Loving my neighbors

Got a call on Sunday from my neighbor, JB. When I answered the phone (which I rarely do on Sundays b/c of Family Day) she said softly, "I just wanted you to know that dad died Friday. We didn't want you to read it in the paper and not know about it." Sweet JB. We talked for a few more minutes, then she told me that dad's dog, Phantom, also died earlier in the week. Two losses, one week. Some saddness, some relief. Monday we stopped by during visiting hours at the church, it was a time of memorial, no body, so we took Izak. He was all practiced up to say, "Sorry." He refused to perform. Figures.

I'm struck by the difference from 5 years ago to now. When we first moved in I was not impressed by my neighbors. They were too loud, too messy, their dogs barked all day, pooped in my yard and tormented my dog. I was inconvenienced by them. The dog thing was like a constant alarm in my head, irritating me to death. They did have a problem controlling their dogs, we did make and log calls, they were always very pleasant and responsive to our requests to take the dogs in. One day we took them to court, after what seemed like the bazillionth time of their dog in our yard. Actually it happened during a big party. I had at least 15 kids under the age of 5, and Phantom came over to see what the good smellin' meat was on the grill. He was the most docile dog, menacingly huge, but a real whimp when Matt grabbed him by the back of the neck and dragged him home. I was mauled by a German Shepherd as a little girl. I couldn't have small kids endangered. We took them to court. The judge reemed Mr. B out and threatened to have his dogs destroyed if there was another complaint within a year. Things improved after that, dog-wise.

But I was uneasy. I know that scripture teaches that if we say we love Jesus, but we don't love our neighbors, we are not truly followers. It bugged me that I didn't like my neighbors at all, but I also didn't know them at all.

The guy that we bought our home from was a man from our church and he was terribly excited that his pastor was buying his house. So he took the liberty of telling all of our neighbors, up and down the road that we were the pastor and pastor's wife of his church. Great. One day I stopped by the little roadside fruit stand of our older farming neighbors to buy some herbs. There were some other elderly women there too. I was feeling rather out-going at the moment and introduced myself to the farmer's wife as her new neighbor down the street. All of the women stopped talking, and one piped up, "Oh, Mrs. Furr! It's nice to meet you! And how is the Reverend?" OMG. I almost died. So needless to say, it's been a little awkward getting to know folks without the religious weirdness.

So anyway, I knew my neighbors must have known that we were in the ministry, and here we were, sorta at war, definitely not neighborly at all. I felt God's hand in my back, first softly, then more firmly. I fussed about it for at least 4 or 5 months. I felt God wanted me to reach out to them, but I was embarrassed, stubborn, self-righteous. One day I shared it with my mom, and she said, "Just take over a plate of cookies." Yeah, but what would I say?! I had no idea how to even broach the subject. "Sorry we took you to court." "Sorry I'm so neurotic about your stupid dogs." "Hey, nice weather we're having!" Whatever. I was pregnant with Izak, maybe I could work that in. OK, here was the line, "If I call about the dogs a little more frequently in a few months it's because we're going to have a new baby."

I baked a plate of rhubarb custard cake, prayed, practiced my line, "If I call about the dogs..." and went over. I wouldn't blame them if they were pissed, gave me the cold shoulder, I hadn't been very nice for three years. I knocked on the door. The granddaughter answered the door, "Is your grandma here?" Before grandma came to the door, JB walked up. A young, single mom, my age or a little younger, on her heels was grandma, Mrs. B. I held out the plate of rhubarb, trying not to look nervous, but feeling really outnumbered. And before I could even open my mouth Mrs. B steped forward and grabbed me in a big, warm hug. I couldn't talk, tears were welling up in my eyes. So much that didn't even have to be said. I smiled, "I hope you like rhubarb." Oh, they squealed, we do, especially Dad! So I offered my line, we laughed, they rubbed my belly and we talked about pregnancy, morning sickness, and babies. We were suddenly old friends.

Since then we've had long talks over the fence, JB has shared beautifully and openly about her life, her dreams, her passions. Mrs. B has cheerfully waved as she's driven by the house. They bought a gorgeous figurine for us after Izaks birth, a Willow collection called "New Life." JB openly cried as I opened it, sharing her desire to have more children. We've shared rhubarb, herbal rememdies, graduation parties, family reunions.

I don't hear the dogs much anymore (actually I don't hear Phantom at all! ). I don't care if they're louder than we are, or different than we are. I just don't. I believe I am living in obedience to Christ. And that is such a peaceful thang. So tonight when I stood on the porch with a big bowl of soup I couldn't help but remember how much God has redeemed this relationship. I am so thankful.