I want to tell you about my neighbor. I will call her Sarah (she is the type who wouldn’t want any fanfare, and wouldn’t think it was deserved anyway).
Sarah moved in a year and a half ago. We connected on the phone before we even met. Our husbands have similar jobs. We have shared some similar personal struggles — some depression, feelings of inadequacy (not uncommon with motherhood, right?). Sometimes we’ll cry on each others’ shoulders. She calls to share the little things in her life, and I share mine (for example, we’ll celebrate a cleaned room, or a finished project, or when fish have babies). Sometimes she’ll show up on my doorstep with her latest meal creation, or a plate of cookies just because.
Sarah is the woman who comes and gets my children off to school when my husband is out of town. Even if that is for a week or two (or three!) at a time. She claims it’s no big deal, but with sever insomnia issues, it is a big deal to me.
Last night, I had to take my child into the doctor (for the third time this week). Immediately, she offered to watch my other daughter while we went. I nearly cried. I was so weary from the week (it’s a hubby-out-of-town-week, and all of these doctor visits have happened while he was gone). The simple fact that she would offer to help at that moment meant much to a tired mommy.
Another snapshot of my good neighbor is also from this week. I was running around, getting ready for an event I was managing as a volunteer. I was stressed and pressed for time.
Our dead bolt has needed fixing, and hubby didn’t have time to fix it before he left. I hadn’t had a chance to tackle it, either. And this was a day when I would be gone for several hours, and really wanted to have a locked house — one that I could then get back into!
While I was frantically getting last-minute things done, the doorbell rang. There stood Sarah, with screwdriver in hand. I felt sheepish having her do something I could do, even more embarrassed by the fact that I barely had the time to let her in, let alone talk with her while she worked.
None of that mattered to her. She quietly fixed my door, and went home without a word.
Every time I look at that lock, I will think of Sarah, who understands what it means to be a good neighbor.
If you would like to tell us about a Mormon woman you know, please submit a brief essay (and a picture, if desired) to ‘mormonwoman’ AT ‘gmail’ DOT ‘com’