This weekend, my housemate got word of a neighbor in distress. Her yard, driveway, and sidewalk were being overtaken by great lavender bushes! So, we pulled together a rescue squad, armed with garden shears and cotton bags, to liberate as many of the little purple flowers as we could.

Now I love lavender. Sitting there, gathering it into bouquets, the smell washing over me, I remembered so many sweet memories: of an old friend who made the best lavender shortbread, of similar moments surrounded by lovely people picking chamomile on a farm I lived on a few years ago. And, my mind also turned to the future, dreaming of all the lavender syrups, eye masks, and room fresheners I would make with it. Our neighbor came out to thank us, to chat, and to offer us water in the hot afternoon sun.

This moment was so special to me because it was one of simple and pure joy, a feeling that is hard to come by in this ever-complex and heavy world. We were living in a gift economy, our neighbor freely offering us lavender, us freely offering a haircut on her overgrown plants. And, in that garden, we could swap smiles, laughs, and share our names with one another. Joyful, yes, because it was an act of strangers becoming neighbors.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve really missed these kinds of moments. Spending so many recent years as a student moving from place to place, it’s been hard to get to know the neighbors. This became even more true during the pandemic. But, this moment reminded me how gratifying it can be to reach out and start that connection. So, I’ve resolved that in my time in the Portland community, I’ll keep making the effort to seek out these moments.

Living out our interdependence starts on a small scale, with gifts and smiles freely given, and in the act of learning each other’s names. It can be a joyful process; and I want to invite you into it as well. What small gifts are you ready to share with those around you? And, what gifts can you invite by sharing your needs? Interdependence is serious, yes, but try to remember the joy too.

I am reminded of a couple of the verses of our hymn, #298, “Wake Now My Senses,” which proclaim,

Wake, now, my senses, and hear the earth call;

feel the deep power of being in all;

keep, with the web of creation your vow,

giving, receiving as love shows us how.

Wake, now, compassion, give heed to the cry;

voices of suffering fill the wide sky;

take as your neighbor both stranger and friend,

praying and striving their hardship to end.