Jesus in the Neighborhood

(Note: I accidentally linked this to Emily's blog twice. Sorry!)

"Dear Lord, we pray for nice neighborhood kids to play with. Please help someone move in soon."

Many a time over the last seven years, that prayer we uttered.

She has brown, shoulder-length straight hair that bounces, a sweet little heart-shaped face. Ten years old, she said. "We are living with my grandparents right now, because my mom's boyfriend went to jail."

She sees pretzel rods in a plastic container on top of the fridge. "Can I have a pretzel?"

I get the plastic container down and open it. She grabs three large rods.

They ride bikes, this Lexi girl and my own ten-year-old. A little later, she wants more pretzel rods and can she see the hamster Peter told her about?

"Can I have some water?"

The Holy Spirit, he says offer hospitality without grumbling.

I think it's Him talking?

I give her a water bottle. "Is it just me Lord, or is this girl demanding?"

The hamster, he looks traumatized and I think of the wood floor and how it could kill him.

"Put the hamster back now, will you Peter?"

They go outside again, the two ten-year-olds, my five- and three-year-old, and my eight-year-old.

The water bottle, it spills on the concrete. "Go ask your mom for another water bottle."

Peter comes to the door, embarrassed to ask me.

I roll my eyes, in spite of the hospitality warning. "Tell her no more today."

My aunt, mother of six, told me not long ago it's better when siblings just play with each other. They get along better that way. Her kids are middle-age now, but she remembers well the trouble with neighborhood kids.

"Do you want to see my pond?", Peters asks her the next day. The group of five goes to our backyard, where the container pond is. Lexi gathers the tadpoles up with the net, repeatedly.

Peter comes to the door. "Mom, she keeps scooping up the tadpoles. I told her they might die, but she won't listen."

I roll my eyes. Don't I have enough trouble, Lord? Opening a back window, I shout. "You kids go back to the front now."

She doesn't come for two days. Peter doesn't know if he likes her or not.

"She's so pushy."

When she comes around on Saturday, he's happy. Even though she keeps asking for food, which embarrasses him.

"Do you want to see a robin nest?", he ask her. But seeing it from the ground? That isn't enough for this Lexi. She starts to climb the pear tree.

Peter comes to the door, stressed.

"Mom, she's climbing the tree to see the nest."

"But she'll knock it down," I say.

Peter nods. "I told her that, but she said: 'I'm going to see that nest and no one is going to stop me.' "

It's like this every visit, and at dinner each night we discuss Lexi. "I know she isn't the playmate we were hoping for. But she's the one God brought. And for a reason. We are to pray for her."

Sheepishly, Peter admits, "She cusses. Dang it, crap, and shoot. She says them all the time."

One day I tell her, "We have to go to the pharmacy now, Lexi. We'll see you tomorrow."

She wanted Peter to go to the drainage ditch with her to catch tadpoles. I told Peter to wait until Daddy got home.

In the van on the way to the pharmacy, Peter tells me "Mom, she kept telling me to ask you again and again about the ditch. She's so pushy I don't know what to do."

"I told her we had to get my medicine because I have ADHD and OCD. And Mom, she said she has a discipline problem."

At this confession, I'm not surprised. I sensed Oppositional Defiant Disorder in her, a condition one of my former students had.

Husband, the only evangelist among us, says at dinner. "Let's invite her to church."

To me, a former public school teacher, this seems outrageous. "But we don't even know her mom! What if she's crazy and accuses us of something?"

He thinks about this, and then we realize there's no room in our van for her anyway.

"Let's tell her about Jesus, the reason for our hope," I offer.

"I could never do that", Peter says.

"I can't either", Paul adds. "I'm not brave."

That night, lying in bed, Lexi takes over my thoughts. God amazes me. How he strategically places people to grow us. What if Jesus came as a difficult child? I must see Jesus in her. I must love her as He does.

And my kids, they must learn to stand for their faith. Not be ashamed of the Gospel. This is easy for my husband, hard for me, and even harder for them.

Her family lets her run all around the neighborhood, barging in this door and that door, surprising the once-quiet, rather boring neighborhood. I never hear anyone calling for her.

How would I feel, as her mother? I know the way a child can bring you to your knees. And this mother, she has other problems too, if she was living with a boyfriend--one who went to jail, even.

Suddenly I know what to do. Invite all three of them to church--the mother, the five-year-old brother, and Lexi.

I think of our prayer, all these years, for a neighborhood child to play with.

He thinks we need Lexi? We need this girl? The one who climbs our pear tree, claiming she'll see that nest and no one will stop her?

I smile to myself, knowing God gives us what we need, not what we want. Yes, she's the one.

Linking with Emily at imperfect prose

Linking with Jennifer at Getting Down With Jesus today, too.