On days that I squeeze in time to walk I always follow the same route, because I like the familiarity.

I recently learned something important from one of the houses along my route - a lesson about the complacency that, I think, comes from familiarity. I wonder if you will agree.

I have probably passed the house I am talking about at least three times a week for the past four years. Initially it was noticeable because it was rundown. The grass never looked mowed, the paint on the shutters was chipping off, and fencing around the house was falling down.

And there was more.

A faded yellow moving truck was always parked in the driveway with the trunk backed up to the garage door,

one of the garage doors was always raised about five inches off the ground,

and a slight, but steady stream of water seemed to constantly flow from beneath the garage door.

Only twice in four years did I ever see anyone outside the house: once it was an elderly couple climbing into the seats of that old yellow truck and the second time it was a middle-aged man wandering the front yard.

To me there was no sense of urgency. They were a curiosity, a point of interest that kept my walks interesting - a mere backdrop to my familiar walking route.

But herein lies the lesson:

That's not all that house was. That house - in it's ongoing state of disrepair and infrequent activity - was the sign of people in need.

I know that now, because suddenly - as in overnight - the house was emptied and the front door was boarded up. No more truck. And one more thing: that house that sat dormant for so was long was suddenly buzzing with activity - landscapers, pest control, plumbers, and now...a realtor.

Here is my "aha" about that house, familiarity, and complacency:

A house in disrepair is not unlike a person in pain, slowly falling apart from the inside out. To us maybe a curiosity or a mere backdrop to an otherwise uneventful walk through life. But, to that person - to the house - the disheveled appearance or erratic behavior is a call for help.

I feel sad that for four years I passed the house, from the sidewalk across the street, treating it like a point of interest. I watched as people who were clearly in need fell further behind until, finally, one day they could do it no longer. I wonder how the ending might have changed if I would have rung the doorbell or if the landscaper, pest control, and plumber would have shown up before it was too late. 

Is there someone in your life, who you pass regularly, and whose shutters are falling off or whose grass needs to be mowed? Could you cross the street and ring the door bell to see if he needs help?

Shining off until...