she had two kids who couldn't walk and a third who could only barely crawl up the stairs. And since her oldest wasn't old enough to safely carry the others up the stairs, I would listen through my thin walls for the sound of Tish and her kids entering the building, and I'd go down to help her carry them all upstairs. When my ex and I got the dishes on our wedding registry, we gave her my old set and discovered she only had one small pot. So a week later when we unexpectedly got a gift card to Walmart, we used it to buy her a pot set, other kitchen utensils, and some toys for the kids. And I wonder: does Tish have a good support system now? Does she know that God loves her?
There was Jessica, whom I never met but often heard through my floor, fighting with her boyfriend. And after one particularly mean fight in which her boyfriend talked about how much hotter his ex was, I left a note on her door to let her know that she was beautiful and God loved her, and not to let anyone tell her otherwise.
There was the neighbor I saw getting shoved by a man, and I called the police. Later, I received a subpoena and helped put the man in jail for his assault. I only actually met that neighbor in the court's waiting area after I testified. But I'm glad I was able to help keep her safe from this man for at least a little bit.
I say these things not to brag about my good deeds, but out of conviction. What happened to me being that kind of neighbor? The one who saw the needs of those around her and stepped in to help? The one who reached out? Because in the five years I've been in Colorado, I've done hardly anything to help my neighbors. And maybe it's because my neighbors here don't have needs quite so obvious. And my walls aren't paper thin anymore so I can't hear the problems carry through them.
Or maybe it's because I've retreated inward, used my introvertedness as an excuse not to see or help when I see people around me hurting.
“Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”
The expert in the law replied, “The one who had mercy on him.”
Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.”
- Luke 10:36-37
May I be the kind of neighbor who shows mercy and compassion.
