Refrigerator Prayer

It started with a warning. “He returned home from war and isn’t the same anymore.” “We have found the youngest of the kids wandering the neighborhood.” “The yard just isn’t what it used to be.”

We had only just moved into our house, but already the neighbors were cautioning us about a family that lived behind us. The dad was a war veteran with erratic behavior. He stayed in the shop that overlooks our backyard all hours of the day. There were six kids, but no one seemed to see them outside except when the youngest would manage to escape supervision and wander over to the neighbors’.

We already had plans to build a fence around the backyard, but now I was eager to complete the project. Fear was the only emotion I could identify at that moment. Perhaps that was the result of the tumultuous relationship we’d had with one of our past neighbors. Perhaps fear is my initial instinct to any perceived threat. Either way, all I could think about was my extreme need for peace and a pressing desire to have a barricade around my home.

A few months later we met the mom of this family of eight. As I reflect on the encounter now, her behavior should have resounded as a cry for help to me, but I was too self-absorbed at the time to notice. She told us about her husband’s PTSD and how she was both the mom and the dad to her family. She was responsible to provide the income and take care of the kids. She seemed overwhelmed, disconnected, and emotionally flat.

I’m embarrassed when I think back to my response to that conversation. Instead of stirring up mercy within me, the conversation resulted in more fear rushing to the surface. She confirmed the rumors of the neighbors. All I could think about was whether my children were safe playing in the backyard. Every time I saw their shop light on, I got a knot in the pit of my stomach as I wondered what this man was up to.

Winter came and my fear subsided as most families hibernated indoors due to the colder weather. With the arrival of spring, new and odd behaviors were on display in the neighborhood. This time when the shop doors opened, there was a turnover of new and different motorhomes. There seemed to be a constant coming and going of people. I wondered if we now had to worry about drug problems.

I’m not sure what caused me to turn a corner in my egocentric thinking, but when a flatbed trailer carrying a refrigerator took up permanent residence in our neighbor’s backyard, it became an outward reminder of the inner turmoil that was happening within this family. No longer was the home able to contain the chaos. It was spilling over into the backyard. This time a new emotion arose to the surface.

Guilt.

For the first time, I was flooded with thoughts about what this poor woman who lived behind me must be going through. I thought about how lonely she must be as she struggled to keep her family afloat. I thought about her marriage and whether she felt like her dreams had been shattered. I wondered if she had anyone speaking love into her life. Then I thought about the kids and how traumatized they must be by seeing the changes in their dad. I wondered how much of their childhood they had to forfeit to take over the role of a parent, since dad isolated himself and mom had to work all day.

I stood there looking out my kitchen window and cried tears of remorse. God’s Word convicting me over the missed opportunities God had placed in my path.

“Jesus answered, ‘The most important is, ‘Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ The second is this: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.” Mark 12:29-31.

I had failed in loving or even caring about my neighbor. I wanted to change. I started by confessing to God and asking forgiveness. Since my kitchen window looked directly on to this refrigerator, I committed to pray for this family every time I saw it. I confessed to my family and told them of my desire to change.

It was then that my husband told me that he believed our neighbors had moved out of the house and that it looked like new people were renting it. A new emotion arose.

Discouragement.

My eyes were finally opened to my errors, and there was nothing I could do to make things right. Over the next couple of weeks, my husband’s assumptions were confirmed. It was no longer the same family living in the house. I had missed an opportunity to show God’s love to someone in need.

However, I realized I was wrong in thinking there was nothing I could do for this family. I remembered my commitment to pray every time I saw the refrigerator. Since I looked out that window multiple times a day, I had endless opportunities to pray not only for my past neighbors but for my current neighbors as well.

Not more than a week passed, and there was a knock on our front door. When I opened, there were two little girls standing there. The oldest girl asked, “Do kids live in this house, and if they do, could we play with them?”

That began a series of almost daily playdates at our house. I was so grateful God had provided me with another opportunity to love my neighbors. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean that I got it right every time. These girls seemed desperate for family time and wanted to be involved in many aspects of our family. I have had to learn what true hospitality means rather than my perfected notion of the idea.

One afternoon, I informed the girls that they needed to go home since it was time for my kids to do their chores. They asked me if they could stay if they helped out with the chores. I responded by saying, “Not this time, but we’ll see you tomorrow.” Why did I say that? I know why. I wanted my kids to focus and finish their jobs in a timely manner. I wasn’t in the mood for chore time to be fun time. I wanted efficiency, not hospitality.

The next week while the girls were over playing, I noticed there was whispering happening among the children. I asked what all the secrecy was about. One of my daughters replied, “They want to know if they could have dinner with us tonight.” I responded, “Not tonight. We are leaving after dinner, but let’s plan something in the future.”

Again, I wanted to hit myself in the forehead over my complete inability to be spontaneous. In my mind when you have someone over for dinner, there is a plan in place. An invitation is made, the house is clean, and the schedule is free of all other activities. This is probably why the idea of hospitality is so exhausting to me. I have this idea in my head that everything has to be perfect. These are elementary students. They have no desire for perfection, and they don’t care what my house looks like. All they wanted was a hot, home-cooked meal. I made a commitment to myself that the next time they asked to stay for dinner, I would say “yes” regardless of my internal need for perfection.

It didn’t take long for the whispers to be heard among the girls again. This time our neighbor girls were brave enough to ask me directly, “So when could we have dinner with your family?” Without hesitating, I looked at them and responded, “Tonight.” I told them that our family would be leaving for church shortly after dinner, but they were welcome to stay for dinner. The girls were ecstatic and asked if they could run home and invite their older sister to join us for dinner, too. Their sister is in 8th grade, and the only time we had talked was when she came to our house to pick up the girls. I figured she probably wouldn’t want to eat with a bunch of strangers, but I was happy to invite her too.

To my surprise, ten minutes later all three girls were walking over to our house for dinner. The oldest girl remarked how clean our house was. I smiled and said, “thank you,” though in my mind I was looking at the three loads of laundry in various stages of folding flung throughout my living room. I couldn’t believe that I was actually hosting a dinner without picking up first.

We all sat down around the table. We prayed for the meal, and then our kids explained our daily routine of sharing our “peach and pit” moments of the day. In other words, the best and the worst part of our day. I was humbled as I listened to each of the girls share their real and honest moments of the day. One of them had been bullied. The conversation allowed us to hear from each one of them the raw struggles they had been facing.

Thankfulness.

I am so thankful for the second chances God gives me. I wasn’t able to be a loving neighbor the first time around, but God gave me another opportunity. When perfectionism kept me from understanding true hospitality, these girls were patient with me as I awkwardly struggled to get it right.

Real life happens in the beautiful, unexpected, unplanned moments. When you least expect it, a refrigerator appears.