I heard a week ago our neighbors were moving. Very young couple, early twenties. They have a one year old son and a baby on the way. But they were not moving because of a new job but because the husband had left. A story I have heard a 1,000 times before...someone else was now in the picture. And the wife is home day in and day out, she is a homemaker. No job. She wanted a large family. They just moved here a year ago and did not seem to have a large circle of friends beside her River Brethren Church family. And for the last week, every time I pulled into my driveway, I thought to myself that I should go visit. I mean, can you imagine? Yes, yes I am sure some of you can. Some of you have been there. Are there. You know that kind of hard and sorrow. And so I have thought of her. And I hesitated visiting till today. Ill be honest, some of it was because I dont know her all too well. We wave. But mostly because Im a skinny jean, tattoo, makeup and sparkly jewelry type-of-girl. Im also a scream at my kids at the bus stop, un-domestic goddess type-of-woman. She wears a covering and is very simple and plain. She is soft spoken and quiet. We could not be more different. Outwardly. And that difference held me in my car trapped for a bit today this afternoon when I arrived home. Should I visit? Shouldnt I? What would I say or what could I offer? But I found my feet and mustered my courage, not because Jesus told me to but the woman in me said that the ridiculousness I was parading was over. Go. She needs a nonjudgmental woman. Me...who sat in her car and had just judged...myself...her. We could not be more different. But here is what I know. Hearts are hearts. They all bleed the same. They all break the same way over very similar things. We may all look different, sound different, think different, believe different but we all have very similar feelings, thoughts, experiences, dreams, hopes...we are all wired very much the same with similar needs. And deep down we want the same thing. To love and be loved. So who was I not to reach out? To translate the thought of it into an action of it; woman to woman. So my knuckles knocked on her door. Not once but three times before she answered. And long story short, we hugged and cried and prayed. And I had nothing to offer her but my presence and my care and simple acknowledgement that I dont need to know but I KNOW. I refuse to be the neighbor that pretends I dont know and waves and then walks away. I know so why not turn that knowledge into something that just may mean something. One of the very worst things ever is to have your whole world fall down on top of you and everyone around you either tells you how to fix it, how you broke it or they ignore you all together. Sometimes we just need presence. Because hearts are hearts. And sometimes we cry out for an understanding, nonjudgmental one to see us. The real us as we sit in our brokenness and mourn in our ashes. Where we are not yet ready to be mended but where we are ready to be seen. Fully.
Posted on: Fri, 19 Sep 2014 23:50:50 +0000
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