When I look around on my glitter days, I see the cashier who can’t work the register at Hobby Lobby and the kid that never remembers to turn in anything and the driver who don’t seem to remember he has a blinker and the girl who can’t stop Instagramming pictures of her own face, and I think, “Ugh. People are the worst.”
But other days I can see. And I see things that pierce my soul. A high school girl who asks, “What if I just want to date him so I’ll feel like someone thinks I’m pretty?” Twitter accounts sharper than any knife, designed to slice into people’s hearts with secrets and judgments, some painfully false and some painfully true. A woman who had to sit in silence while someone said, “Look at her. Why would anyone want her?” A group of students who hear irrefutable truth—truth they desperately need—and disregard it with a jaded and flippant silence. The flicker of a heartbeat in an ultrasound that makes me realize in a new way that life is undeniably precious yet horrifyingly unprotected. A middle school girl who desperately wants someone to listen to the story of her parents’ divorce—the fact that Mom moved to another state, and Dad is devastated. She told me yesterday, but she needed someone to listen again.
And on those days, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to start. I see a world trying to crush beautiful people, people created in God’s image, people who are dearly loved and yet don’t know it. People who make me realize that I—not the cashier or the driver or the excessive Instagrammer—I, am the fool. Because I base my life around a God who is in the business of loving people, and half of the days of my life I miss his most basic command:
“Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love.” 1 John 4:7-8
Do we know God? Then let us love. Because “love covers a multitude of sins” (1 Peter 4:8), and our sins and the sins of others are crushing us—turning tenderhearted girls into bitter women (let this not be me!) and vibrant boys into cold and calculating men. We must not remain unseeing. We must do the hard thing: we must love.