Won't You Be My Neighbour?

Folks differs, dearie. They differs a lot. ~ Ann Petry

I've lived in a lot of differing communities – in big cities, in farm houses, on an island, in small towns on both sides of the tracks.

I myself have been educated in nine different schools, in four different provinces. My kids have been in public school, in private school, in a one-room schoolhouse, and home-schooled.

I've been a part of work communities in offices, restaurants, hospitals and malls.

I've been part of church communities that met in schools and libraries and living rooms and warehouses; churches that had three people, churches that had three services; churches that you had to dress up for, or that you had to dress down for; churches where you were expected to speak in tongues, churches where you were expected to wear closed toe shoes; churches where people invite you home for lunch, churches where people stare and send you home lonely.

I'm not exactly a world traveler, but I've had a lot of neighbours.

My dream was always to just live in one place, to be part of one community, to raise my children with roots and a sense of belonging, and to not always feel like an outsider or an interloper, or somebody being welcomed and learning the ropes.

That's not how we do it.

Now my dream is to live in an RV.

I'm over it.

The older I get, the more I have that this world is not my home feeling. I'm just passing through. I don't mind anymore that I don't exactly belong anywhere.

Honestly, I'm getting more and more OK with that.

People are basically the same everywhere I have been – but the truth is, every community has not been the same. Every community is a kind of community within a community – I often have to be in and out of one in order to catch its flavour.

This small town I live in right now – it's a great town. It's a very wonderful place to live and, aside from the $250 seat belt ticket we got in our driveway on the day we moved to town, people have been very welcoming and warm right from the start. It's a nice town full of good, kind people – as nice as any place I've ever lived.

Sometimes I almost feel like I belong, like I have roots here, like these are my people. People here drink coffee, they have sharp wits and easy smiles, they shop the thrift store, they read books, they help people in need, they give their kids sugar, they volunteer, they communicate with gifs, they mind their own business and they share their fax machines. What more could anyone want?

So what if some people think the earth is flat, and some people think God makes gold dust rain from the rafters, and some people think Donald Trump is a great man of God, and some people think don't tell is a great life motto, and some people shop-vac their drive-ways, and some people think the Holy Spirit leads them to abandon their spouse and children so that they can be happy...

So what if that's not me? We are not all the same – even though we kind of are.

We all want to be loved, to receive grace for our mistakes, to be right about what's important, and to not suffer.

I have yet to meet anyone anywhere who wasn't that way.

Is it really so important for me to try to persuade others to see things from my particular point of view?

I am ambivalent about so many things.

I'm trying to mind my own business.

I had some fun with Donald Trump memes prior to the election – but, after 'the people spoke', I didn't feel it was right to entertain myself by running commentary on the politics of another country. It certainly wouldn't be considered polite. I certainly wouldn't want it done unto me.

Folks differs, dearie.

Sometimes it has felt like living next door to a domestic abuse situation. I have worried a lot about the kids. I think my eyes rolled in my head a little bit at the last mass shooting. As far as compassion and empathy are concerned, I think we are running a trade deficit.

Please, just keep it on your side of the fence.

That's not how we do it.

Until there's a scuffle, and the fence gets broken, and now it's my business.

Why does it become my business when it is no longer about what is right, but about how the wrong directly affects me?

I don't think I'm ok with that. I'm trying to work it out.

On one occasion an expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

What is written in the Law?” he replied.“How do you read it?”

He answered, “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’; and, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’”

“You have answered correctly,”Jesus replied.“Do this and you will live.”

But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”

In reply Jesus said:“A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he was attacked by robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half dead. A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, brought him to an inn and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Look after him,’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.’

“Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”

The expert in the law replied, “The one who had mercy on him.”

Jesus told him,“Go and do likewise.” ~ Luke 10

#BellLetsTalk

Oh great. Another hashtag. #BellLetsTalk #MeToo #timesup

Everybody needs attention. Everybody needs to be heard and validated and special. What happened to the good old days when people just lived their lives, took responsibility for their own actions and stopped blaming other people for their own sorry lives? Amiright?  Can I get a whut whut??

Whut?

Oh, you know I'm kidding.

When I was a child my dad spent a few years working in the occupational therapy department in a psychiatric hospital. There weren't so many rules about confidentiality as there are now - I heard some stories.

It was around that time that my parents introduced the concept of 'mental health days' to our home. Not because someone was sick, not because there was a blizzard - but maybe because the sun was shining and the breeze was just right and everybody needed a break - they would close their shop/call in to work, pull us from school, and we'd go have a great day together doing something fun and life-affirming like hiking through a meadow or skipping rocks by a stream. I highly recommend this.

I learned very early to respect and care for my own mental health. What is anything you could accomplish or accumulate in your life worth, if you don't have the capacity to enjoy it?

Mental illness has deeply affected my entire life, yet it is a hard thing to talk honestly about. It's so hard to find people to talk TO about it. Sometimes you can really only talk around it, because of respect for the dignity and privacy of the ones you love - because sometimes the mental illness that you're struggling to cope with isn't yours.

I was driving through town with a kindly, elderly gentleman a few years ago, when he casually pointed his finger out the window of the car to a bundled woman walking across a parking lot.

That woman has depression.

I wanted to say to him, My son says f**k a lot.

I didn't expect that he would understand.

You know what's fun? Driving down the highway at 110km/hr when your child suddenly decides to pull the door handle THREE TIMES just to make sure it won't open.

You better believe I have anxiety.

But we've all got something. I've seen the underbellies of enough people to know that none of us are exactly mentally well - at least not all of the time.

What is there but a spectrum's difference between a paper cut and an infected wound that leads to a deadly blood infection?

Mental illness isn't really any different.

If your mind isn't well you might lose your purse, suddenly forget where you were driving, burst into tears over an Old Spice commercial, or forget that there's anyone in the world who loves you. Your brain might simply be overwhelmed, or you might have Alzheimer's. You might need someone to run you a nice long bath, pour you a cup of tea, make you supper - or, you might need all of the above, every day, plus some medication.

If your mind isn't well, you might find it soothing to spend a day or a month or a year lying on your bed in the dark, staring at blackness, listening to Muddy Waters or Cold Play or U2. This is the kind of thing people do after a break-up or a death or during an existential crisis. Emotionally, it is the equivalent of needing to be in traction after falling off the side of a mountain. You know you will heal, but you just need some time and to be left alone not moving.

Sometimes mental illness looks more like temporary insanity -  you might lie face down numb on the kitchen floor, or face up on the grass in your backyard, chanting 'God, God, God, God...' You might drive your car around in a blind rage looking for people to run over. You might push furniture in front of your door to keep yourself in. This is the kind of thing you might maybe do if your child has been assaulted or your spouse has betrayed you, and suddenly you just know you could kill somebody. It's the emotional equivalent of having been doused in gasoline and lit on fire. It's the interesting kind of craaaazy that makes for great gossip and invisible scars.

There are just so many ways for mental illness to manifest itself. You might cut yourself, or starve yourself, or write suicide notes. You might mix the Kool-Aid for someone else to drink, or swallow so many pills that your children have to get special permission to come visit you on the quiet ward.

You might drool and lick people's faces and wipe your feces on the walls in truck stop bathrooms.

You might molest children, or murder men and bury their body parts in your planters.

You might wrap your head or your house in aluminium foil.

You might shoot up an elementary school.

You might drown your babies in the bathtub, or contemplate throwing the one that's screaming out the open apartment window into the freezing snow. You might consider throwing yourself in front of a bus, or shoving a random stranger in front of a subway car.

You might lock yourself away and completely ignore someone, like they are dead to you, like they are not even there.

Our minds are all actually incredibly and dangerously susceptible to illness. If thinking about that doesn't make you depressed and anxious, you're probably not mentally ill. That, or you're suffering from a dissociative disorder. Just sayin'.

In more recent years, I've learned some other things about mental illness.

I've learned that it can break you with its relentlessness and cruelty. I've learned that it can make you invisible. I've learned that it can isolate you and leave you empty and dry and desperate for hope and for one true friend. I've learned that all of the help is just based on trial and error.

No one knows but Jesus.

Mental illness is more distancing than lice, than leprosy. When it's in your house, no one draws near just to sit with you. People want to evaluate. They stand opposite you and look deep into your eyes so that they can be sure they are really making themselves understood, and they put their hands on you, and they dispense their wisdom.

I've seen this before.... You should..... I had a friend who.... Have you tried..... You're just not.....

If I had a dollar...

That's the thing about mental illness - you. just. have. no. idea.

My husband left me a beautiful letter on the fridge the other morning, with the words of Exodus 20:21 - The people stood far off, while Moses drew near to the thick darkness where God was.

And he challenged us to have hearts like Moses.

So we press in where we may be tempted to stand far off, and we draw near to the thick darkness - because of course God is in it. We can't see His face or His hand or His footstep - but we can hear His voice and He is very, very near.

My body and mind may fail, but God is my strength and my portion forever. Psalm 73:26

Boos and Bouquets

My resolution for 2017 was to get religious about washing my floors. Religious turned out to be shorthand for Christmas, Easter and the occasional Tuesday. I dare anyone to say I didn't rock it.

Jesus did come to my door a few times, and I was not prepared even once when he did - which is pretty much what I expected, but still unfortunate since it was really the whole reason behind the religious floor exercises to begin with. Pull out the couches and wash to the corners - nobody shows. De-junk your closets, break the banister and throw in a scrap with your spouse, and you're guaranteed a knockknock dingdong.

I was polite, I moved some laundry piles around so he could sit down - I fed him pie, fixed him coffee and even signed him on to my wifi. I gave him hugs, high-fives, and fist bumps. I told him he was a good neighbour - he told me, "That's who I am. I'm a good neighbour. I'm good to everybody, that's just who I am."

He told me he didn't care about my dirty floors - that he was used to it. He swept my sidewalk.

I'm not sure what more I would have expected Jesus to say or do. He received my offerings, he expressed his affection, he revealed his nature, he accepted me just as I am, he cleaned the path between his home and mine.

I confess, I was left wanting.

Maybe it's me.

Maybe I'm looking for Love in all the wrong places - looking for Jesus in too many faces.

As far as fostering an attitude of expectancy for Jesus to come and say and do and reveal amazing things, I can't say focusing on my floors particularly helped. If it did, I sure didn't feel like writing about it.

This year I have renounced religiosity in Jesus name and I've decided to play to my strengths.

You might not have guessed this, but I happen to be very, very good at writing letters. I specialize in the jagged you.you.you.ought.to.know kind, but life is about balance and I'm interested in broadening my skill-set.

In this spirit, I have declared 2018 The Year of Boos and Bouquets. I think this will be fun.

It's only January, and already some individuals have done some very you are winning humanity things, and others some very you are totally failing, maybe you should just quit things. It's staggering, when you really stop and think about it, the impact that we have on one another and how far-reaching the ripples of kindness and cruelty go.

I'm not really sure what there is to be done about that, but I'm hoping I might encounter more of Jesus in the soul expressions than in the scrubbing.

To be clear, when I say soul expressions I mean the spewing of complicated and narcolepsy-inducing feelings misdirected away from actual people with faces and addresses, towards random strangers in a wildly cathartic, sanity-saving effort to minimize my own pain and the inevitable clean-up required following my impending mental breakdown. (Did I mention that my very caring doctor who was recently writing me very necessary prescriptions just got FIRED? Booooo). Just to be clear.

Oh yes, this is going to be serious fun.

In the interests of balance and restraint, I have both challenged and limited myself to writing two entirely sincere letters each month for the entirety of this year - one letter of compliment and one letter of complaint/constructive criticism.

January's Bouquet went to Proctor and Gamble because your skin you will have with you always, and mine is wearing thin. Acknowledging that I am wholly and wilfully ignorant of any news relating to P&G's carbon footprint, their employee standards, their ethical practices, their position on animal testing, human trafficking, transgender bathrooms, reproductive rights, Donald Trump, their employment of child labour, and/or their support of and for either Woody Allen or "The Purpose Driven Life", I have unreservedly declared my love of their Oil of Olay products. Olay Pro-X is da bomb.

They responded within 48 hours with a personal email from a representative, and kindly requested my address so that they could send me a $10 coupon. Classy.

A loud Booo went to Contigo for the poor design and problematic functionality of the travel mug I recently purchased. I didn't keep a copy of the message that I sent to them, but believe me when I say that it was pretty fantastic. Still waiting to hear back from them. I've been waiting so long that if I'm not served up a gift wrapped travel mug and a handwritten note apologizing for making me feel that my nose must be a N.O.U.S (Nose of Unusual Size) I will not be satisfied.

We should all have such problems.