The Neighbors, Part 1: Olene

Since I am fairly confident that most of my neighbors don't read my blog, or know what blogs are, I have decided it would be fun to share them with you. Let me know what you think of the series...


My goal is to be as objective as possible, but I'm afraid that I'm not so good at objectivity, as most of my life has been dedicated to forming opinions about one thing or another. Our former pastor was once informed by his son that 'God doesn't care about your opinions.' I've chewed on that for a while, and am trying harder to find what I think is the truth rather than what my opinion is. It's a fine line, and I can't always tell which is which. And when it comes to people... an opinion equals a judgement. That said, let me introduce to you Olene.


Olene is old, I think. I don't know how old, but she has/had two sons in their early forties. That doesn't really tell you much. She might look older than she is because she has battled cancer for years.


Not long after we moved into our house, Olene was admitted to the hospital after a resurgence of her cancer. Chris and I went to visit her. I have to admit that beforehand, I had visions of going to minister to a kindly woman who was suffering and we would strike up a beautiful relationship. Silly me.


While we visited, Olene talked about how Jesus was her stay in life. How he had helped her out of an abusive relationship with her first husband. How the hope and strength she derived through her sickness was all from Jesus. I could feel a warm glow.


Then she talked about our neighborhood. She talked about how she wasn't racist, but didn't trust those black folk. She talked some more, but I don't know about what. We finally were able to cut in to tell her we needed to leave. We prayed for her and left, the warm glow long gone.


Olene was released from the hospital not long after that, and for the next couple years, I have to admit, I tried to avoid her. I haven't much patience for people that talk only about themselves and never ask you any questions. And Olene could talk until you wished a Mack truck would come out of nowhere and run you over to put you out of your misery. It wasn't really hard to avoid her, though, because I don't think she ever remembered my name. She did, however, remember Chris' name and frequently called to have Chris come help with this or that, ignoring the fact that she had two capable, if lazy, sons. I learned to make sure that Chris took his cell phone so that I could call to give him an excuse to come back home.


Chris says Olene likes to complain about the neighbor in between us, Clay. Clay works a graveyard shift, cleaning at a hospital. He comes home in the morning, and only comes out to mow the yard and get the mail. He says 'hi' to us and is quiet and courteous. Apparently, he draws Olene's criticism because he doesn't own a weed-eater. But my guess is it's because he's black.


Olene is back in the hospital now, and her remaining son is just waiting for her to die. We are wondering what kind of neighbors we'll get when she's gone.