Neighborhood on a Hill

I left my house and walked down the street. A neighbor I’ve talked to many times was trimming her bushes. A teenage boy I have never talked to parked his car and went in his family’s house, closing the garage and locking the car as he went. I heard the beep as I walked by. Two women living together were working on their yard and preparing for errands. I waved at one as I passed by. When I came back around, the other turn to the first and asked something. Then she turned back to me, grinned and returned my wave.

I made a couple more laps through the main road in our neighborhood. A new neighbor was watering plants. I had briefly checked my phone to see what my Facebook notification was, and didn’t see that I had walked right by her until I had already passed. I called out a good morning, and she turned to see. Her response was eager but betrayed hesitant English. The two women drove by me and waved. A man and a woman were working in their yard and garage as I walked in their cul-de-sac. He looked up briefly but never said anything. I don’t think she ever knew I was there.

My family moved to a small town when I was eight. My mom still talks about when Mrs. Wingard first stopped by. An elderly widow with a severe heart condition, Mrs. Wingard had likely spent most of her day on the pie she handed to my mom. Over the few months we lived there, she showed us her birdhouses a few times and welcomed us into her home, always glad to see us talkative and noisy kids.

I can tell you so little about my neighbors now. So few of their names, occupations, likes, dislikes, or joys and heartaches. We are called to live as light that can’t be hidden (Matthew 5:14-15) and we have good news to share that every person on this earth needs to know (Mark 16:15). That responsibility doesn’t end with a wave and a cheery morning greeting. But perhaps it can start with no less.


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