The Unexpected Gift of Neighbors

Don't forget those right next to you

When I was a young leader at UCLA, there was a viral racist incident towards Asian Americans that set the whole campus astir. Wanting to do the right thing, I quickly joined in the protests, wrote letters to the faculty, and organized student prayer meetings. Then my campus staff at the time asked me something I will never forget: “Have you asked how your roommate is doing?” My roommate was Chinese American and it hadn’t even occurred to me to ask her how she was doing. Sometimes we can forget the people right next door to us, and even our own housemates.

My spouse, Mike, and I expected to go to the hospital on Tuesday to induce labor to have our second child. To our surprise, there were no hospital beds so we’ve been waiting around for a few days for something to open up. In the meantime, we’ve been taking lots of walks around our neighborhood and going for swims in the apartment complex pool.

As we’ve been waiting, something beautiful has occurred: We’ve gotten to know our neighbors. Neighbors have confided in us about the loss of family members, surgeries, parenting, and fears of crossing the border to visit family. One three-year-old girl has made Mike her new best friend and yells from across the lawn, “Mike, Mike I have something to show you!” She reminds us of our sweet Julia. New and old neighbors have listened to our story intently, prayed for us, given us gifts, and openly talked to us about their faith questions.

As we wait for a hospital bed, several friends have reminded us of the story of Jesus’s birth and there being “no room for them in the inn” (Luke 2). As I look back at the famous Christmas story, I am struck by how dependent Mary and Joseph were on the hospitality of neighbors. Their journey was not one they chose — it was one required by a power-hungry Caesar who wanted a census. And still, along their way, their neighbors had to look out for them, as they vulnerably expected their baby’s arrival in timing that was far out of their control. There were no hospitals and inns as we know them today, just the earnest hospitality of neighbors who would host them anywhere they could…even in a manger.

Mike wakes up each morning now, as we wait, asking “what divine appointment will we have today with our neighbors?” I love that. What if we asked that every day? And all we’ve had to do to receive such hospitality is take a walk.

How might your neighbors want to love you this week? Consider getting outside and sharing one vulnerable thing about your life with them.