When my neighbor four-doors-down called last night and asked if I could take dinner to my neighbor three-doors-down, I said yes. I’m a Mormon mom: dinner for a single, middle-aged man is no problem. It was the circumstances that made me pause.
I do not know all the reasons why the neighbors four-doors-down have been less active in the church for years, nor do I know what has prompted their slow but steady return to activity. What I know is that they are kind and decent; they are the type of down-to-earth people who, upon learning about a load of free railroad ties, call all the neighbors to see if anyone else wants some—and then go, pick up the load in their work truck, and unload the dozen ties that you want right next to the garden you are trying to edge.
I do not talk my neighbor three-doors-down very often. I wave and smile when I see him. Unfortunately, years of living surrounded by well-meaning, but at times overzealous and conversion-oriented Mormons has made my born again Christian neighbor reticent and sometimes hostile. My decent, less active neighbor may be the only person in my neighborhood that my Christian neighbor talks to on a consistent basis (besides his mom, who lives two doors down). I’m just glad someone learned about his sudden seizure, the small brain tumor, and surgery that occurred this week.
During the next few days, a parade of well-meaning Mormons will bring casseroles to their born again Christian brother—all arranged by the Christ-like neighbors we don’t always see at church.
The Lord moves in mysterious ways. At times I catch a glimpse of His pattern and stand back in awe. It’s a joy to play my small part and learn. Like I said, dinner is no problem.