Predicament

I am a follower of Christ, and I hate my neighbor. There, I said it out loud. How can this be, I ask myself? Is this not against all that I not only embrace but am called for? (“You shall love your neighbor as yourself”). Yet, here I am. Ok, maybe hate is the wrong word, but it kinda feels that way. I am angry, and I know that anger is hurt — hurt at another's misguided sense of purpose and hurt at my own ignoring of my inner story. This is about a woman who from day one since we moved to this neighborhood has felt free to comment on our child and parenting choices. She has not been kind, nor helpful. Usually it is about controlling the situation all the while presenting it under the pretext of caring so very much. She has been petty and made passive aggressive comments that say, "You are doing it wrong, you are a bad parent, it is not good enough". 

The other day at the bus stop she approached me and really caught me off guard. It just happened, of course, that I woke up late that particular day. I rushed to get dressed but was literally still in a half-dream state when she lambasted me — first with several of her typical "savior stories": “Oh, the kids were playing hide and seek, under the car, then in the car in the heat. But yes: I was there to save the day.” The reality is we live in a very kid-friendly neighborhood. Our street ends in a cul-de-sac, and kids play along the street between us and a few other houses in a row. Off hand, I count about 15 kids and they all play together all the time. All the parents take part in watching out, keeping an eye on these little ones.

One thing she probably is not even aware of is that we actually have a perfectly clear view of her yard from our window. However, nonetheless, she went on to basically say that my children were responsible for her child's anxiety, that Pierson (whose little brother Soren follows and plays with her child) is also the problem. Sometimes Soren cries (surprise he's 3!), and this is causing her son anxiety because he does not know how to handle the situation. She continued with her passive aggressive insults: "I don't know what your parenting style is...blah blah blah", and per usual, each time I tried to explain my side of the story, view, etc., she immediately shut me down and said: “No, that's not the way it is.” 

Still half asleep my head began to spin. I basically muttered something to the effect of: "Well, maybe it is better if they just play at our house" and walked away. But that was it, I was done. I went home and cried. I cried because in that moment I felt empty and broken. I felt like I don't know how to do better, there is nothing left to give. I just don't know what it is and I definitely don't have it. Then I got mad. Mad that for five years I have been gracious and compliant. There was the time her babysitter came over to our house to ask for Pierson to play with his friend. This would have made the baby sitter’s life easier to have a happily entertained little boy to watch, both boys happier — and frankly given me a break too. She immediately came over when she returned from work that day explaining how this was absolutely not feasible since she could not burden her poor babysitter with two children when she was only paying for one. Once again being oh-so-conscientious. 

There was the time we were on a family walk in the neighborhood and Pierson was playing with his other neighbor friend, and she so sweetly said: "Where is the other member of your family'?”, full well knowing that he and his little friend decided to jump the fence that day and had just been caught when his other little friend’s parents went looking for them. We subsequently—all of five to ten minutes later—found this out ourselves. There was the time at the swimming pool when I was only a few weeks postpartum and desperately made it to the pool to get Pierson out of the house. With baby Soren on my lap under the umbrella, her husband came over to me whining that Pierson had splashed him in the face and would not apologize. If I had had my wits about me, I could have responded: "Deal with it, you're a principal after all". But again, vulnerable and caught off guard, I explained our struggles with getting Pierson to listen, that we have tried the being-nice route, tried the cracking down route, and nothing seems to work. I apologized profusely and tripped over my words, my heart feeling raw and helpless. I could go on but I think the picture is clear. 

After the last incident at the bus stop that morning, I forbid my boys to be on their property, but something in me broke. I am done being compliant, gracious, trying to explain, only to be brushed off or down right shut down. I AM DONE. And yet — I can no longer look her in the face. And yet — I am called to love. Hmmm. gosh darn it. Even this morning, a father at the bus stop said goodbye to Pierson, and Pierson ignored him. Usually she sits in her car, but today she happened to come out to be social (how does she do that?). When Calvin went up to Pierson and gently corrected him about his behavior, the fellow kind of said: "Oh,  it doesn't matter", and she immediately joined him in agreement, criticizing that Calvin is being overly serious and correcting. I was standing directly on the other side and so could hear and see.

So which is it? I want to say, one minute we are not correcting and cautious enough with our child, and the other we are too much so? But I don't. I quietly tell Calvin she's at it again. I was looking forward to a nice breakfast, but am no longer hungry. I am angry, and here I am — I hate my neighbor. It's ok, it's my problem, I know it, and I own it. How do I get from here to love, I wonder? Where is my compassion for a woman who is desperately trying to feel that she has a stake in something in which she does not. Wanting to be a good and charitable being, yet stuck in controlling, critical behaviors that in her mind are out of caring, yet are hurtful and stressful to those on the receiving end. One who cannot listen but must always be the speaker. I can learn from you dear women. I am you too. 

My sadness perhaps lies in giving too much, to not be received, trying to enter into true relationship — and yet that door is not open. Where do my own secret sins lie? Do I use in other areas these same tricky tools of the devil's deception? I feel calmer now. I feel grace, and I feel peace. It was not in my time (which is the immediate, or better said, yesterday), but in the trust the time does come. “They who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength” (Isaiah 40:31). I feel grateful that she has energized me to have some fierce workouts burning off the spin of my mind (things I would like to say, but will not). I am grateful for writing and the cathartic nature of pen to paper. I will try to love you as my neighbor, but I may fail, and that is ok. Somehow your constant poking has emptied me, and from this space, the Lord can now fill me, and that is a gift. 

I don't know where to go from here, but I know I can let go of knowing, trying, explaining and justifying. Pierson is my gift from my Father above. He is my first born and my love. Certainly I have failed—sometimes too harsh, sometimes not enough so—but all I can give is what I have and somehow that must be enough. Maybe you push me to push myself to be a better parent, and maybe you teach me that enough is just right. So I sink in the gratitude and begin to feel the forgiveness. I can love you not by trying but rather by letting go. Through him all things are possible (“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me”). And for now that is abundantly so, and so much more than enough.