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One day my neighbor knocked on my door. She had never done that before and didn’t know her much at all. It was cold, so asked her to step inside. I’ll admit I was somewhat apprehensive. She asked to use my cell phone, but I had noticed her hands. Her fingernails were filled with dirt. I gave her the benefit of the doubt, and made the excuse that she most likely wouldn’t know how to use my archaic phone, and that I would dial for her. She had her own phone, but it was not charged. She handed me a slightly wrinkled piece of paper which had the number on it, but I could tell it was an unpaid bill. How was this possible? She had an excellent job, was very intelligent, lived in a huge home, had an expensive car, etc. However, she had few friends, if any,and didn’t socialize with others much. She had a problem with drinking and must have thought of herself as an outcast. I wondered, if I had done enough to make her feel welcomed and comfortable. Following this experience, I began to pray for her. I think God sent her to me to understand what being an outcast involves. She taught me to always welcome those, who knock on my door. God loved her just as much, if not more, than my other neighbors. Who am I to judge?
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One day my neighbor knocked on my door. She had never done that before and didn’t know her much at all. It was cold, so asked her to step inside. I’ll admit I was somewhat apprehensive. She asked to use my cell phone, but I had noticed her hands. Her fingernails were filled with dirt. I gave her the benefit of the doubt, and made the excuse that she most likely wouldn’t know how to use my archaic phone, and that I would dial for her. She had her own phone, but it was not charged. She handed me a slightly wrinkled piece of paper which had the number on it, but I could tell it was an unpaid bill. How was this possible? She had an excellent job, was very intelligent, lived in a huge home, had an expensive car, etc. However, she had few friends, if any,and didn’t socialize with others much. She had a problem with drinking and must have thought of herself as an outcast. I wondered, if I had done enough to make her feel welcomed and comfortable. Following this experience, I began to pray for her. I think God sent her to me to understand what being an outcast involves. She taught me to always welcome those, who knock on my door. God loved her just as much, if not more, than my other neighbors. Who am I to judge?