Grace Day #12: The Unlocked Gate
“But to you who are listening I say: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you.” — Luke 6:27-28 (NIV)
The Journey
Every neighborhood has one. In our subdivision, it was Mr. Henderson.
Mr. Henderson lived in the brick ranch on the corner, behind a fortress of overgrown hedges. He was the self-appointed warden of the street. If my kids rode their bikes two inches onto his driveway, he would storm out the front door, waving his cane and shouting about “respect for property.” If I left my trash cans out past 6:00 PM on Tuesday, I would find a nasty, typed note taped to my mailbox citing city ordinances.
I didn’t just dislike Mr. Henderson; I actively avoided him. I called him “The Grinch” to my wife, Karen. When we prayed for our neighbors at dinner, I admit I usually skipped his house—or if I did pray, it was a prayer that he would decide to move to Florida.
The tension peaked in July. I was trimming the oak tree in my backyard, and a few branches fell into his yard. Before I could walk around to pick them up, he was there, red-faced and yelling.
“You people have no consideration!” he spat. “If you drop one more stick on my prize hydrangeas, I’m suing you for damages!”
I felt the heat rise in my neck. I wanted to yell back. I wanted to tell him he was a bitter, lonely old man who needed a hobby. But I bit my tongue, apologized through gritted teeth, and cleaned up the mess.
“I’m done,” I told Karen that night. “I’m building a privacy fence. Six feet high. I never want to see that man again.”
Two weeks later, the heatwave broke, and a massive thunderstorm rolled through the county. It was a torrential downpour that knocked out power for three days. Our house was miserable, but we had a gas grill and plenty of bottled water. We camped out in the living room, playing board games by candlelight.
On the second night, the temperature dropped. I looked out the window toward Mr. Henderson’s house. It was pitch black. No generator hum. No candlelight flickering in the window.
“He’s probably fine,” I told myself. “He’s too stubborn to need help.”
But the Holy Spirit has a way of nagging you when you’re trying to be self-righteous. The thought wouldn’t leave me: Go check on him.
“I really don’t want to,” I whispered to God. “He hates me.”
Go check on him.
I sighed, grabbed a flashlight and a thermos of hot soup Karen had heated on the grill, and walked across the wet lawn. I knocked on his door. No answer. I knocked harder.
Finally, the door cracked open. Mr. Henderson stood there. He looked smaller than usual. He wasn’t wearing his angry face; he was wearing a thin cardigan, and he was shivering.
“What do you want?” he asked, his voice trembling, lacking its usual venom.
“Mr. Henderson, the power is out,” I said. “We have a gas grill and some hot soup. I… I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
He stared at the soup. Then he looked at me. His lip quivered. “My wife… she always handled the candles. I can’t find them. It’s so dark in here.”
The wall I had built against him crumbled. I didn’t see The Grinch anymore; I saw a frightened eighty-year-old man sitting in the dark, missing his wife.
“Come on, Arthur,” I said, using his first name for the first time. “Come to our house. We have plenty of light.”
He hesitated, his pride warring with his fear. Finally, he nodded.
That night, Arthur Henderson sat at my kitchen table. He ate two bowls of soup. He didn’t yell at my kids; he actually showed them a coin trick. As the candlelight flickered, he told us about his wife, Martha, who had passed away three years ago.
“She loved those hydrangeas,” he said softly, staring into his cup. “That’s why I got so mad about the tree. It felt like… like you were hurting her memory.”
I felt a pang of conviction in my gut. I had judged his anger without ever asking about his pain. I had treated him like an enemy to be defeated rather than a neighbor to be loved.
The power came back on the next day. Arthur went back to his house. He didn’t become “warm and fuzzy” overnight. He was still particular about his lawn. But the notes on the mailbox stopped. And when my kids rode their bikes past his driveway, he would wave.
I never built that privacy fence. I realized that the only thing that needed dismantling was the fence in my own heart.
Heart of the Matter
It is easy to love people who are lovable. It is easy to be kind to the neighbor who brings you cookies. But Jesus calls us to a higher standard: loving the “sandpaper people”—the ones who rub us the wrong way, the ones who are rude, inconvenient, or hostile.
In this story, the protagonist realized that Mr. Henderson’s anger wasn’t about him; it was a symptom of deep grief and loneliness. Hurt people hurt people. When we respond to hostility with defense, we escalate the war. But when we respond to hostility with curiosity and kindness, we disarm the enemy.
Romans 12:21 says, “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” The only way to destroy an enemy is to make him your friend. You might be the only glimpse of Jesus your difficult neighbor/coworker/relative ever sees. Will they see His judgment, or will they see His hospitality?
Faith in Action
Identify the person in your life who annoys you the most right now. The person you complain about to your spouse or friends.
Do one proactive act of kindness for them this week without expecting a thank you.
- Bring their trash can up from the curb.
- Leave a $5 coffee card on their desk.
- Send a generic “Have a great week” email.
Pray this specific prayer before you do it: “Lord, show me the pain behind their behavior. Help me to love them as You love me.”
Prayer for the Day
Lord, I confess that I want to hoard my kindness for those who deserve it. But You didn’t wait until I was kind to save me; You loved me while I was still Your enemy. Soften my heart toward the difficult people in my path. Give me eyes to see their wounds instead of just their weapons. Help me to drop my defenses and extend the olive branch of peace. Amen.
Grace Note
“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” — Ian Maclaren