Neighborliness

            There is a ritual in our condominium complex that goes on every week.  On Tuesday, we have to take our garbage cans and our recycling material down to the corner so that the truck can pick it up.  The next day, the cans need to be brought back to their owners.  Most of the people who live in our plan are little old ladies (somebody dubbed the place “Widow’s Peak”) and it is hard for them to get their own cans, particularly in the winter when the snow and ice comes and the roads are slightly treacherous.  There are those in the plan who take it upon themselves to get the cans back to their owners.  We are all appreciative of this.  I do it, whenever I can.

            This is a small, small thing, but it is the essence of community.  None of us are expected to live our lives by ourselves.  We are nestled into relationships that are hopefully fulfilling to us and we live in neighborhoods where there are other people who can be of a help to us.  That is and has been the way of humanity for ages.  It isn’t a necessarily religious thing, but it is of the essence of God.  I know that we are all meant to be neighbors, because we all run into things in our lives that we can’t do by ourselves.  It is necessary for us to find others who can help us. 

            The mechanic who works on my car loves to ride his dirt bike.  He is sixty years old, but he loves the feel of the trail under him and he does this frequently.  A couple of months ago, he was riding his bike up a particularly steep hill and the bike turned sideways and then fell on him breaking his leg.  There he was up the hill, in the woods, far from help.  He had left his cell phone at home.  He did what he could, wrapping his scarf around his leg and a broken tree branch to form a kind of a splint and he wormed his way down the hill where he found a house where he could get help.  He got to the hospital and is currently recovering from his broken leg.  What could have been a terrible tragedy was helped immensely by the help of a neighbor. 

            Every week in the Post-Gazette there is a column detailing what it calls “Random Acts of Kindness.”  These are always stories of how someone helped another person who had lost a wallet, a phone or something and had it restored by a stranger who really didn’t have to do anything at all.  These are always stories of gratitude and I love to read them.

            This is what it means to be a neighbor.  We all make the world a better place when we practice our neighborliness.  It doesn’t cost much and it gives an enormous gift.