Jim and Dee were my neighbors when I was about eleven or twelve years old. Their homes were filled with brokenness—Dee’s house marked by addiction and instability; Jim’s by the lingering wounds of war and the chaos of alcoholism. Dee’s children were often dirty, hungry, and hurting. Even as a kid, I could sense the heaviness that hung over both families.
One night, my dad and I were under our house working on some plumbing. I was near the entrance when Jim suddenly crawled in after us, drunk and emotional. He grabbed me, and I’ll never forget the look on my dad’s face—steady, calm, watching but not panicking. My dad simply said, “Hi, Jim. What’s going on?”
Jim didn’t answer him. Instead, he stared at me with a mixture of desperation and pain and asked a question that has stayed with me my entire life: Do you love my family?”
I was just a boy, unsure what to do, so I said, “Yes, Jim. I love your family.”
He pressed again, even more intensely: “Will you promise to always love my family?”
I told him yes. At that, he let go and began to weep. My dad gently told me to go get ready for bed, but instead I sat quietly in the laundry room above them, listening as my dad shared Jesus with Jim for what felt like hours.
Will you love others?
In John 21, after the resurrection, Jesus turns to Peter and asks him a deeply personal question: “Do you love me?”
Peter answers, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” Jesus replies, “Feed my sheep.”
Jesus asks Peter this question three times. By the third time, Peter is hurt, not because Jesus doubted him, but because Jesus was pressing into something deeper. There are many layers to this passage—the different Greek words for love, the disciples listening nearby—but at the core, Jesus is asking Peter the same question Jim asked me: Will you love others?
In John 13, Jesus makes the answer unmistakably clear: “If you love one another, everyone will know you are my disciples.”
When I think back to Dee and Jim’s lives —both broken, both desperate for someone to care—I realize now that Jim’s question wasn’t really about me. It was the cry of a wounded soul longing for love, longing for someone to see his family, to care, to not give up on them.
And that is exactly the kind of love Jesus calls us to.
We don’t always know the pain people carry. We don’t always see the battles they’re fighting. But sometimes a simple act of love—such as a promise, a conversation, a moment of compassion—can change someone’s world.
My friends, may we never forget to love others enough to share with them the power of the gospel of Jesus Christ!
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