Earlier in the week, I blogged about our new neighbors. The more I’ve prayed about the situation the more I’ve heard the selfishness in my prayer.
I need quiet.
My solitude is heavenly.
I’ve read two different authors (one a blogger, another a book I borrowed from the library) recount how their children were called down for being noisy. Hesitantly, I admit that I’ve been that person. Sure, the kids were trespassing at the time, but their laughter carrying into my home took me outside to politely (always) let them know they had crossed over the common area boundary.
You read that right.
I’m the crotchy old fart yelling:
The book I just finished is called The Nesting Place: It Doesn’t have to be Perfect to be Beautiful, by Myquillyn Smith offers tips on making the most of the home you have now, not the home you desire. Only my perspective requires a bit of a shift.
I have the home I desire, but fear losing it. To foreclosure? To a cross-country move, ripping me from my family and friends? To a third-world country on the mission field. Thankfully, no. Not even close.
Am I so pampered to think that 1.3 acres isn’t enough for me? But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that. 1 Timothy 6:8 Verse after verse, story after story keep pointing me back to that difficult elusive word: contentment. Not only with what I already have, but whatever will come.
The other night, Jay and I were playing basketball in the common area parking lot. A truck passed the community pool and the playground and went past our private property sign (we share a driveway with the HOA common area.) I stopped playing and gave them the stink eye, but don’t worry, they were far enough away not to see.
A bit later, Jay and I headed back toward our house and I made a comment about their dog. We exchanged pleasantries with them, which we hadn’t previously done. “You live there?” the man asked.
Jay, assuming the guy was asking if the play-set was on our property responded “That’s our house, but this is common area. You’re allowed to play here.”
“But that’s your house? You live there? That’s really nice.”
Then his wife spoke up “yeah we thought that was an extra parking area.” Turns out, they didn’t want to park where we were playing basketball and interrupt our game. As I was giving them the stink eye, they were trying to be considerate of us.
I learned a couple of things from this exchange.: People who don’t know us think we have a sweet house. AND A lot of them don’t suck as badly as I think.
While I envy those I read about on exotic mission fields, I know that’s not God’s call for my life. At least not now. What if I’m called to be a witness here? To love my neighbor, even though its a different person every week. How many people could I reach out to in Jesus’s name, when the cabin next door sleeps 28, and could rent up to 250 nights per year (divided by 4 night stays = 60 renter groups.)
What if He’s bringing the mission field to me?
God-forbid I respond by putting up a No Trespassing sign.