there are moments in my life. more than i would like to admit that i feel like a colossal fool. a phony. a failure. and being a mom to five blessings i have plenty of opportunity to stumble and fall into this category. yet this past month i had my pride handed back to me on a silver platter.
we have lived in this home for over five years. we don’t live in an upscale neighborhood. we lived in a “lived in” area. i wouldn’t trade our home and neighbors for anything. i seriously love them. i love that our kids are the minority. i love that we have music playing usually every evening until early hours of the morning. i love that the languages around us remind me daily how amazing and smart God is.
last summer was spent though calling the cops at least three times a week. and by we i mean me. i did. i called the police many times because i couldn’t sleep. the yelling. the screaming. the cussing. the fighting coming from right outside our windows was at times just overwhelming and frustrating. i was mad that i couldn’t sleep. i was mad that whoever was having a problem with each other couldn’t take it inside. i was put off because the language was offensive.
this past month though i decided to step off my high horse and walk across the street. the woman across the street had waved at me. yep me. not me waving at her. nope. she. she was waving at me. and then i walked. i put on my big girl pants, got off my high horse and walked.
this was the worst part.
she seriously is the sweetest, loudest, most beautiful woman. she lives with her husband and her two step sons. and then my pride was handed to me. she began to tell and weave stories of heartache and pain to me. telling me how her stepson had returned last summer from a tour in the marines and is suffering with PTSD. he has a horrible time sleeping and can be found wandering around outside yelling and screaming many nights. he sees things. things that he remembers. things he cant forget. she went on to tell me the story of how she had lost her job this past winter and she is looking for anything to make ends meet.
i stood their with tears streaming down my face. tears of sorrow. tears of embarrassment. tears of pride being taken down. i thought i was doing a better job. entering into others suffering. entering into the pain of those around me. yet i wasn’t willing to walk across the street. to understand the cause of the disturbance to my privileged self.
it gets me thinking about how often each of us don’t enter in. its easier to pass it by. easier to call 911. easier to shut our shades. easier to say its not our business. easier to close our garage doors and hide behind the fact that the neighbor right next door, across the street, on the next block is suffering. and we. we are too safe. too bothered. too annoyed to do anything. say anything. to walk across the street. and get off our horses.