Praying my neighbors outside

With the lengthening days of late spring, I’ve been able to resume something I love dearly: a walk through the neighborhood after the children are in bed. Like most mid-century suburbs, this neighborhood is not really designed for connection: there are no sidewalks, and houses are fairly far apart. Sometimes when I walk I almost feel like I’m rambling through a movie set: well-cared for houses under gracious trees, cars in the driveways…but no people.

I do, in fact, encounter some other walkers, especially during this gorgeous time of year. But rarely do I find anyone spending time outside their homes for either work or recreation—many of our neighbors don’t even mow their own grass, and I know of only one other vegetable garden in the neighborhood. I see swings sets and bikes—but I know of only one young teenager who rides his bike with any regularity.

When I do catch a neighbor outside, I’m struck by two things: 1) how pleasant, even enthusiastic people are to talk. I think many people really want to be more connected and really aren’t sure how to begin; and 2) how international my neighborhood is. In Our three years in this neighborhood, I’ve met neighbors from Ireland, Mexico, Ukraine, Peru, Pakistan, Laos. I’ve glimpsed women in head coverings walking from cars to back doors, and heard laughter and Spanish conversation drifting over the rose hedge of a house down the street.

Most of these encounters are singular: they happen once, and not again. And so recently I have begun to pray that God would allow me to develop relationships specifically with some of the international women in my neighborhood.

Two days after I began praying for these connections, our doorbell rang as we were finishing supper. Standing at the door was Ms. B, the neighbor whose house is right across the street from our garden. She and her husband, immigrants from Thailand, are about the age of my own parents. Sometime last fall they had brought us seeds from a type of Thai squash, and tonight she was holding two plastic grocery bags full of roots and cuttings for our garden. We spent the next hour outside with Ms. B, first on our garden, then across the street in hers.

The encounter was certainly a reminder of the garden’s power in connecting people, but even more, it was a startling confirmation of the power of prayer. If you desire to practice hospitality but can’t find anyone to welcome, begin praying that God would draw your neighbors outside - and don’t be like me: bewildered at God’s swiftness in answering a holy desire.