On Loving Neighbors & Letting Go

Several weeks ago, our home in Maryland sold. 

While we’re relieved to be done with the selling process, we grieve the reality of no longer living in that old house in our beloved, complicated neighborhood. Thanks to texting and social media, the relationships built through the years remain across the miles but I miss being with the people of Walnut Street. 

I hope our home’s new residents see the beauty around them, that they notice the wonder swirling in the dust of the alley, that they delight in the Divine disguised as children at the bus stop. 

I hope they knock on Arlene’s side door when they can’t remember the name of that roofer she mentioned or when they just need a local Arkansas Meemaw to appreciate their kids. 

I hope they discover the creativity and kindness of Emily, who is skilled in the art of jewelry making and words of encouragement.

I hope they chat with quick-witted Jen, who will leave their ribs sore from laughing and surprise them later with a dozen eggs at the back door.

I hope they choose empathy over judgment when they find a townie battling addiction or when the same floppy-eared, caramel-colored, wide-grinning dog trots over to tell them he needs a ride home. Again.

I hope they wave at the energetic kids racing to karate practice and that they offer a knowing look to the weary parents following close behind. 

I hope they take notes from the resilient, resourceful John and Susan, who could write a bestseller, How To Brighten Any Weird, Dark Space. 

I hope they chuckle when they hear Katie’s infectious laugh spilling over the steps of her front porch as she corrals her young tots, while Bill trims the hedges and keeps a close eye on the dog. 

I hope they pause to marvel at October’s maples littering the sidewalk with fall confetti. 

I hope they graciously engage the dog walkers, the tinies in strollers, the Autistic young adults, the overwhelmed postal workers.

I hope they learn the names of the local pharmacists, grocery baggers, town leaders, cashiers, and baristas. 

I hope they venture out to the local festivals and parades and smile at the familiar tune of that rickety old ice cream truck.

I hope they linger at the brewery, bellies content after a tasty Rockfish sandwich with a side of perfectly seasoned fries and Old Bay dipping sauce. 

I hope, at least on occasion, they savor a delicious apple cider doughnut and vanilla latte at the coffee shop just steps from their back door.

I hope they’ll give beyond what they think they can. That they’ll reach across social boundaries and political views and Ego’s demand to be ‘right.’ That they’ll show up when babies are born or Grandma is hospitalized or the Oxy breaks its promise again. And I hope they’ll allow these Divine image bearers to give, love, and show up for them, too.  

They don’t know the value of the treasure they’ve found on Walnut. They don’t know the beauty and pain of humanity right outside their door.

Not yet, anyway. 

But I want to believe they’ll discover it quickly.   

Here’s to releasing our old home–our safe haven, our story keeper–and the streets we so deeply loved–to another couple. 

Welcome home, New Residents. May you live the truth, within and beyond these weathered walls, that we belong to each other. 

Featured image by Jonas Jacobsson at Unsplash