Who is my neighbor? We will see

I wasn't going to post anything today, because nothing much has changed - which is a good thing, I guess.
Oh, there was a scare when MG's temp went up. There were tests to see if there was an infection in either her lungs or her heart, or an absess. But they all came back negative.
This is very similar to what happened after the last surgery. I guess MG's body just doesn't like someone cutting on it. Can you blame her?
So we wait. She's improving, slowly but surely. Thankfully she's asleep most of the time, because there is pain when she's awake and it's hard for us to watch her struggle like that.

I wasn't going to post, but I came across a quote that got me thinking:
"In everyone there is something of his fellow man ... Hence, "love your neighbor" - for he is really you yourself."

I've written about the community of the waiting room here, but now that I'm becoming one of the "old hands,'' it becomes interesting to watch the change that occurs in the people who populate the ninth floor. They come in, like I did, feeling alone and perhaps afraid. They stay off by themselves, maybe just with family or friends, because who can understand their burden?
But it doesn't take long until they are drawn into the neighborhood - you start to ask "how is your mother-son-husband-child doing?" and they answer and ask back and suddenly you connect and care. Oh, I don't mean we circle up the chairs and hold hands and promise to invite each other over for dinner when this is alll over. But every day, you ask. Every time someone comes from having gone back to see their patient, you want to know how it went.
You go to get a drink and ask if anyone wants anything. The phone rings and you take your turn answering, which of course means you get to meet whoever the call is for. Someone gets brought too much food, and soon somebody is sharing a meal.
An outsider might walk into the room and not notice it. We do indeed still tend to sit in our our groups. But we know. We see who is exhausted, who is worried, who needs to talk. And inevitably. that need gets met.

I was reading this book that talked about the Parable of the Good Samaritan. The point was made that, in this story, the victim was not the focal point. In real life, we'd tend to focus on the person who seems to be in the greatest need; in my case, the one stuck in the bed in the Trauma unit. The people who came by - the priest, the Levite, the Samaritan - to us would be passers-by, incidental to the real issues of, how bad is he hurt? Who hurt him? Were the robbers caught? Are they still out there? Does he have a good doctor and lawyer?
But to Jesus, the injured party was not the one in question. The point was, which of the three strangers would step up to become the neighbor?
Of course, the one who acted the most neighborly was the Samaritan, the one guy no one hearing the story in that day would have ever expected to be the hero.

It occurs to me - and this could be a stretch - that we often forget we're in this together. Admittedly, many of us don't want to be involved with other people. That sounds cold, but the truth is, we will work out our problems on our own, thank you very much. Whatever happens is between me and God. I don't need your help; I can do it on my own.
A book I've been reading made this point: look around on a Sunday morning worship service and you might see hundreds of Christians gathered together, singing so many songs that are filled with the word "I" or "me" - "I will cherish the old rugged cross" ... "Just as I am" ... "Here I come to worship" ... "I surrender all" ... "Lord I lift your name on high" ... "Jesus loves me" ...
We come together in community worship and then so often act like we're alone!

Now, I know we sing plenty of songs about "we" and "our," so this isn't an all-the-time thing. And the relationship with God is personal.
But I wonder why we so often carry that individuality with us into church, where we're supposed to come together to be "the body."
I have seen it happen in the waiting room. We come in strangers. We bond. Someone leaves and we rejoice (hopefully). Someone else comes and takes their place. In a few days, they become part of the fabric of the community, too.
Because it's impossible not to see each other as neighbors. We're there for pretty much the same basic reason: someone we care about is hurting.
In the waiting room, however, the "victim'' is not the focus. I don't even know the names of the people who are on the same hall as MG. But I know that this couple are hurting for their son; this family is hurting for a husband/father; this group is worried about their child.

I have met my neighbors. The  people in my church, friends, people  who worked with MG and Christian Service Mission, even people  who I used to work with here in Birmingham - people who have stopped by consistently to care not only for me, but in some cases they wind up taking a minute to care for the others around us in the waiting room. A crisis gives us something to rally around, to bond over.

Listen, I'm as bad as anybody at not getting involved. It's not that I don't care, it's just I so often fail to see the connection.
I know that since I've been spending so much time in the community of the waiting room, I've become more sensitive to the people around me in every day situations. I am aware that I need to be more "neighborly."
Will it last?
"We" will see.