Neighbors

I don't know her name. I only know her face. We speak greetings to one another every time we meet. I try and practice my language, but she often speaks too fast and uses another local language mixed in with the one I am learning. So I smile, "guess" at what she is saying and try to answer.

A few months ago I made a chocolate cake and took it to her house. She smiled, told me I was too polite, and about an hour later brought me back my plate, washed. A few days later she knocked on my door and handed me a bag of fruit. During the Mid-Autumn festival we gave her family some moon cakes. Again she responded with much thanks and told me I shouldn't have given them anything. Tonight she knocked on my door again, bringing me a bag of ???? They look like a type of nut, but they are mushy and smelly inside, so I am afraid to eat them. But I understand the gesture.

When I think about my sweet neighbor lady I think think of how we began talking to Father about her when we first decided to move here. We knew He would put us next to someone, some family. For months we have lifted her family up, never knowing who exactly she was. Now we have the privilege to meet her, get to know her and her sweet grandbaby who she cares for. They alway call us auntie or little brother or sister when they see any of us. The little boy always chatters on with Hudson or Hannah. Often I think of Father, who created her and placed her in apt. 602 knowing we would someday move into 601.

If she comes to your mind, please lift up our neighbor.