How To Be a Good Neighbor

from Ben's mom

This is not a post with answers. It is a post with longings, with questions, with the hope that a gypsy who rather likes to go briskly in and out her door without knowing who lives downstairs or next door will start to be a more hospitable person.

I've been thinking about this subject (again) for more than a month.

First, I went to a garage sale on the other side of town. I went to look at the wares and move on. The gentleman hosting the sale wanted to connect. He was a European immigrant married to an African immigrant and they were both frustrated with how "Americans don't talk to their neighbors." He wanted to know if I was one of his neighbors; he didn't know. He indicated attempts at friendliness that met with a cool response. He had lived in his house for more than two years and he said that he had hosted the garage sale in the hope that his neighbors would come and he could get to know them. I was off the hook; I was not a neighbor. But oh the conviction that coursed through me. If I had lived next door, he wouldn't have known it.

The second event occurred about a month ago. We returned from a weekend in Oregon to a new car in the carport and knew that we had a new neighbor downstairs. I was on my way to the store one day when a lady said, "Oh hello" to me. I said, "Hi," and kept going. As I drove off, I realized that this was probably my new neighbor and that her "hello" was more than just a passing greeting. She had wanted to talk. A few days later Ben and I were out on the lawn reading the mail when she drove in. She got out of her car and hesitated. I was a little more prepared. I waved and she walked over and told me what a beautiful boy I had. She told me he was such a good quiet baby; that she had never heard him cry. I told her all of our names and asked hers. Jeri. Jeri went out of town Labor Day weekend and her car appeared again on Monday night. Tuesday, the 24-hour Emergency cleaners were in our driveway talking on our phone and then going into her apartment. I called Mike. We both had the same thought. The next day, the apartment maintenance crew went into her house. In all this time, her car had not moved and I hadn't seen her. By the next day, there was a layer of dust on her car and I was certain she was dead. The following Saturday Mike saw her light on and Jeri didn't know what had happened when we saw her outside on Sunday morning. I was the friendliest neighbor ever. "Hi Jeri, how are you? Have a wonderful day." Poor Jeri didn't know she had returned from the grave.

Incident no. 3: Our newly married neighbor Brandon talks to us occasionally. He knocks on our door to ask if we know if you can get DSL here, or to ask if we got an underpaid notice on our door too (because he saw one there). He is a friendly guy. Maranda, however, runs down the stairs and out to her car in order to avoid conversation. About two weeks ago Brandon was unloading his car after a trip to Walmart and commented on how well Ben is walking. "He wasn't even walking two weeks ago, right?" He proceeded to tell us that his wife had just suffered a miscarriage. He brushed it off but then added, "It is too bad. We really wanted one." I went inside and contemplated what to do. Should I get her flowers? Should I say anything? I finally decided that if it were me, I wouldn't want a perfect stranger dropping by to possibly see me emotional or to make me feel awkward at how to handle that they felt bad. But someone I had a relationship with? Well then, come on in, and let me cry on your shoulder.

Since then, I've been praying. Lord, if you want me to, I will learn to make jam (oh but please spare me from that) or pumpkin bread and learn to call on my neighbors from time to time. Please show me how! Hospitality to strangers is such a different thing than having your friends over for pizza.

I'm still not sure how to change my whole personality, but I have focused on the hospitality I have experienced. Our neighbor in Virginia who would always mow our lawn for us and leave us fresh-garden produce. Charity Ngawawa, my Nigerian classmate in England, who approached me and said, "Won't you come for tea, dear sister?"

I think it will be baby-steps for awhile, but a friend just sent a pumpkin bread recipe and Christmas is coming. So we'll see....