The Aquilles chatter this morning concerned our neighbor, the lady who lived alone across the street from the mission. Though variations of the story were floating about, we know that, sometime the day before, she fell and hit her head and died. Throughout the day we watched as her adult kids went in and out, cleaning out her minimal belongings from the small little house where she lived, appliances now gone, just a few pieces of trash on the ground in front by the end of the day. Our neighbor could be a cantankerous one; she was known to have whapped one of our guys over the head with a styrofoam plate when she wasn't being served quickly enough at the neighborhood cookout. When we put in a sidewalk in front of the house, she made us re-do the slant in the walk. Without any doubt, to say most of her years were hard would be an understatement. But in recent times, she smiled and greeted us, and maybe, little by little, love was penetrating those very deep places of brokenness. We all saw her and waved greetings just before the start of the weekend, and then that was all. Indeed, man does not know his time.
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