I am not a very good neighbour.
We’ve lived in this rented house for nearly 18 months, and I know the names of just two of our neighbours. I know the old man who lives next door, who mumbles so badly I understand only about 20% of what he says. Most of our relationship is him chatting at me as I push the buggy in the front door, smiling and nodding and hoping he’s not actually saying something that requires any more of a response.
There’s a man a few doors up who is very friendly. He always stops to say hi, helps clean up the leaves and apples that fall on the pavement in the autumn, seems to know a bit about everyone in the street. But he also doesn’t have an off button. He can talk for half an hour without taking a breath, until he suddenly notices your toddler shivering in the cold and wonders aloud why you haven’t taken her inside.
I reached adulthood on a wave of evangelical fervour to be a world-changer. Throughout my late teens, at every summer festival and church youth night, we sang the song, “I’m Going To Be A History Maker In This Land” by Delirious. I practically inhaled Shane Claiborne’s book The Irresistible Revolution when it came out in 2006. I imagined myself a central figure in my neighbourhood—we would be in and out of each other’s homes and lives constantly; it would be authentic and messy and they would be so grateful that I moved in.
Now, I sometimes find myself checking if the coast is clear before leaving the house…
Read the rest of this post over at She Loves Magazine, and hear a little about our upcoming move!