As I climb the stairs to my apartment on the 11th floor, I see many closed apartment doors. Unfortunately I rarely meet the people behind them. This saddens me. Things are always so still; things are hidden.
Since the time of Lenin and Stalin, Russia has changed in many ways. However, in small ways the culture is still the same. These leaders led the society to become communal. I still see evidence of the same system today. For example, I watched part of a soviet film yesterday and was amazed how some of the buildings and streets have not changed that much. The film depicted how the strong ruled over the weak. Some people did not concern themselves with the struggle; they seemed to simply exist.
I see a portion of society still living this way. People who lived during the communist regime are now approaching the elderly age. Many stay to themselves unless confronted. They seldom reach out first. I am not stereotyping the system as a whole. There are always exceptions. When an opportunity does arise to meet someone, generally I start the conversation first.
As I ponder these thoughts and put things into perspective, I am reminded of my grandmother who is now 92. As a young person, she lived during the time of the Great Depression in the States. She never forgot those days. My mother and I were cleaning out her cabinets one day and found stacks and stacks of canned tomatoes and multiple can openers. Of course, many cans had expired, and I wondered why the many can openers. Ready to throw the extra away and get rid of the old, I did not seem to understand the real story. My grandmother jumped into the picture and said that the items must be kept, because she may need them one day. Having remembered the days when times were tough and when there was a shortage of everything, she did not want to be left without ever again. I guess those same cans and stacks of can openers are still sitting in her cupboard today. I must remember how events affect people and accept them for who they are.
As I try to befriend my neighbors in this culture, I sometimes wonder the best way to approach those around me. I still question why I rarely see the people who live right next door. Why are things hidden? Why is it so hard to reach out to others? This is somewhat of a mystery.
A long time ago I came to the realization that behind many “closed” doors are many opportunities. People are willing to communicate. The timing just must be right. A relationship needs to be established— some common bond. We must discover how we are similar. I always try to find even small ways that we relate. Most importantly I must be ready for the perfect moment. I pray I never miss those chances.
The other day I sensed the Lord wanting me to speak to my neighbor, the one right next door. I have spoken to her many times before. We have tried to befriend her, invited her to tea, taken her gifts and just tried to show her we cared. For some reason I could not cross the invisible bridge into her life or so called territory. Of course, when the Lord asks me to do something, I cannot refuse. Therefore, I tried again to enter her world. I rang the doorbell not knowing what response I was going to get. She came to the door with that look and tone: “What do you want?” I broke right through the tension with a smile on my face and said that we were boxing up our things to move from St. Pete in a few weeks. She frowned and voiced that she was disappointed. She went on to share that our kids were great kids.
I saw that as an opening to share the Gospel. I commented, “They are good kids, because we read the Bible everyday.”
I then asked, “Do you have a Bible?”
She responded, “Yes, but I rarely read it.”
Somehow my bold side crept up. After discovering that she had a Bible, I bluntly said, “Then you need to read it. And one of the easiest places to start is in one of the Gospel letters— John.”
I continued the conversation by quoting John 3:16. I shared what the Lord means to me and how He died for all on the cross. We had a great time talking together. She willfully listened. We were able to talk about the importance of a personal relationship with the Lord. I explained how our assurance cannot be based on what particular “faith” we claim. I prayed with her right in our doorway. The timing just seemed right.
When I returned home, I thanked God for the opportunity. I treasure those moments and wish there were a million more. It is necessary to practice patience when timing is of essence. The next time I pass an empty, dark, lifeless, quiet hallway, I will pray for those who live behind the “closed” doors. They need Him, too
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