Mr. Rogers was on to something...

It's something that most of the American middle class has forgotten, or perhaps have never experienced: really knowing your neighbors. At best, we wave over the drone of lawnmowers or flash a smile as we exit garages in unison. But really knowing our neighbors? It's uncommon at best.

One of the greatest privileges of living where we do is exactly that: we know our neighbors. We know their joys and struggles, quirks and strengths. We share meals and play time and stories. It's like nothing I've ever experienced before, but I imagine it's how God had hoped we would live.

Not that I'm biased, but our neighbors are amazing. Kids feel at home in our home. Goodies and dinners show up at our door all the time. Yards get rakes or trucks repaired, just because they are those kind of people. In many ways, their giving hearts flabbergast me: this month, one family is struggling just to have the money to buy groceries. They scraped some money, and we contributed a little, and they now have food in the fridge. What will they do with that food? Probably send dinner over to us. They've already been talking about helping buy a Christmas tree for another family in the trailer park (we're going to cut trees together tomorrow). As I thought about it this morning, I remembered the story about the widow at the temple who "gave all she had to live on." Sure, we help out, and I think God honors that. But that family feeds us out of a generosity that runs deeper. They are sharing with us out of all they have to live on.

I heard a radio dj today reminding us to think about giving this time of year, and I thought, "That's ridiculous." The kind of sharing that takes place between neighbors--and hopefully between humans--should not be seasonal. It should be a way of life, which requires sharing life. It requires investing in people's lives in ways that go beyond waiting for some organization to hang their name on a tree with a list of needs. Those things are awesome, no doubt. But they are seasonal. Relationships marked by sharing life should not be seasonal.

I'd be a hypocrite to stand on some moral high horse and say, "Get to know your neighbors!" Until I moved into a neighborhood that sort of lent itself to relationship, I sure wasn't doing it. Instead, I offer the challenge from a place of simply feeling humbled and blessed. Because I now know the riches that it can bring, I say to you, "Yes, get to know your neighbors."

got him! ....but not her

After quite a hunt, we finally caught our mouse friend, whom we had named Bobby so that we could talk about/to him. I took Bobby and released him next to a nearby barn. I figure he can be warm there and not be totally in the way. Either that, or a cat will take care of him. Poor fella'. Here's a shot of his nice little humane trap.

Ah, but guess what...Bobby has a friend (at least, we hope just one). Who knows if it's a girl or boy, but we decided to name it Evangelina (Kim's idea). I heard her rustling around in the kitchen this morning, but she has yet to take the bait in the trap. Perhaps if we put a new label on it...

Anyway, mouse stories aside, last Thursday Kim brought home a projector from work, and we showed a movie on a table cloth taped to the wall. It was amazing! We let the kids pick the movie, so we ended up watching the old version of Flicka, since they are obsessed with horses. Friends, if you ever want a good laugh and a chance to make fun of cinema, watch that movie. We had to tone it down, because the kids liked it, but we were all cracking up inside.

In other news:

-Due to the efforts of incredible friends, we finally have curtains instead of the sheets I cut up when we first moved in. High class, I tell you!

-I managed to smash into the chain link fence with my truck, totally destroying a pole, so we had to pay a little extra for repairs this month. I actually hit the trailer, too, but the dent was less than noticeable:)

That's all for now--more tales to come...

the long arm of the Father

I used to be able to keep DHS at a distance. As in, it could remain objective, just an acronym for an agency I knew of. When I worked at a boys' home, I knew kids on the other side of the DHS call, long after the kid left home, long after the first frightening days in a strange foster home. I knew the far side of the system. But the sad and present experience of the phone call and the investigation and the removal of a child from his home...I could choose to keep that as distant as I can keep the child dying of AIDS in some African village.

One of our kiddos just spent those frightening few days in a strange home. We didn't know where he was, or where he would go. We just knew that he must be terrified. This time, the distance between me and DHS is short. I know what his face looks like when he's scared. I know what he sounds like when he cries. Imagining it brings real tears, not just a general hurt for the injustices in the world.

Life in the trailer park can feel messy sometimes. All those broken things in our society can no longer be kept at arm's length. They are happening not to "the poor", but to our neighbors, whose names and faces are a part of our lives. Thankful though I may be to be where I am (and I am SO thankful), some days the brokenness feels overwhelming.

Yesterday, when it all seemed so heavy, I felt like God kept bringing to mind a particular verse, one that I haven't read in a long time: "Surely the arm of the LORD is not too short to save" (Isaiah 59:1).

These days, I need that reminder so much. When I look at a bitter heart and desire to see God restore her to the woman she was created to be. When I see a child whose self esteem is attacked every day, and I need to know that God can heal. When I witness a broken family, and I hunger to see that God can redeem. The answer is yes, he can. His arm is not too short to restore, to heal, to redeem. I live and breathe and have my being in a God who is sufficient for all the broken places in the world.

May God grant us the grace to truly believe that, and then to step into those broken places and stand in awe as we hear him say, "Surely, child, my arm is not too short to save."