Allow me to tell you a story. It’s a kinda long one, but the end has a twist that you wouldn’t expect.
On Martin Luther King, Jr. Day I decided that surely the trash would not run. Therefore, left the already nearly overflowing can up by the house. They did. I cussed. And went about my business.
We have a backup mini-can. That is just fine, except now without Chikezie helping us we have 2 unassuming little neighborhood dogs that have their way with our cats’ food and the trash can that is just their size. We ran these dogs off repeatedly through the week; picking up the trash each and every time they dumped. I have to confess I did more than a little cussing while my fingers froze picking up the same trash over and over. By the Sunday morning of our first church day in ages I made sure the trash would not be forgotten and hauled it down to the road. Where the dogs dumped it AGAIN. This time I was done. And ticked. It can just stay there for all I care. I’ll worry about it tomorrow when I can contain it in a can where it will actually stay. That afternoon when the neighbor kids (who own the little doggies) came over and interrupted our attempt at a nap I snapped that they should tell their parents to keep their dogs up because they were tearing up our trash (I know, adult, right?). To which the child responded, “We know.” Grrr.
That night I put the kids to bed and was working on that big ol’ long post on our large family daily schedule when I saw lights in the drive. They circled through and I didn’t think much of it. A few minutes later they circled back through and Matt and I stepped on the porch. The sheriff said he was looking for a certain address that was not ours. We didn’t know it (we’re lousy slacking neighbors) and we asked if it was the house with the lady with heart trouble (thinking, “you need to get on it, sir”) “No, ma’am, it was a criminal mischief call.” And away he drove. As I sat back down at the computer I wondered aloud to Matt if we should be worried. “Do you think somebody’s out there?” I wondered. A few minutes later lights were back in our driveway and spotlighting our front porch. Now, I was concerned. Did he think the criminal was lurking around our house? We stepped back out onto the porch to greet the sheriff and he informed us that we were the criminal mischief. We needed to pick up our trash that had blown down into our neighbor’s yard. I was floored. We explained our story, he said it was alright, just do the best we could to get it in the morning and he drove away.
We stepped back into the house and I was met with more emotions than I would have ever guessed. I was angry. “Are you kidding me?” I was sad. “What must they think of us?” I was overwhelmed. “I’m trying my hardest over here.” I was regretful. “If only we still had Chikezie maybe he would’ve kept the dogs away and this wouldn’t have happened.” I was exposed, vulnerable. “They have a direct view to our all our neglected played-in backyard.” I was scared. “If they’ll call over my trash will they call child services over my running wild children? What if we become a statistic?” I was ashamed. “We really are dirty people.”
I facebooked my astonishment and anger. I did not bridle my mouth. I let unwholesome talk flow. I found solace in my loyal friends who soothed my soul and reminded me I wasn’t a bad person. I kept thinking, “Why on earth is this affecting me so? I can laugh about most of the insanity in our lives, why not this?” But the laughter wouldn’t come. And then a friend of a friend privately chatted me and told me that her cousin-in-law had just posted that she had called the sheriff on her neighbors whose trash was in her yard. Could that be us? That would be us. Now I felt weird. We really are all connected. And now not only the trash in my yard was exposed, but the trash from my mouth as well. Should’ve listened to that still small voice that was urging me to be quiet. More shame. More confusion. I asked her to pass along that I was sorry. She said she would and we parted ways. I looked up my neighbor’s profile on facebook (I know, add stalking to my list of sins at this point). And more confused feelings. She had “I love Jesus” buttons and church pictures. I was angry. I couldn’t let it go. I went to bed but sleep eluded me. I was shaken. I prayed. For peace. For resolution. For our relationships in our neighborhood. For the possible need to move. I was losin’ it. I finally slept.
I awoke the next morning, grabbed a trash bag, and headed out the door before Matt went to work so that he could watch the babies while I cleaned up the road. When I stepped out, there she was. And apparently taking pictures of my trash. I was faced with an instant decision. Confront? Hide? Let her have it? (with words of course, I’m a little woman, people) Pray for His guidance? I confronted her. Shaking. I was nice, but didn’t lean heavily on what He would’ve had me to say. I said a lot of what I wanted to say. Not nice things.
She drove away, I cleaned up. And then I lost it. Like lost my mind. Started bleaching bathrooms. Scrubbing countertops, snapping at the kids to clean the loft. Talking about how we can’t live filthy. They countered that we clean everyday. To which I snapped back, “Not enough!” MyOldest said, “I feel dirty for the first time in my life.” Now I had done it. Great. I lost it again. Cried, hugged him, reassured him. All the while, not feeling sure of anything.
I got back on facebook to see that my neighbor’s husband had sent a request to “friend” me. I was really unsure. He looks built similar to my husband. I repeat, I’m a little woman, people. What was his agenda? Did I want to be even more exposed to them than I already was? I called Matt. He said, “Accept it, little woman, but do not throw any more fuel on a fire that’s already burning out.” I did. I chose to not erase my shameful comments. If they were going to see me, they might as well see all of me. All of those sins. He defended their decision to call the sheriff, but admitted they may have taken extreme measures. He extended an olive branch. I was surprised. I apologized. And sent a friend invite to his wife. Still leery of their intentions.
That evening while eating dinner there was a knock at the door. I was immediately aware of my unkempt appearance and my 2 year old’s half dressed state. It was my neighbor. She said this was what she should’ve done in the first place. She handed me a card and a package for my children. She said she wrong. She began tearing up. I hugged her, crying, overcome with emotion. I told her it was okay. We spoke of not getting to know each other. She said she especially didn’t mean to harm my children. I reassured her. We continued crying. My children sat and watched silently. She left and I couldn’t speak. MyOldest broke the silence with “Wow.” I read her handwritten letter of a humble request for forgiveness. I handed out the candy she had brought my children. I couldn’t finish dinner. I hadn’t seen it coming. I cried and cried. My husband told my stunned children that’s what God’s goodness looks like. That’s how only He can heal. That’s how miracles feel. I couldn’t stop crying. The washing anew felt so good. My unbridled mouth brought brief shame, but I couldn’t focus on fear or anger or shame any longer. All I could do was stand in this new found even more exposing light. And bask.
It was not short-lived. Over the last few days we’ve exchanged recipes, mothering and wife-ing tips. We’ve asked questions and gotten to know each other. And I’ve seen God’s face more clearly this week than I have in a long time. And my children? They know what humility is now. They know why they should be slow to speak now. They are excited about the new baby our neighbor will be having soon. They know they have a friend in the neighborhood they can trust. They’ve seen God’s commands and our obedience and His making whole of shattered relations amongst believers. They’ve seen my sin and my redemption from it.
I’m so very thankful for our neighbors. For God’s new gifts to us.
