My Neighbor

 Her baby boy, son, was convicted of sex crimes.

People pulled away in horror anytime they saw her.

Whispered behind her back, "Do you know what he did?"

People who claimed to love the sinner, stopped loving her.

So, she hid.  Content to commune with her plants.

Watering them every day, pruning, fertilizing, adding supports.

It's how she raised her son.  

Do what needed to be done to raise him so he would shine.

And look what he did with that.

She doesn't talk to anyone anymore.

There is too much grief, shame, revulsion in herself.

She is only visited by her son's children.

They bring energy, laughter, a break from the mundane.  

Grandchildren don't fault the grandmother for the mistakes of their father. 

I was slow in learning about what my neighbor was going through.

Once I knew, I played dumb.  

Waving at each other as we watered our plants. 

Discussing landscaping ideas and names of flowers.

My daughter loved to play with her grandchildren 

and I often watched them out our window in the hose or the dirt or a tree. 

After a delayed time apart, my daughter saw the grandchildren.

She rushed around, getting dressed, slamming the door as she ran outside to greet them.

The children's faces all lit up, but not as brightly as the grandmother's.  

And I thought to myself, "Yes!  That!  That is the church.  That is love.  That is acceptance."

Evaluating a person for who they are.  

Knowing we are all hurt and bruised; all experiencing trauma.

But in the midst of all of that, running to greet each other.

I hope my neighbor knows that we are holding her from afar.

That there is no judgement from us.

That we love having her near us.