Teach Me to Love
Sitting on the deck in Black Mountain this week, with more quiet than I’ve had in a long time, I found myself reflecting on the last twenty-four years.
I wasn’t looking for a new message.
I was simply remembering a prayer that changed my life.
It all began with one moment in the life of Jesus.
He had been betrayed.
Mocked.
Beaten.
Spit on.
Nailed to a cross.
And instead of responding with hatred, anger, or revenge, He looked at the very people who were crucifying Him and prayed,
“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
Every time I read those words, they stop me.
I don’t just admire them.
I ache for them.
Because I realize…
my heart didn’t naturally love like that.
And I found myself wondering…
Can a human heart actually be transformed enough to love like Jesus?
So I began praying one simple prayer.
“God… teach me to love the way You love.”
I didn’t pray it because I had all the answers.
I prayed it because I knew I didn’t.
If I was going to call myself a follower of Jesus, then I wanted my heart to become more like His.
Not overnight.
Not by trying harder.
But by surrendering.
Little by little, God began showing me the places in my own heart that weren’t aligned with love.
The places that judged too quickly.
The places that struggled to love people who were different from me.
The places that wanted to be right instead of compassionate.
The places that still needed healing.
Over the past twenty-four years, God has given me the opportunity to sit with people from every walk of life. I’ve always loved hearing people’s stories.
People of different races and cultures.
Religious people.
Spiritual people.
People who don’t believe in God at all.
Democrats.
Republicans.
Gay people.
Trans people.
People covered in tattoos and piercings.
People battling addiction.
Mystics.
Energy healers.
Tarot card readers.
People whose lives and beliefs looked very different from my own. The list could go on and on.
And as I’ve listened over the years, I’ve noticed that many conversations eventually drift toward those people.
The group they struggle to understand.
The group they’ve quietly written off.
The group it’s hard to love.
I don’t say that with judgment.
I’ve simply noticed it.
And every time I do, it reminds me why I prayed that prayer all those years ago.
Because I don’t want my heart to be divided toward anyone.
That doesn’t mean I agree with everyone.
It doesn’t mean I don’t have convictions.
It doesn’t mean truth no longer matters.
It simply means that when I look into someone’s eyes, I don’t first want to see a label.
I want to see a human being.
Someone created in the image of God.
Someone deeply loved by Him.
As I sat here in Black Mountain this week, I realized something.
For years, I think I’ve quietly been looking for other hearts that love this way.
And then it hit me.
Maybe I’m not supposed to spend my life looking for those hearts.
Maybe I’m supposed to spend my life inviting people into that prayer.
Because there is a different way to live.
I’ve spent the last twenty-four years learning it.
Not by trying harder.
Not by pretending we all agree.
But by surrendering my heart to the One who loved His enemies enough to pray for them while they nailed Him to a cross.
Little by little…
He’s been answering that prayer.
I still have so much to learn.
I’m still being refined.
But one thing I know for sure…
The more God heals the places within me that aren’t aligned with love, the more naturally love begins to flow toward people who are nothing like me.
Maybe loving our enemies was never meant to be something we accomplish through willpower.
Maybe it’s the fruit of a heart that has been transformed by the love of God.
And if He can do that in me…
I believe He can do it in anyone.
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Part of the Breadcrumbs collection by Abby Lewis—true stories that gently invite us into a different way to live.
Continue reading: When I Stopped Seeing Tattoos, where I share another story about learning to see people through God’s eyes.