Won't You Be My Neighbor

This one line, sung not stated, catapults me back to my childhood days as I watched him enter calmly through the front door, change sweaters and greet me as if he were staring right at me. He had a way about him. Mr. Rogers could look directly at the camera and in doing so, look straight into every child, in every living room and in every state as if he were equally present with each one.

Recently with a documentary and a movie, we have been reminded of the messages and the man behind this beloved show. With one lyrical line sung to a catchy tune, “Won’t You Be My Neighbor” sent influential messages from Mr. Fred Roger’s, who lived out of what he believed. His messages were clearly and consistently communicated with each episode of Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood, and included the following:

You are uniquely made.

Your feelings are valid.

You can show kindness and compassion to others by appreciating their uniqueness.

He deeply believed that being a “good neighbor” involved all three of these areas.

Fabled Bookstore, Waco, Texas

In 41 years of life, various neighborhoods defined home for me. From the palm tree lined streets of California to those in the shadows of the Rockies in Colorado; from the wide open spaces of Texas to the concrete jungle of New York City and the forested beauty of Westchester County, I have lived and loved each neighborhood for the treasures they hold. While there is much to appreciate about each location, what I value the most are the friendships represented by our journeys there, including our neighbors.

New York City, though such a foreign place in many regards with it’s raw, adulterated intensity, drove out many of the pleasantries so easily accessed elsewhere. There’s less chit-chat, less pause after a ‘how are you’ (if any at all) and less patience for sure. However, what has become evident to me in this season, is that relationships with our neighbors were forged, not in the warm smiles and plates of cookies (though those help), but in authentic encounters of real life.

A child throwing a tantrum in the lobby while waiting for the elevator,

a threatening hurricane forcing mandatory hours inside,

and a desperate attempt at needing a place for my husband to rest during a season of shingles each formed vulnerable relationships with neighbors just a few doors down.

A soccer game in the basement due to inclement weather provided opportunities to meet others doing laundry or taking the trash out.

I met Alicia, a remarkable Jewish woman, who escaped Poland when she was 12 and found refuge with her extended family in Argentina just getting mail out of our first floor mailbox. With no family of her own, she delighted in our children. Her tales of working with American Express Travel and flying the Concorde around the world several times while working with some of the world's wealthiest are some I’ll never forget.

NYC life, in all of its harshness, possesses unrivaled opportunity for community to form in a condensed amount of time, as you are forced to live life with those around you in a way that leaves you feeling naked, fully exposed and usually uncomfortable with the potential perceptions around you.

One memorable conversation starter with neighbors was the time our bathroom sink overflowed because a toddler in my home had decided to wash his hands and forgot to turn off the faucet. The flood that ensued beyond the fourth flour apartment walls down to the second floor apartment brought connection among other things.

The thin walls allowed us to hear heartbreaking fights with objects crashing in the background as well as romantic evenings alike, and embarrassingly led us to form certain judgements along the way.

One night in particular, the police were called with understandable concern resulting from the screaming, running and crashing overhead. The next morning I met our upstairs neighbor. She came down and expressed through tears her appreciation but also provided context that her daughter, a 30 something graduate of NYU was addicted to cocaine and the withdrawals from a life enslaved to drugs left brutal interactions for this sweet family one floor above. That incident was not the last, but we were able to step in with growing compassion and it opened a year of vulnerable communication that shaped me in ways I cannot describe.

Our neighborhood eventually evolved from a six story building to a tree-lined network of closely aligned houses. Once again, community was formed in beautiful and authentic ways as we learned to live life outside in our yard and conversations became more frequent with walks to the bus stop, loops around the streets for much-needed fresh air, a tree downed from a storm causing a power outage, a snow-filled driveway that needed plowing, referrals needed for the new baby growing inside, etc.

One thing stands out.

It seems as though what drives us into deeper community are not simply the kind gestures, but the unfiltered needs of real and honest living.



Being unafraid to have real needs and real requests allows us to enter into real relationships.

Borrowing a 1/2 cup of brown sugar, watching a child or a dog, holding an extra key for those “just in case” moments all add up to building unique relationships with one another.

Neighbors see what other friends aren’t able to at times, and I wonder if we truly grasp the opportunity we have as neighbors to enter into a life differently, see with a new perspective, and love with greater compassion.

This relationship takes time, no doubt and requires understanding that we don’t chose neighbors. We choose friends, we choose church communities, we choose school pedagogy, but neighbors represent how our hearts respond to those different than us.

Now back in Texas, where larger squares of green separate front doors, I have been praying for more opportunities to get to know our neighbors well.

Knocking over a mailbox, getting locked outside, losing a drone on a roof, having a dog not return when called have allowed us encounters, but I pray those encounters will continue to usher us into more honest living together. The walls are more divided here and the gates appear closed, but the needs and stories remain.

This season of quarantine has felt like an opportunity for increased connection even with forced isolation orders.

In the unspoken a wave now seems to communicate, “I see you and this is hard for us too.”

The fellow runner passes with a glance saying, “I get it. I needed fresh air too.”

I pray the grief we are all feeling in this season continues to bring unity, greater compassion and understanding with our neighbors from our own zip code to all around the world.

Affinity not based on aligned beliefs, but because we are co-inhabitants of the same world learning to live with it’s brokenness and faults alike and make something a bit more beautiful along the way.

Maybe Mr. Rogers was onto something for us adults as well.

Maybe being a good neighbor begins with acknowledging and accepting my own feelings, my own uniqueness, my own neediness, then and only then can I reach out across the driveway, the hallway, the political or religious aisle and truly enter into the lives of those around me with the compassion and love we all desire.

In a book entitled, Discernment, Henri Nouwen writes,

“Pay attention to the people God puts in your path if you want to discern what God is up to in your life.”

May we all pay a little more attention today.