Cookies and Neighbors

The comforting smell of fresh baked cookies fills the air and somehow gives us a little boost of encouragement for the task at hand.

Seven plates of cookies sit on the table.

We pick up the first one and head to our neighbors right next door. Knock, Knock, Knock. The door opens. A Latino man talking on his cell phone stands in the entrance. He raises an eyebrow and walks away, leaving us standing on the doormat. Another Latino man comes to the door, we introduce ourselves saying we live next door and wanted to give them some cookies. “No las comprendo.” (I don’t understand them.) He chuckles uncomfortably. Using my limited Spanish, I introduce myself again and hand him the cookies. A small smile breaks his confused expression, “Gracias, me llamo Raul.” His name is Raul, and the door closes.

Maybe this is going to be harder than we thought.

Plate number two, the neighbors across the hall. I toss up a little prayer as we walk between our door and theirs, Lord bless this meeting, help us communicate your love and grace. Knock, Knock, Knock. We hear some kids running and laughing though the house. This sounds better already; kids love cookies. A dad opens the door, two kids peeking around his legs. When the kids learn the cookies are for them, and that they are free, their eyes light up excitedly. Mr. Gregorio leaves us to meet Dennis and his little sister while he puts the cookies on his own dish and brings us back the empty green plastic plate. I guess we’ll be using that again.

Before we leave our living room we pray over the third plate of cookies. We walk down stairs to the apartment right beneath us. Excited and hopeful of another positive chance to meet more neighbors, we knock at the door, a bold sign hanging on it, “Take shoes off before entering.” Kids are talking and giggling inside, but at the knock everything goes silent. Out of the corner of my eye I see a face peek through the blinds by the front door. No one answers. We knock again, but the door stays shut. Maybe they were home alone and not supposed to answer the door, maybe they thought we were selling the cookies and were told not to open the door. Hopefully we will get to meet them another time soon, and maybe bring over some cookies.

Plate number three goes to apartment number four. The door is answered by “Shorty.” We soon learn we can call her that too. She lives with the Fernandez family. Shorty thanks us for the cookies after confirming they are free and invites us to stop by if we ever need anything, “And we all speak English,” she adds. I comment on the happy Christmas tree in the living room, the kids smile, and the door is shut.

The next plate of cookies is supposed to go to the door with a big pine branch wreath on it, but when no one answers, we take it to the next family. There we meet Martina and her two kids. The cookies are gratefully accepted and bring a smile to the kids’ faces. “Come back soon,” she calls out as we walk away.

The last plate of cookies is ready to be taken to the last family. Knock, Knock, Knock. The door opens wide and a welcoming smile invites us in. We sit on the floor and play with the kids while we make small talk with the parents. Laughter and “yumms” are exchanged as the cookies are enjoyed. As we wave goodbye, “See you soon!” follows us out the door. Jon and Jenna are on our missions team. But it’s always nice to visit with a friendly face.