A few weeks ago, my husband and I attended a Sunday school class on outreach called "And Who Is My Neighbor?" I'll be honest. It was one of those I-want-to-go-but-I'm-scared-of-what-he'll-say situations. I know of young families who are ministering to the homeless downtown, and packing everyone up to visit the Compassion child in the Dominican, and snapping in car seats for weekly treks to the nursing home.
We are not one of those families.
In this season of my life, I often feel (right or wrong) that my main job is to feed the babies, to keep everyone alive, ensure everyone has clean underwear, and somehow have enough food in the house for three square meals (and snacks. Oh, the snacks!).
I do feel guilty about this apparent selfishness. The needy, and lonely, and homeless folks aren't going away. And it's my job (right? everyone's job?) to help. But it's a just fact that "organized outreach" is not happening right now in this season of raising little ones.
So, back to the Sunday school class.
I was pleasantly surprised (and relieved – loads and loads of relief) when the teacher identified our "neighbors" as ... wait for it ... our neighbors. The people actually next door, and across the street, and at the pool.
[Read the rest of the article at The Better Mom.]