Midlife Creative

John 1:14 says “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” In the message translation it says “The Word became flesh and moved into the neighborhood.”

We just moved into the Summit Hill neighborhood of St Paul. This is one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in the city. Many of the homes are valued at over a million dollars. We live in a carriage house behind a mansion. Back in the early 1900’s, carriage houses were used for servants and to keep the horses. Our carriage house literally looks like a barn from the outside. It is about the same size as our old house, but all on one level and with two large bedrooms instead of four smaller ones. Our three girls all share a bedroom.

This week, Mark and I attended a gathering of Christians from many walks of life who are looking to be good neighbors in the Twin Cities. This group was called a neighborhood collective. We met at a noisy food hall called Malcolm Yards in Minneapolis and had a very transformative conversation about what it means to truly inhabit your neighborhood. I came away asking myself, “What do I have to offer my new neighborhood on Summit Avenue?”

Because the houses are so much larger than in our old neighborhood and further from the street, I’ve felt a bit disconnected and haven’t had the chance to talk to any of the residents.
In West 7th, we knew who lived in the houses on our block and carried on daily conversations with people out on walks. Since moving to Summit, I have felt isolated and lonely.

Today Ivy begged to have a lemonade stand and I said Yes. After just a few minutes out front, we started attracting customers. What is it that makes people stop and buy a glass of artificially flavored sugar water from a kid? It’s like a magic spell that draws in anyone and everyone.

Because Summit is a popular walking area as well as a busy street, we got lots of customers. Many of the people who stopped were neighbors. They were so friendly and willing to stop and get to know us. It was kind of amazing how easy it was.
One elderly man proudly rattled off the names of everyone who lived on the block on both sides. Then he apologized for talking too much and I joked that I would know who to ask if I needed the inside scoop on the neighborhood. A teacher a few houses down was walking with her dog and apologized about not having any money along to buy lemonade. “I’ll come back,” she said. And sure enough she did. A family who attends the Catholic School down the street where my girls will go next year stopped by and introduced themselves. Another neighbor and his son from across the street came over and chatted awhile. The whole time I kept marveling at how normal it felt. I was the one making it weird by thinking I didn’t fit in the neighborhood or wasn’t fancy or rich enough to relate. These were just people. Normal people. The stereotypes I had invented in my head were not altogether real.

As a family who is struggling to make ends meet, it feels weird to be surrounded by wealth. Some days I ask myself, “why are we here?” But then, like today, God whispers in my ear: “Just wait. Watch me work. I have some really good things coming for you.”
And I say, “Ok, God. May your will be done. Make me an instrument of your peace.”