We live in a neighborhood accessed by only one road. As a
result, we know the neighbors and their pets and also their cars and trucks.
Earlier this week, on one of my daily walks with our dog, Zipporah, I had a
near death experience. An unfamiliar truck swerved across the road and came way
too close to where I had scrambled for refuge in one of the neighbor’s yards. I
looked up and saw an unfamiliar face in the driver’s window as the truck sped
by. Once my heart slowed down, Zipporah and I finished our walk. I was a little
shaken, but otherwise okay. I told my husband that evening about the mishap,
and then mostly forgot about it.
As I walked Zipporah again the next day, I saw one of the
neighbors I do not know well working at the house he purchased when the older
couple who had lived there died. I waved and started to pass by, but he came out to
the road to meet me, so I stopped. He said he wanted to apologize and told me
he had been driving the truck that came too close to me the day before. He said
he had not slept the night before because he felt so bad about it. He told me
he had been talking with his passenger about the relative they were going to
visit at the hospital and was not paying close enough attention to his driving.
I assured him I was fine and thanked him for letting me
know. And I asked about the relative, who was doing better by then. We chatted
briefly before I continued on down the road. Since then, I have thought about
the conversation and this neighbor. In our culture, the response to making a
mistake seems too often to consist of offering explanation and blaming someone
else for the problem. The apology was an unexpected blessing. It began a
relationship between the two of us where none had existed before. I am grateful
to know a man of honor lives in our neighborhood. Our world would be a better
place if there were more like him.
Grace and Peace,
Donna
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