On Orange Juice, Neighbors, and Vocation

I was just sitting down to write when there was a knock at the door.

It was The Princess, in yet another ballet tutu and mismatched Crocs.

“I’ll bet you’d like a Popsicle again,” I said.

“No,” she said, grinning. “I want orange juice.”

We did happen to have some orange juice. I fetched her a cup, and got back to work for approximately five minutes. Then, of course, the shrieking started, and I had to go back out.

Jimmy’s boy and The Princess don’t get along. Yet, they always insist on playing together on my front lawn, even though I don’t think it’s that much more fun than any other lawn in the neighborhood. Worse still, they have decided that I’m their arbitrator and need to settle every quarrel myself. I love children, yet I’m starting to cringe whenever I hear a commotion outside.

I opened the door.

“If you can’t play nicely,” I said in my sweetest voice, “You can’t be in the yard. I’m very busy today. If you fight, the Princess has to go back to her house and you have to go back to your house.”

“She poured bubble soap on the flowers!” Jimmy’s boy protested. “She’s killing the flowers! I was going to pick those flowers for my MOM!”

I gravely explained to the Princess that nothing goes in the flowerbed except water, and not even that without my supervision. I closed the door, and went back to my writing.

The commotion began again before I’d typed a word. I came out to find Charlie the cat running for her life because the Princess had tried to pet her again. The Princess always pets animals in a sharp slapping motion, as some little children do, so Charlie despises her. Jimmy’s boy was having a fit because the Princess wouldn’t leave the cat alone. I explained that I was trying to write and they needed to stop squabbling.

Undaunted, Jimmy’s boy climbed up on the railing of the porch to show me how he could walk across it like a balance beam. I watched, as patiently as I could. Then the princess showed me how she could dance around on the sidewalk with a plastic toy microphone and sing a song from KPop Demon Hunters.

“I’m done hidin’, now I’m shinin’ like I’m born to be!” sang the princess. “We dreamin’ hard, we came so far, now I BELIEEEEEEEEVE!”

I applauded for the Princess while Jimmy’s boy rolled his eyes, and I excused myself to go write.

The next outburst came after about thirty seconds.

I went out to the lawn, not even pretending to be sweet this time. “GO HOME!” I bellowed. “I am WORKING! I have DEADLINES! I CAN’T WATCH YOU RIGHT NOW!”

“But she poked me with a BUBBLE WAND!” cried Jimmy’s Boy.

“GO HOME!” I shut the door.

I actually did manage to get a few paragraphs written before Adrienne came down, and asked to go to the grocery store. When I came out to get in the car, the Princess’s bubble soap bottle and her plastic microphone were still on the lawn. A half full glass of orange juice was sitting on the porch step, attracting flies.

Suppose the human beings you meet in your neighborhood aren’t a distraction from the important things in your life. Suppose they actually are the important things in your life.

The grandmother of the Baker Street Irregulars had given me her pickings from the food pantry that she wasn’t going to eat herself, two or three months in a row. She always does this because she thinks I’m a good cook and can use the odds and ends she can’t. I had used the food I could manage to use, but there was a big bag of unexpired cans I wasn’t going to eat in the hall. We drove that bag down to the Friendship Room with the last of my unplanted tomato seedlings for their garden. We drove the long way to the grocery store and then walked up and down every aisle, joking with each other while we shopped. I was glad for the comparative quiet of a crowded Walmart, compared to the racket at home.

When we drove back up to the house, the Princess was already sitting on my doorstep waiting for me. Jimmy’s boy saw the car pull up and came running from his own yard. I poured some more orange juice. I explained that I really needed to get some work done. The Princess wandered off to her grandfather’s house, and Jimmy’s boy came inside with us. For awhile, he just played quietly with Adrienne’s old Legos while I wrote a few more paragraphs. Then it was time to do the cooking for the day, and I decided to also make some banana bread muffins. Jimmy’s boy had an excellent time squashing three bananas with a potato masher. We chatted while he worked. While the muffins were in the oven, he went to roughhouse with Adrienne, whom he treats like an older sibling.

Suppose the family and friends you always wanted were all around you. Suppose that God was trying to give them to you, in your neighbors, and all you had to do was welcome them in.

I’d just begun to wash the baking dishes, when there was another scream– Adrienne’s scream this time, not a funny part of the game but a real scream of pain. Jimmy’s boy began to scream after Adrienne did– again, not in play. Jimmy’s boy was screaming in fear.

I dropped the half-washed mixing bowl and ran into the living room, where Adrienne was crying with a hand to one eye.

“What happened?” I cried.

“I DIDN’T DO IT ON PURPOSE!” screamed Jimmy’s boy.

Through gasps of pain and shock, Adrienne explained that Jimmy’s boy had gotten a little carried away and accidentally kicked the phone she was holding up into her eye.  As I examined the eye, Jimmy’s boy started shaking.

“I’m sorry!” he cried. “I’m sorry! I didn’t do it on purpose!”

“Just a minute,” I said impatiently, trying to concentrate on Adrienne.

Adrienne was fine, just shocked. The phone had hurt, but hadn’t left a bruise. I turned to Jimmy’ boy, who was crying in real terror.

“Please,” said Jimmy’s boy, tears streaming down his face. “Please, I don’t want to get into trouble!”

I’d never heard him this frightened before.

His parents are the kindest people imaginable, but sometimes Jimmy’s boy stays with another, older relative for a day or two, and of course he goes to school. Jimmy’s boy tends to be hyperactive, and get into scrapes. Appalachian discipline for a little boy who gets into scrapes at school or at somebody’s house can tend to be harsh or humiliating. I don’t know what he thought I would do, but he looked as if he expected a whupping.

Still with one arm around Adrienne, I put the other arm around Jimmy’s boy. “No harm done. Everything’s fine. Just remember to be more careful.”

It took several minutes for Jimmy’s boy to calm down.  After awhile, he and Adrienne were playing together again. He ate a banana muffin before helping me water the garden, and went home.

I sat down to write.

The only thing I can think of to write is this: the distractions of your day-to-day life are not a distraction. They are your vocation.

God is not far from you. He is trying to get through to you, in the distractions of your day-to-day life.

Your vocation is not a thousand miles away, in the jungle or the desert or a monastery on top of a cliff. It’s where you are right now, and it involves your neighbors.

I guess I did a good day’s work after all.