Fences

Unexpected things always happen to me on Thursdays, it seems.

I got home from work late on Thursday this week and decided to lay down for a nap.  Moments after I closed my eyes, I thought I heard footsteps on our roof.  "Um, surely not," I thought, but after laying in bed (petrified) for a few minutes, it became apparent that those were indeed footsteps on our roof.  And tree branches brushing up against our window before crashing to the ground. 

The man on the roof seemed surprised when I asked him why his ladder was propped up against our house and his big clunkers were stomping around on top of it.  Clearly, he had just let himself in through our gate and climbed up.  "I'm trimming your neighbor's tree so that it doesn't make your roof crash in when the storms come.  Do you not want me to do that?"  I have to admit, I had noticed the looming branches, but the fact that the man just helped himself into our backyard left me a little unnerved.  I let the man finish his job but made sure to ask if he would please knock on the front door next time before barging in (and scaring my pants off).

That incident made me think about the fence in our yard.  Currently, we have a short chain-link fence, but I thought back to the eight-foot wooden fences that surrounded our backyard in every home my parents bought as we were growing up.  The fences were intended to keep out all of the things that we didn't want in our yard- pets, people, trash, eyesores- as well as to give us privacy.  But looking back on it now, I wonder if those fences also kept out some good things, like tomatoes picked straight out of the garden, or help with a home improvement project- both of which come from having a relationship with the neighbors.

I think we build these fences up around ourselves, too.  The fences establish understood rules that we will not enter into someone's life when it is messy, that we will only let people come this close to us and no further, that we will always be "fine" when people ask how we are doing, and that we will learn how to be independent instead of asking for the help we so desperately need.

In Indiana, where Andrew's family lives, there are no fences.  You can see straight through someone's back yard and across the neighborhood.  I was horrified when I saw this for the first time.  Fences make life so much easier in many ways.  Leave people alone, give them their space, and everyone gets along just "fine."  Why on earth would I want for someone to know what is going on in my life?

The answer is simpler than I ever realized: Sometimes I need people to help me trim the branches on my tree so that when a storm rolls in, the roof that protects me won't collapse.  I hate asking for help, and I hate letting people love me because doing so means that I'm not self-sufficient.  But I'm not always tall enough, strong enough, or skilled enough to do a job myself.  Tearing down my fences and letting people in isn't easy for me, but in trying to keep out the bad things, I have also been keeping out the people who will help me weather the storm.

Often, mere presence is the best way to care about someone, but no one can be present with eight-foot fences enclosing him on all sides.  Maybe we could all work together to tear down fences so that "I'm not doing well" would be an okay answer, so that we are honest and authentic instead of slapping on a smile in the name of privacy, and so that we don't just look the other way when weeds start growing in our neighbors' backyards.  If you're the "man on the roof," I probably need you, and I'll do my best to let you help and love me.  You might just knock first before letting yourself in the gate.  :)