Full of Grace

Out of the blue, my friendly little neighborhood turned into a hostile environment this Friday.  My next door neighbor, Vince, thought it would be a really good idea to put my two year old on the back of an electric kid’s motorcycle and have a six year old, who had been driving and crashing it for all of five minutes be the driver.  When I saw Vince lift up my little Max, I shouted, “Vince!”

No response.

“VINCE!”

No response.  Max was almost on the motorcycle.

“VINCE!”

Oh crap, he is not listening to me.  I sprinted and grabbed Max just in time.

“He can’t ride that,” I said.  “He’s only two!  That’s way too dangerous.”  I redirected Max to play on his tricycle and was relieved when he didn’t throw a tantrum.  As far as I was concerned, the situation was done.

“You know, I’d appreciate it you don’t speak to me like I’m a little child!”

I was utterly stunned.  Vince had just endangered my child, but now he was angry at me? 

“Vince, I shouted your name four times and you didn’t respond,” I explained.  “That’s not safe.  And when it comes to my child’s safety, I will shout and I will be in control.”

That’s when all hell broke loose.  He started berating me in front of all the neighborhood children, including mine.  I remained calm on the outside, as I always do in stressful situations, but on the inside I was shaking.  I kept telling him that it was over and to stop, but he persisted.  I was picking up our toys, which were scattered near his driveway, and trying to get away as fast as I could.  It wasn’t until I was physically at a distant that he stopped.  If he had continued one minute longer, I would have called the police.  That’s how out of control he was. 

So, there goes the neighborhood!

I am in mourning right now.  Although I desperately want to move to California, one thing both my husband and I always loved about our current home was our super friendly neighbors.  Our children play outside together and take turns with birthday parties.  The husbands share tools and the wives swap recipes.  Yes, I know it seems very 1950s, but it’s so nice to consider the people who live the closest to you, friends.  I was in the midst of planning a tapas-themed block party, where each home would prepare one dish and we’d tromp from house to house.  Steal that idea if you want; we can’t have it here anymore.  Oh, it’s just so upsetting!  Vince and his wife were guests at our wedding, and they celebrated both of our son’s first birthdays with us.

They also threw a loud party a few hours after Jack was born when they knew we had just come home from the birthing center.  They blasted music on their deck for hours even though the weather was muggy, and all but two guests were inside.  They also laughed when their father dangled his small dogs over our fence to torment our big dog.  They used another neighbor for about twenty hours per weeek of unpaid, unscheduled babysitting for a few months.  That ended when their daughter dropped my neighbor’s infant’s head on a tile floor after being told repeatedly not to pick him up.  They never apologized.  Still, getting along with neighbors makes life easier, so we let things slide.

Not anymore.  I don’t know how to live next to people I fear and despise.  I don’t know how to not get along with people who live in such close proximity.  My home is now in between a rock and a hard place.  I resent the relocation.

When Andres confronted Vince, Vince said he felt bad about what had happened.  Let me clarify: he felt bad that I “made him have to scream at me.”  Do I have to actually write sentences explaining how sexist, abusive and psychotic that means Vince is?  But I do feel so bad for Andres.  He’s lived her for over fifteen years.  All friendships are important to him, and he values cordial relationships with neighbors. 

I think, in the end, we won’t have open hostility, but there will be a permanent cold front in Miami.  I am heart-broken, frustrated and angry about this.  These emotions run rampant in me and it take a physical toll on me.  My body shook, my jaw quivered and I couldn’t sleep the night after this happened.  My brain looped different scenarios when I would finally get to say my peace.  I also worried that eventually the neighborhood tension would cause a sore spot in my marriage.  Although Andres has been supportive, two things are true.  First, he is really good at letting things go and genuinely forgetting about them.  I am not.  Secondly, if he had actually seen the way Vince screamed at me, he would have punched him.  But he didn’t see it, so he doesn’t have the same revulsion for our neighbor in his gut the way I do.  These are the thoughts that woke me and kept me up crying in the middle of the night.  I’m competitive by nature, and I have a lot of trouble accepting a no-win situation.

With my whole body trembling in sobs, I knew I had to get a grip.  Andres reached out his hand to me in bed, but I knew I needed to pull myself together.  And so, I prayed for grace.

I asked God to fill me so full, over-full, of grace that any person within five feet of me could smell it.  I don’t know where that idea came from.  It just sprung forth out of nowhere and I found it beautiful, so I held on to it.  I asked for the ability to always behave with dignity.  This reminded me that I should be proud of the way I handled the situation.  I protected my child.  I didn’t roll over meekly when attacked, but I also didn’t lash out.  That’s grace under fire.  Now, I needed grace without fire.  A trickier quality for me to cultivate.

As I prayed, I literally felt the tensions in my body release, so I intensified my prayers.  A feeling of calm overcame me.  And then, more dark thoughts reared their ugly heads.  I shoo-shooed them away, imagining a broom chasing out every mean thought like a stubborn dust bunny.  Please fill me with grace.  Let me always behave with the dignity of a human being.  Help me to get the rest I desperately need.  Fill me with grace, a clear head and a clean heart.  Then, because it seemed it be working, I added, and please erase the dark circles under my eyes.  I have a big day tomorrow.

I reached out to Andres’ open hand, squeezed it, and finally fell asleep.  The next day, during my morning jog, those same unkind thoughts crept back up.  A moment later I passed by jasmine that smelled so sweet I tasted sugar on my tongue.  It reminded me of my prayer: to be so full of grace that anyone within five feet of me could smell it.  I saw a couple walking ahead on the path.  I asked to be filled with enough grace that they would smell it as we passed.  I wonder if they got a whiff? 

I am not perfect.  My spirit is strong and my spiritual life is rich, but I sometimes struggle to shape my thoughts and actions into what I know they should be, which is

full of grace.