The hall was long and dark. Bunkbeds lined the walls, each draped with children and blankets, the rough orange wool pulled up around thin shoulders, muffling giggles and whispers. “Shhhhhhh,” the older ones hissed, sending the younger ones deep undercover to stifle the offending laughter. There were echoes of running feet and affectionate shouting down other halls, but those sleepy-time moments in that long dark hall are always hushed and hallowed in my memory.
Every night I stood before them. With halting, faltering Albanian, I read them a bedtime story, sang them a goodnight song, and tucked them in. Each one received a kiss on the forehead, a cuddle, and these words: Naten e mire, gjume te embel. Zoti te bekofte dhe mos harro se te dua — “Good night, sweet dreams. God bless you, and don’t forget that I love you.”
Years later, my goodnight memories of the orphanage remain some of my favorite; certain songs bring me right back there, to the dark echoing hall, the muffled giggles, and the smell of orphaned foreheads. Even now, I repeat those words to special friends who stay over: “Good night, sweet dreams. God bless you, and don’t forget that I love you.”
I was learning then and am still learning now much about love, how it looks and sounds and is lived out; what it means to give love bones and skin and breath. Romantic comedies and pop ballads make it seem as simple as falling; but the truth is, love requires more effort than I often feel capable of. It requires as much dedication and diligence, as much passion and sweat as a magnificent work of art; the personal cost it exacts always reflects the depth of its reward.
I am learning that love is the goal of my faith. Years ago, when I was settling into life in Germany, when I was making the transition from serving children who had nothing to serving children who had everything (and everyone in between), I asked the Lord how to accomplish the task. I didn’t know what to say to them. I didn’t know how to relate to them. I didn’t know how to introduce them to the God who loved them.
Down a tree-lined path under leaves gilded by the afternoon sun, I walked, begging my Lord for wisdom, “What should I do?” I waited, expecting a plan, a program, a nudge in some direction at the very least.
The answer came softly, riding on the cool edge of a breeze sugared with the scent of honeysuckle and sweet hay: “Love Me, and love them. The rest will follow.”
That sounded simple enough. I assumed they were marching orders to get the ball rolling. I could do that for a few months, and then God would reveal His grand plan for revealing Himself. I did my best at loving all involved, and a few months later asked again.
“OK, Lord. I’ve been loving them. Now what should I do?”
Quietly then, on the dancing steam of a coffee cup by the ledge of an icy window: “Love Me, and love them. The rest will follow.”
Seriously? Hadn’t I already done that? As many times as I asked, however, I received the same answer: “Love Me, and love them. The rest will follow.”
Years on, I have realized there really is no other answer. Jesus Himself makes it clear that every facet of faith (“All the Law and Prophets”) hang on those marching orders: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself'” (
I am learning that faith in Christ is not about programs or formulas or cultural taboos. It’s not about being the behavior police or standing firm against enemies or whether our political pendulum swings left or right. The foundation of our faith is love. The expression of our faith is love. The goal of our faith is love.
It is clearly stated in the Bible: “The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love” (
Perhaps because love, real love, is difficult. Following formulas, creating programs and ticking off boxes is, quite frankly, easier than investing a piece of yourself in someone else. The demands of real love are vigorous. They call us to sacrificial living, choosing to value another’s needs over our comfort, giving away what we’d like to keep, serving when we have every right to be served ourselves. There are no timecards to be punched, no holidays, no long weekends off when it comes to love. True love is much less a sentimental dream than it is a tangible reality involving ears, knees and dishpan hands.
I am learning that true love is hard. It holds on long after feelings are gone. It digs down and settles in, determined to carry on, despite whatever response it elicits. Affection endears those who love in return; love loves for the sake of loving, no matter what the reaction. Love stays up late, gets up early and lets someone else take the last piece of chocolate cake.
Love, however, as impossible of an endeavor as it may seem at times, is always worth the effort; it is the only thing that will reveal to a hurting world the truth that God wants to heal their hearts. This is why we are reminded to do it so often, and why it is God’s first and greatest command.
I think that it is His greatest command not just in the sense that it is the most important, but also in the sense that it is the greatest — the most wonderful, the most incredible, the most fulfilling. I love that the most important job God could give me is to love — not to be perfect, not to be neat, not to be successful, but to love.
I am learning that love has its own rewards; that the process of loving changes me, that the bits of myself which I have given away somehow multiply and double back, flooding the hollows they had left behind in my heart. Loving someone deeply, presenting them with the knowledge of their own intrinsic glory, watching their walls of pain slowly crumble and blow away is worth every lost moment of sleep, every inconvenient conversation, every sink of soapy water. Loving God and loving others has been the greatest experience of my life. I wouldn’t trade those moments for anything.
I know God must feel the same, for He gives me moments that I believe He wouldn’t trade for anything. Have you ever been there? Have you ever been taking a walk, minding your own business, and then turned a corner and been suddenly swept up in a golden storm of sunset? The yellow blush of sky on earth casting rivers and fields in hues of heaven; the wind laughing through tall grasses, the leaves in the trees rushing to great heights and depths in the dance of eventide. Have the colors breathed out by evening ever made your heart break? They did mine. All my soul could say was, “I love You, I love You, I love You.”
I don’t know my my God loved me so much, but He does. If loving those around me is what makes Him happy, then it is my privilege to do it. After all, He never has asked me to love anyone more than He first loved me. My marching orders remain the same. I don’t even ask anymore. “Love Me, and love them the rest will follow.” It always does.
