I live in a neighborhood that, in many ways, is not like me.
I’m happily married to the man who is the father of all three of my children. I am middle aged and have a college degree plus a little bit more. I am, more-or-less, a stay-at-home mom. My husband and I own our home (or, at least the part the mortgage company doesn’t still own). Smoking, drinking, or doing illegal drugs are not part of my daily regimen. I am of white European descent.
In the majority of the homes I can see from where I sit, some combination of the opposite of the above is reality.
Yesterday, I attended a morning gathering of people who want to know how relationships within a small group will help people find out that Jesus loves them and is inviting them to the adventure of loving Him back.
At the end of what was a very enlightening and challenging few hours, an opportunity for asking questions was given. I didn’t ask the one that was on the brink of my brain because it was having trouble arriving at the tip of my tongue.
If I’d asked my question, it would have gone something like this (another reason I didn’t say it aloud–couldn’t make it concise enough for that setting): I have lived in my neighborhood for 18 years. There are a few neighbors who have lived here just as long. There are many more who have come and gone. No matter who has lived here, we have generally gotten to know the children–we have a swing set in our back yard, so it is a “park” and I am the “Park Lady” and the children come. But, in all that time, other than our long-term next-door and across-the-street neighbors, we have not connected with the other adults in our immediate neighborhood. We can deliver a plate of cookies at holiday time, or say “hi” when we walk by, but there is seldom if ever any kind of relational reciprocation and, for our part, things always seem to end right there. I suspect it is for the same reason from that side that we find true from ours: there is little apparent common ground in our lives.
It occurred to me yesterday that maybe the children ARE the common ground. And, graciously, we have had some neat opportunities over the years, formally and informally, to love the kids in Jesus’ name…more chances are on the horizon through the summer and as the school year starts. But, it still nags at me that those adult connections are challenging at best and non-existent at worst.
If you lived in my neighborhood, where/how would you “walk” to find/come to common ground? (Even as I write this, I know that part of that “walk” needs to be on my knees to an all-wise God who loves my neighborhood not-yet-friends and doesn’t waste anything, including where His children land in life.)
Nancy here. Great question, and I bet if you had asked it, many others would have said the same thing. We know who our neighbors are, but after 12 years, most are still just acquaintances. Except for the “old people” across the street, who no longer live there. We prayed for 8 years, knowing that God wanted us to talk with them but avoiding any contact after a confrontation. They were mean to the neighborhood children and rude to adults. Then, a crisis brought us together. They suddenly needed someone, and we were willing to help. Both have serious health problems and moved 18 months ago. While visiting him in the hospital, Jon led him to Jesus. Though we’ve only seen him a couple of times since, we continue to care for the yard and keep a watchful eye on the house and visit with their daughter when she stops by. And God has brought other believers into her life to encourage her. We are trusting that she, too, will come to Him. Were we “intentional” enough? probably not. But, God didn’t give up on us and we obeyed. There a lots of other neighbors who need Jesus. He knows them, and He knows us, and He has the plan if/when we’re willing to follow.
Thanks, Nancy, for encouraging words…especially your last sentence.