While living in Eastern Europe, I developed a fascination with balconies. I confess I was a balcony peeper. Comparing how different neighbors used their balconies was my new hobby. One balcony appeared strictly utilitarian, and the next would be a veritable haven of flowering plants with an inviting table and chairs. I loved watching my balcony people.

Balconies gave me insight into the life of my neighbors. They would congregate on their balconies, drinking in the cool evening air, recovering from the heat of the day. They would chat about life, work, children, joys, and trials. I savored sitting on my balcony with an icy glass of tea, watching this microcosm of culture play out across the balconies. It resembled the front porches of Mayberry; just at a higher elevation.

One of my most memorable balcony experiences occurred while we were living in Russia.

I had finished washing a load of sheets and hung them on the clothesline attached to my balcony. I loved drying my sheets outside – they smelled so fresh after drying in the breeze.

With my chores complete, my husband and I snuggled on the couch, ready for a quiet evening watching a new movie. Well, quiet might not be the best description. A lively party rocked on upstairs, as evidenced by the bass rhythms vibrating through our ceiling and down the walls.

Halfway through the movie, I noticed something strange through the window overlooking the balcony. Drops of water fell outside the window, brightly illuminated by the orange glow of the setting sun. Worried about my sheets hanging on the line, I ran over to the window to check for rain.

Then I made a huge mistake.

I. Looked. Up.

Precipitation fell on my sheets, but not from the overhead clouds.

A drunken partygoer stood on the overhead balcony relieving himself. My fresh sheets hung directly in the line of fire.

Murderous thoughts ran through my mind. I demanded that my husband run upstairs and confront the rainmaker. With maddening calm, my husband inquired how he would recognize the perpetrator.

Hmmm. I hadn’t gotten a view of the perp’s face……

I guess some views of your balcony neighbor’s life are better left unseen.

Years ago, I read a small book entitled, “Balcony People” by Joyce Landorf Heatherley. This book first opened my eyes to the concept of balcony people and basement people.

Balcony people are the people hanging over the rail of the balcony, affirming and cheering as you travel life’s path. They are the encouragers. In direct contrast, we find basement people. The evaluators. The ones with a critical and judgmental spirit, who rain on your parade. (Yes, sort of like my neighbor who “rained” on my sheets.)

Through the years, I’ve learned to appreciate and cultivate my balcony people. They are the family and friends I turn to for encouragement and affirmation. We may be separated by distance, but our hearts are always balcony neighbors.

There are some wonderful people on my balcony. I’m so thankful that Jesus stands on my balcony, loving me and cheering me on.

I’ve learned to deal with the basement people in my life. It’s hard, but I work at not letting their critical and evaluating words pierce my heart and mind. Instead, I pray that God would change their hearts.

So my friends, cultivate and treasure your balcony people.

Then choose to be a balcony person to others. Look at your life and examine your heart. Something as simple as your social media interactions can reveal whether you are an encourager or an evaluator. A balcony person or a basement person.

We all need more balcony people in our lives.