I snap the mic back onto the console and turn out my window to see the man that had led us in to his neighbor’s lot, in the back of a beautiful little subdivision in the middle of nowhere.
I’d seen his bumper stickers. They told of a war we were ashamed to own, and his full grey beard and tattered hat told the rest of the story.
But this was his neighbor who was sick…
He’s been waiting for my look. Out my open window he snaps a salute.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Be careful now.”
I touch my own forehead and put the ambulance in drive.
Lights glitter red. He watches us go.
And I find myself glad for a chance to drive the 90 minutes it took to get to the scene…
Glad for a chance to serve a community where neighbors lead the ambulance in. (He wasn’t the first.)
Lots of neighbors, lots of places, don’t care.
And I thought of a Samaritan man a long time ago…
And wondered not so much, “Who is my neighbor?”
But rather, “Whose neighbor am I?”