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The Secret to Everything - Loving Your Neighbors When You've Had Enough
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The Secret to Everything
Loving Your Neighbors When You’ve Had Enough
By Cheryle M. Touchton – Director – Pocket Full of Change Ministries
Do not seek revenge or bear a grudge against one of your people, but love your neighbor as yourself. I am the LORD. Lev 19:18 NIV
If you have lived in a residential neighborhood for any length of time, you may have reached a point where you have had enough. When we buy a house, no one gives us a list of the values other neighbors hold. Usually, we have no way to know who is loud, messy, mean, or immoral. Fights over shrubs, lawn maintenance, parked cars, and garbage cans can dominate our thoughts and minds and turn what we thought would be a sanctuary into a breeding ground for anger, discontent, and retaliation. Is there a way to react when we’ve truly had enough while still demonstrating love for our neighbors and avoiding revenge or holding a grudge? God must think so because that is exactly what He told us to do.
Several months ago, I looked out my upstairs window into the peaceful colorful desert preserve below and noticed adolescent boys with shovels. I watched in fascination as they dug a deep hole. Were they burying someone? Along came a spiky haired young man dressed in clothing matching his jet-black hair. I resisted the urge to go downstairs and tell him to pull up his low hanging pants. He placed a wooden ramp into the hole and promptly proceeded to drive his bike across it. I was impressed as his bike flew through the air. I wondered if they would let me play.
As the weeks progressed, word got out that the desert preserve was good for jumping. They named it the Parkside Jumps. Boys came from miles away. The jumps they dug were awe inspiring, some of them being over six feet deep. It was hard to work in my office with my own personal stunt show right out my window. At first, I enjoyed the entertainment.
The preserve eventually grew littered with cardboard, wooden planks, and cigarette and marijuana butts. I broke up circles of young boys with glowing red tips in their hands. Wars broke out as the various neighborhoods clashed and I found myself constantly running downstairs to rescue a child dripping with blood and losing a rock war. When the older boys began exposing themselves to the younger girls, I’d had enough.
I marched outside. “Keep your pants on or I will call the police,” I said. “Those girls are babies.”
“They fall off, “ he muttered. “I can’t help it.” That night my electricity was cut off from the outside.
When a mattress appeared and I realized what it was being used for, I went to the neighborhood association meeting and asked for help. The association was not concerned and suggested I start calling the police.
“There is nothing we can do,” the property manager insisted. “If you are upset, call the police.”
I did not want to call the police on my neighbors so I continued my self-appointed task of protecting the children. As I stopped fights, suggested the boys put out the cigarettes and pot, and helped chase off an older gang of inner city street kids, the pranks on my home increased. These little neighborhood darlings rode bicycles through my shrubs and toilet paper appeared in my trees. I had to leave town and fretted, wondering who was going to protect these children from injury, illegal drugs, and molestation.
When I came back, I found out I was not the only one who had had enough. The malicious mischief had spread beyond my home and the preserve and throughout the neighborhood. As many as 100 children ranging in ages 8-15 ransacked our neighborhood. Other neighbors were not as gentle as I had been and tempers flared between homeowners and teenyboppers. The neighborhood called the fire department four times as these creative hooligans set fires so they could jump over them. At the next neighborhood association, there was a determined group of homeowners insisting the neighborhood association take action. This time, the association listened.
What happened next was also impressive. We were going to take our neighborhood back. No trespassing signs appeared in the preserve. Neighbors took turns guarding what was our association’s property.
When the boys tore down this sign, a neighbor called the police and put the sign back up. Over the next week, police cars lined our streets daily. When the boys started another fire, a neighbor chased them off, confiscated a bike, and turned it over to the police. Our neighborhood hired tractors to plow down the jumps. Eveyrone cleaned up the area. Eventually, these little monsters got the message that their playground was moving somewhere else and everything grew ominously quiet.
It was not over. I was outside in my front yard with Belle when two of these ruffians rode by on their bikes. They started hooting and hollering and calling Belle and she darted after them. I screamed and chased them down the street with Belle nipping at their heels. Sounding like a banshee, I begged them to stop and send my beloved pet home.
They just laughed and yelled, “Come on little Lassie dog. Come on.” I ran two blocks before I admitted I wasn’t going to catch them. I couldn’t even see them anymore. When I turned to run back to get my car, I realized I had seriously damaged an already sore foot. I quickly limped home and grabbed car keys.
Hopelessly, I drove around trying not to imagine what they were going to do to my little Belle. After about 45 minutes, I spotted a golden blur trotting towards home. I went weak with relief. It was then that I noticed I was crying. I pulled the car over and shoed her inside, scolding and hugging her at the same time.
I was mad. My foot was hurting and my dog could have been hit by a car or injured by these rotten children. I wanted justice and drove around looking for the boys. When I spotted them and they gave me a disgusting finger sign, everything in me wanted to jump out of the car and retaliate. Just as I opened the door, I felt the Still Small Voice of God, whisper, Your only job is to love them.
I sighed, smiled, waved at them, and drove off.
The next morning, I was upstairs working and heard pounding on my downstairs door. I must not have heard the bell.
“Open up,” a voice demanded. “This is the police!”
I started trembling and I ran down the stairs, forgetting my foot again. Had Bob been hurt? Had my dog bitten one of the boys from the day before? Was the angry police officer about to impound my dog?
“I have to get on a robe,” I yelled through the door.
“I can’t hear you,” the police officer demanded. “This is the police. Open the door now!”
Enough was enough. “I’m not dressed!” I yelled. “I’m not opening the door until I’m decent.”
“Oh,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’ll wait.”
When I returned to the door, hands still trembling and foot still hurting, I opened it and asked, “Is everything OK?”
“Yes,” the police officer said sheepishly. “This woman here said your neighbor stole her son’s bike. He is not home and I want to know what you know about it.”
I looked over to see the spiky haired young man, still dressed in black.
Had he changed clothes in weeks? I wondered. His mother stood beside him glaring at me.
I couldn’t help it. I went to laughing. “Well,” I laughed, trying to catch my breath. “I guess my neighbor did take his bike. That young man started a fire that almost burned a house down. When my neighbor Brain ran out to stop it, the boys abandoned the bike. Brian had had enough. He is mad. These boys have threated his home and his children. Brian called the police and turned the bike over to them. Your son has been using his bike to drive through our yards and tear down our shrubs.”
“I talked to Brian. He told me the police had it but the police say they don’t have it,” the mother accused. “I want to know where it is.”
“Well,” I said, laughing again. “All I know is that your son started a fire and I saw the bike drive off in the back of a police car.”
I stopped laughing and looked her in the eye. “ I’m really worried about your son. He and his friends are terrorizing us and he seems like he is headed for big trouble. I’m spending much of my day trying to protect him and others from getting hurt. ”
The mother turned to her son. “You lied to me! I told you to stop hanging around with those boys. No wonder you didn’t want to tell me what happened to your bike.” The boy stared at the ground.
The police looked at the boy. “Starting a fire is serious. It is a felony. I could take you to jail.”
The boy continued looking at the ground defiantly and the police officer demanded, “Look at me when I’m talking to you! I mean business! These people have had enough and it is going to stop now!”
Just at that moment, Brian pulled into his driveway. I walked across the street accompanied by the growing neighborhood crowd and the police officer. I was mildly self-conscious in my blue housecoat and pink slippers and was still limping. Together, we told Brian what was going on.
Brian calmly smiled at the police officer and said, “Yes, I did take a bike. These kids started a fire. When I came outside, they ran off and left it. I called the police and they took the bike.”
“The police say they don’t have it,” the mother demanded again. Brian went into the house to get the police receipt that proved the police had indeed taken the little fire bug’s bike.
The police officer looked at us and said, “I want to talk privately with the mother and Brian.” He looked at the guilty young man. “You go across the street with these people. If you are lucky, we can work this out without taking you to jail.”
We walked across the street and I looked at the boy and said, “I’ve been worried about you. I’ve even prayed for you. Do you have any connection with a church?”
“No,” he muttered. “I go to Young Life on Mondays.”
“That’s great,” I said. “You need Jesus in your life. If something doesn’t happen, you’re headed for big trouble. You don’t know it now but you are making decisions that will ruin your life and probably the life of your children and grandchildren. Do you believe in Jesus?”
“I have my beliefs,” he said. “I don’t follow nothing regular.”
“Have you ever asked Jesus to be a part of your life?” I probed.
“I’ve been baptized twice,” he answered.
I laughed. “It only takes once if you’ve really accepted Jesus into your life.”
Another neighbor spoke up and agreed, “It only takes once.”
Surprised, I looked at her. I had never met her. “Are you a Christian?”
“Yes,” she smiled. “I am. Young man, this woman is right. You are about to ruin your life.”
“She and I both are Christians,” I explained to this juvenile delinquent. “That means we love Jesus and because we love Jesus, we love you. I’d love to take you to church. We leave the house at 9:00 Sunday morning. We have a great youth group. You need new friends.”
Not to be outdone, my Christian neighbor said, “I don’t leave until 10:30. We also have a great youth group. You could go with me.”
About this time, the mother walked back to collect her smiling son.
“We’ve been talking to him about Jesus,” I explained. “I don’t know what your beliefs are but your son needs Jesus in his life. We’ve both just offered to take him to church on Sunday. You could come with us.”
“He needs something,” the mother admitted. “Maybe I could take him to the Y.”
“He needs Jesus,” I insisted. “Please let us take you both to church.
The police offer spoke up. “Your son needs a good male influence. He would get it at church.”
I looked at the police officer. “Are you a Christian?”
“Yes,” he admitted quietly. I suspected he wasn’t supposed to talk about this on the job but I had put him on the spot and he had honestly answered.
He looked at the mother. “Church would be good for him.”
We all went to our various homes, the drama finally at an end. I left the encounter loving the young man who had caused so much destruction. I thought about my anger the day before. I was grateful I’d not lost my temper with the friends of this boy. The loss of shrubs, the disconnected electricity, a toilet papered yard or even a lost dog was nothing compared the salvation of this young man’s soul.
I was in awe of the Holy Spirit. He had used three Christians who were strangers to each other to mirror Christ for this precious fatherless boy. I was sorry when the mother and son did not show up for a ride to church on Sunday and prayed they went with the other neighbor. Our Sunday sermon was on Leviticus 19:18. Not only are we to love our neighbors, we are not to bear a grudge or seek revenge.
The neighborhood has been quiet. There is peace in demonstrating love.
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Cheryle M. Touchton is a ministry partner with and the Director for Pocket Full of Change Ministries. For more information to schedule a speaker for an event go to www.pocketfullofchange.org or call Gail Golden at 904 316-5462.
© Pocket Full of Change Ministries
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