It was the fault of all these emerging families, Barbara pondered. Over the past five years, the once familiar neighborhood had rapidly undergone ‘gentrification,’ as the real estate agents labeled it. One by one, her long-time friends were compelled to sell or faced lease terminations by profit-driven landlords eager to make a quick profit. “I detest them,” Barbara exclaimed, tears welling in her eyes. “Hate them!”

Barbara had resided in the same house for over half a century. She and her late husband had moved in when their eldest was seven and the youngest only two. She had raised her children and mourned her husband within the walls of this house.

She crumpled the eviction notice in her trembling fingers. Her landlord desired her departure. He planned to renovate the house and put it on the market. Barbara’s fate meant nothing to him. No one cared.

Her children relentlessly urged her to move to a senior living facility. Her son had remarked, “This is the best thing for you, Mom! Now you go to Joyful Fields and get the care you need.”

But Barbara had no desire to go to Joyful Fields or anywhere else. She wished to remain in her own home, surrounded by her memories and possessions.

In this world, there are no strangers; we all rely on each other. She sat on her porch and wept. At eighty-one years old, she felt lost, unsure of what to do or where to turn for help and support. Then she heard a gentle voice inquire, “Are you okay?”

One of the new neighbors stood by her gate, a young woman with long, dark hair dressed in a sharp suit and high heels. Who wore high heels on the street, Barbara wondered.

“I’m fine,” Barbara replied, hastily wiping tears from her cheeks. “And even if I weren’t, it’s none of your concern!”

“You’re mistaken,” the young woman asserted. She opened the gate and approached Barbara. “My mother always said that as human beings, we must care for one another. We are a community, not strangers. That’s what a neighborhood is. So why don’t you tell me what’s troubling you?”

“I’m 81,” Barbara heard herself saying. “My landlord is evicting me, and my children want to put me in a home. But I don’t want that! I want to live out my days with dignity! Not have people dictate what I should eat, when to wake up, or what to do! I want to stay in my own home!”

Barbara broke down in tears once more, and the young woman put her arm around her. “When do you have to leave?” she inquired.

“By the end of the month,” Barbara replied. “But I can’t afford to go anywhere else!”

“Well,” the young woman said, “Don’t lose hope. You never know what might happen!”

Two weeks later, Barbara was packing her belongings into cardboard boxes when the young woman knocked on her door. She was accompanied by two men and another woman.

“Hello, Barbara!” the young woman greeted. “We’ve come to help you move.”

“Move where?” Barbara asked, bewildered.

“You know that big green house two streets down?” the young woman asked.

“Yes,” Barbara replied.

“We purchased the little cottage next to it,” the woman said, smiling. “The entire neighborhood pitched in. That’s where you’ll be living.”

Barbara gasped, pressing her hands to her mouth. “You did this?” she asked the young woman. “For me, a stranger?”

“Not a stranger, Barbara,” the woman said gently. “A fellow human being, my sister, in need of assistance.”

“You’ve been the answer to my prayers,” Barbara said. “God’s hands on Earth!”

What can we learn from this story?

Don’t ignore those in need. We are all part of God’s family. In this world, there are no strangers; we all depend on each other. God answers prayers in unexpected ways. Barbara’s prayers were answered through the people she least expected—her new neighbors.