Who is My Neighbor and Other Conundrums

What comes to mind when you review Jesus’ admonition to “love your neighbor as yourself?”

What does it really mean, and what if your neighbor doesn’t want love?

My neighbors and I ran into this conundrum long ago while living in military housing. We lived on the corner of a two-car wide asphalt street without sidewalks, gutters or anything else demarking where your yard ended and the street began. Particularly when cars parked on the verge, the curve was blind.

Four children under four years-old lived in five houses on that curve. We watched them vigilantly and all of us had yanked one of the kids back from being hit on several occasions.

All except one mother, whom we rarely saw.

Military families in places far from home generally are friendly and help one another. In this spot, we socialized outside and a group of us pushed strollers around the neighborhood an hour every morning after the big kids caught the bus for school. We knew each other, some of our spouses worked together, and it was a good, neighborhood-watch kind of community.

When the houses turned over, we showed up on the door step with cookies and introduced ourselves to the new neighbors. We were always pleased to see another potential playmate and encouraged the children to play together–under our watchful eye.

All except one mother, whom we rarely saw.

This would not have been a problem–we know about the fishbowl life of military housing and would leave someone alone if they didn’t want to socialize–except she had a three year-old, whose name escapes me now. Let’s call him Steve.

Steve’s dad was a friendly guy, happy to greet us when he was home and who often played with Steve.

Mom? We saw her escort him to the BMW when they went to the gym. She was gorgeous and fit. I don’t remember her name either.

I didn’t see her much.

But Steve was out in the yard and running across the street frequently. It was like she let him out to play and didn’t pay attention. We on the corner, though, did.

We had to.

Steve ran into the street all the time.

Cars missed him by inches more than once.

We were terrified.

We rarely saw his mother, however.

(Am I judging her?)

One brave neighbor went to the beautiful woman’s door and pointed out Steve wandered and had nearly been hit by a car.

She shrugged.

On Christmas day, she let him out to play and he spent the entire day at my house, joining my family’s celebration.

We knew Steve’s dad was home, but couldn’t figure out why a couple would let a three year-old spend Christmas day with neighbors.

Were we this little boy’s keepers? Click to Tweet

We lived on a blind curve. We had to be.

Since we seldom saw the mother, the three other mothers decided we needed to protect Steve. We put up cones and signs asking everyone to slow down coming around that corner. We looked into a speed bump (“No deal,” the Navy said). We stopped people and asked them please to slow down (we knew most of them).

One woman in a Volvo, however, didn’t seem to get the message. She became notorious among the three mothers as “that woman in the Volvo.”

One day in irritation (the posted speed limit was 10 mph, by the way), one of us (maybe me?) threw a towel at her car to make her slow down. She slammed on the brakes, glared at us, and went on.

We felt badly about that, but Steve needed protection.

Eventually the glamorous mother we only saw when she got into her glamorous car, put Steve in preschool and we didn’t have to worry about him except on weekends. Dad was usually home then, and Steve was much safer. We breathed a sigh of relief. We’d succeeded as neighbors.

Bible Study started up shortly thereafter. I’d posted notices on the bulletin board to meet at the community center. We three corner wives and another half-dozen brought our children down to play while we looked at Scripture. But that day, we had a new member.

A woman in a gray Volvo drove up.

Steve’s next door neighbor turned to me with wide eyes. “It’s her!”

The Volvo woman got out of the car, recognized me, put back her shoulders, grabbed her Bible and walked in my direction.

Could I pretend I didn’t know her?

When she reached me, I opened my mouth: “The thing is, a little boy lives on that corner and his mother never watches him. We’ve been scared to death.”

“I’m an ER nurse, I’d never hit a child.”

We shook hands and welcomed her to the Bible study.

I’ve got the Bible she gave me sitting beside me right now.

Who was my neighbor? And how did I love her best? Click to Tweet

What would you have done in this situation?