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The Strangers Next Door
My daughter taught me to be a good neighbor

by Karen Strand

It's Saturday morning. Sunlight falls into my bedroom, drawing my eyes to the soft pastels of my wallpaper, then to the window where I can see the peak of the rooftop next door. The Coles's rooftop. My thoughts turn to the latest neighborhood news: Kristy's had her baby.

Kristy—15 years old and an unwed mother. Although the Coles have lived next door for several months, I don't know them. But I've heard Kristy's stepdad, Ron, has an eight-year-old son, Chad, from a previous marriage. And Kristy's mom, Sue, has a teenage son, Todd, from her first marriage. Next there's two-year-old Scott, who was born to Ron and Sue. Now Kristy's made Sue a grandmother. Does that make Ron a grandfather? Or a step-grandparent? Is there even such a thing?

My husband wakes up, fluffs his pillow, and asks what's for breakfast. At the same time, I hear our eight-year-old daughter, Julie, bounding downstairs for morning cartoons. I roll out of bed and head for the shower.

After breakfast I load the dishwasher, wipe off the counters, and work on a sewing project I'd started. Julie taps on the door. "There's something I want to show you," she murmurs. Clearing a space, she lays down a sheet of notebook paper folded in half like a greeting card. On the front is a crayoned rainbow. On the inside are large, red letters:

"Dear Kristy, I'm happy you had a baby. Jessica is a pretty name."

Hmmm, I muse. Jessica. So it's a girl. Underneath is the drawing of a smiling, toothless baby and the words "God loves you." It's signed, "Love from your next-door neighbor Julie."

Take a chance, be a neighbor
After my daughter leaves the room, I lean on the sewing table, chin in hand, and think about this. Then I go looking for Julie.

"Don't give it to her yet," I say. "Would you like to get a little gift, too?"

"Yeah, Mom!"

We drive to Kmart where we buy a yellow duck wearing a blue hat. When we return home, Julie wraps the duck, tapes the card on top, and we take it next door. As we wait on the porch, I'm surprised I've never noticed the pretty welcome sign. But then, I've never stood on this porch before.

In fact, I've made no effort to become acquainted with Sue at all. I'm just unable to identify with Sue's kind of life.

When Sue answers the door—that is, I think it's Sue—I'm embarrassed at having to introduce myself.

"Hi. I'm Karen, from next door. This is my daughter, Julie."

Sue, who wears her dark, curly hair in a ponytail and is dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, looks quite normal. She smiles warmly and invites us in to see the baby. Kristy's on the couch, cuddling her precious bundle. Julie hands Kristy the duck, then asks to hold Jessica while I apologize.

"I'm sorry I haven't come over to meet you before now. Just busy. You know how it is." Sue laughs and offers me a cup of coffee. I look around the room and am surprised at the cozy atmosphere. What had I expected to see? Purple gremlins poking out of the corners with a big sign that reads "Weird Family Lives Here"?

A poinsettia rests on a side table, and on the wall above it hangs a creatively arranged collection of photos. Pictures of Sue and Ron. Kristy and Todd. Chad, Scott. I just know there's a space reserved for Jessica.

Over coffee and a crescent roll, the two of us get to know each other.

A late welcome
"I never thought divorce would be a part of my life," Sue says. "We were married for 10 years when my husband up and left. He fell in love at the water cooler."

Ron, I learn, has been widowed for four years. "Breast cancer," Sue explains. "It was awfully hard on him." She gives a deep sigh.

"I don't know if it was the divorce, or what, but Kristy's been a real handful lately. Now. … " She motions to Kristy, who's fussing over the baby.

My throat tightens, making it hard to swallow. This isn't at all what I imagined. Suddenly I don't like myself very much.

When it's time to leave, Sue and I plan to get together again. Julie skips home across the yard, unaware that her simple, nonjudgmental act has begun major changes in my judgmental heart.

After going inside, curiosity makes me reach for my Bible to look up verses with "neighbor" in them. I stop at Proverbs 11:12: "A man who lacks judgment derides his neighbor, but a man of understanding holds his tongue."

"God loves you," Julie had printed at the bottom of the card. And he does, indeed. Sue. Ron. Kristy. Todd. Chad. Scott. Jessica. Me. People.

I go to the kitchen, get out the large blue bowl, and stir up a batch of chocolate chip cookies. Sometimes, it's never too late to welcome people to the neighborhood.

Copyright © 2000 by the author or Christianity Today International/Today's Christian magazine (formerly Christian Reader).
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