My Neighbor by John R. Haws

	My Neighbor by John R. Haws

	My neighbor's mother died. She was ninety-one years old. She lived a full life. Her husband, my neighbor's father, is still alive. He, too, is at least ninety-one years old. I do not expect him to live more than a few years beyond his wife's death. They were married for seventy-six years. That's longer than most people live.

	Her death was not unexpected but the manner of her passing is worth remembering. She had no disease but was in poor health for several months and getting worse with the passing days. Then on Thursday she got considerably better for about four hours. She talked to all of her children in a clear, lucid manner. She recognized each person and talked clearly about things. Then shortly thereafter she died.

	That sort of death experience has been documented before. A person is dying and getting worse day by day. There is a sudden up-turn. For a brief period, often a few hours, the person feels remarkably better, is full of cheer and has good words for everyone around them. Then they're gone.

	My neighbor is a good man. He happens to be Indian by birth and Hindu by faith. Yet, I feel that he is more Christ-like than many of my so-called Christian friends and neighbors. He does not preach to me. Instead, he lets his acts of kindness demonstrate his faith in God, the Creator. I have found that faith in God comes in many forms. My neighbor is just another example of that. He is the reason why I refuse to let any religious belief or doctrine take away my faith in God and in the goodness of the human spirit.

	God's grace is colorblind. His grace is not limited to the borders of the United States of America or any country, for that matter. God's ways are not the ways of men. His mercies are not the mercies Man would render. The passing of my neighbor's mother is a beautiful illustration of that mercy.
	June 2002 Return to Essays