COMMUNITY
by Lindsey A. Frederick
T
hey say good fences make good neighbors, but I say that all depends on your definition of neighbor. My childhood neighbors consisted of a gossip and the crabby couple in the houses behind mine, and a troubled five-year-old boy across the street. There was also my Barbieplaying-buddy next door. We had a give-and-take relationship—she took off to play with a cooler neighborhood girl the minute she called, and I gave her a satisfying palm print across her cheek after she called me a name I shouldn’t repeat. And last, there were the Bully Brothers. They attempted to lob me over the head with a baseball bat. I, in return, slammed my little, eight-year-old fist into one of their faces. After this, neighbors just became people who shared a street name and built higher fences. 22
new identity magazine
It wasn’t until just out of college, when I moved to the Midwest, that I discovered a different kind of neighbor. There, I landed among a group of nosy, intrusive strangers. They were all in my business, inviting me over to dinner, and game nights, and to coffee and concer ts and community service projects. They wanted to know about my family, my hobbies, and most intrusive of all, my hear t. It was uncomfor table at first—all the questions, all the verbal cooing as they listened—really listened. I wasn’t sure I wanted to invite these people to my side of the fence, let alone into my emotional real estate. But their persistence and genuine interest in me eventually wore knotholes through my defences. Through them, I snatched glimpses of Jesus and began to understand his intention for community.
ISSUE 20
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