The house next door is moved into and out of like the fast lane in a traffic jam. The Family that owns the house used to live there, before they flew off to their promised land of California leaving the house to the mercy of renters who come and go too often. Jen Parr and her husband were spiritual Christians, living each day by Christ’s teachings and praying each night for his love and guidance. “Church isn’t church without a drummer” Zach Parr told me more than once. “I don’t know how you can stay awake with nothing but an organ playing.” I, being a devout Mormon, found it very interesting to discuss religion with Jen and Zach. Zach was always afire, while Jen quietly and steadily obeyed God’s will.
Jen ran a daycare from her home. Her sons, Bubba and Binx, befriended my little Joshua immediately and gave Jen and me an excuse to spend time together almost every day. We made cookies, talked about discipline, planted gardens, and occasionally cried on each other’s shoulders. Underlying our friendship was always the issue of religion. Jen just couldn’t bring herself to befriend any other Mormon women, no matter how many times I invited her. She and her husband listened to the anti-Mormon rhetoric given to them by their pastor. It made it difficult sometimes to be friends. When Jen would ask me about certain aspects of my religion, I was amazed at how little they understood, and how little they wanted to. But one thing united us – we both were trying our hardest to be Christ-like. And so we learned to tenuously love each other.
After one year in the neighborhood the Parrs moved to California to join a congregation where they would feel more camaraderie and fellowship. I miss them often, and am grateful for the opportunity I had to be close to a family of similar and yet so different faith from my own. The Parrs still own the house next door, and when I think of them, I hope one day they may decide to move back into the ever-revolving house next door.
Jen ran a daycare from her home. Her sons, Bubba and Binx, befriended my little Joshua immediately and gave Jen and me an excuse to spend time together almost every day. We made cookies, talked about discipline, planted gardens, and occasionally cried on each other’s shoulders. Underlying our friendship was always the issue of religion. Jen just couldn’t bring herself to befriend any other Mormon women, no matter how many times I invited her. She and her husband listened to the anti-Mormon rhetoric given to them by their pastor. It made it difficult sometimes to be friends. When Jen would ask me about certain aspects of my religion, I was amazed at how little they understood, and how little they wanted to. But one thing united us – we both were trying our hardest to be Christ-like. And so we learned to tenuously love each other.
After one year in the neighborhood the Parrs moved to California to join a congregation where they would feel more camaraderie and fellowship. I miss them often, and am grateful for the opportunity I had to be close to a family of similar and yet so different faith from my own. The Parrs still own the house next door, and when I think of them, I hope one day they may decide to move back into the ever-revolving house next door.
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