When I first encountered the idea of ‘neighboring’ from the neighboring movement, I was sitting firmly on a hard metal chair pulled up to a round table. While the floor beneath my feet was solid, my world began to shift and tip off-balance. In my suddenly disoriented state, I could have slipped right off that chair if it wasn’t for the coffee I was clutching and desperately wanting to finish.

Of course, I believe we are called to love our neighbors. In fact, before the neighboring movement began to re-arrange my thinking, I would have told you that much of my work is about that very thing.  I would have told you how busy I am, day in and day out, connecting with people in loving ways through my work in hopes of creating community.

For years, home was the place from which I would ‘dump and run’ to the activities or events of the night with our children. Whenever we all landed together between the dumping and running, I protected our fortress of chaotic yet holy moments together from too much outside intrusion, if at all possible. Even in its imperfection and messiness, my house was and is an oasis with the people I love most and my favorite place in the world. When I pull into the driveway, I exhale a bit, hoping to let the world around me go away for a while.

So, loving my actual, literal neighbors? Right where I live? Really? How? When? At what cost? With those questions swirling in my head, and my feet losing connection with the solid floor beneath my chair, I knew I had a long way to go to live fully into being a good neighbor focused on seeing abundance, building relationships, and experiencing joy - not only inside my house and at work, but outside my front door as well.

Could it be that my actual, literal neighborhood is my fortress or place of retreat, and not just my house? Could it be that there are chaotic yet holy moments waiting to be experienced with those who live next to me that will make me feel even more at home? Is it possible that the imperfect neighborhood in which my house is located could become a part of my oasis with people I love and a part of my favorite place in the world? Could it be that when I pull into my driveway, I am really pulling into my neighborhood? Could it be, that when my house is too quiet and too empty, I will know I am not alone?

I think so.  I really do.

While I still have a long way to go, with each new name I learn or interaction I have with a neighbor, I see glimpses of an oasis where my house is just one of the rooms in the larger space I call home.

And the ground beneath my chair grows solid again and my coffee tastes better than ever."