The Greatest Weapon in the Fight of Your Life

13 years ago, my wife and I were moving through our life at a comfortable pace.  We had two young children. Our house was comfortable and well maintained, the yard  manicured and our bedrooms clean, the beds made every morning.  We had taken vacations to visit our family in faraway states.  The lines of our life had fell upon comfortable places.  And then, with the birth of our third child, it changed.  Like so many other families, the unexpected occurred and our lives were thrown into a tailspin of doctor visits,  surgeries and medical complications until we finally settled into an uneasy period of vague unrest, an eye always scanning the horizon for the next traumatic event.  We moved on with our lives but things were different.  Outwardly, I'm certain it appeared as if we were fine, but there were small signs all around.  Our house and yard not as well maintained, bedrooms not as organized, vacations untaken.  Even as so many things in our lives were amazing, the vague specter of crisis was always just at the door.  My sleep habits suffered as The Unknown woke me up nightly, prompting me to check my children, to listen to their breathing as they lay in bed.  But something happened as I waited for the next crisis....Life moved on.  My children grew.  Seasons changed.  And I came to a startling realization.  I had been living with this constant unease for so long that I didn't know how to live without it.

I have discovered that I am not alone in this .... I have a friend who struggled for years beneath the crushing weight of financial obligations even though he had attempted to be faithful in every decision.  Now that his life has turned to blessings, he struggles with being critical, the joy that was once so evident in his life not so apparent.  The season has changed, but sadly, so has he.  And I understand... Even though the Lord has moved him from the desert to the place of promise, his eyes are still focused behind him, on the land he has already passed through.  I understand because I still feel the pull to do the same.

I know a man, a man who was once a great man of God in my life, a hero to many people.  He encountered a situation where bitterness was an appealing option.  In fact, there were no shortage of people in his life who told him that his anger towards the church was valid...And so he gave in.  The years have passed, and so has the man I knew, from a vibrant force for good within our community to a bitter, angry shell.  Even his health has suffered from his decision to give in as his body has wasted away and his countenance become hard.... And I understand.  I understand because I have felt the appeal to give in to the voices that tell me I would be justified, I would be right...

I spoke last week with an individual struggling with fear.  While these fears would sound baseless to many people, I could relate because I had felt them rob me of joy during my college years.  He was surprised as I responded with words that revealed my intimate knowledge of the issue, knowledge only someone who had wrestled with the same fears would possess.  I struggled when he asked me how I had overcome the grip which these fears had once held over me.  But after considering it for a moment as we stood in his driveway, wrapped in silence, I told him this...Sometimes you have to fight for your sanity. And the greatest weapon in the battle is the Truth.  

I cannot speak to everyone's situation, but I can speak as an expert to my own story.  In my darkest moments, whether those moments were filled with the darkness of depression, the absolutely paralyzing fear of losing a child or the sweet lies inherent in bitterness, the only thing which provided me the strength to get up and move forward was the truth.  The truth surrounding my family; that we are blessed.  The truth regarding the wrongs that have been done to me; that I have been forgiven so much, and only in forgiving others will I be free.  The truth about my fears; they do not reflect reality, and I will base my life upon reality...The truth.

Every day we must choose.  Some days that choice comes easy and without cost.  But often, that choice is a struggle, a fight.  But it is never a battle we must fight alone.  Scripture tells us that Jesus embodied truth and that the truth contained in Christ would set us free...I have raised my hands in church as I have heard that preached, surrounded by crowds of varying size.  But it has only been in my darkest moments, when I have felt beaten and alone, afraid and embittered, that I have discovered its truth...

What Has She done?!

Caution: If you are the children of Michelle and Don knight, reading this blog will cause you gastrointestinal difficulty and acute embarrassment

Today is the 25th anniversary of the day that I looked into my wife's eyes and heard her say " I do".  But what exactly has she done?

She gave birth to my mini-me, a curly blonde headed, chubby cheeked son.  Her very first words to our baby boy who had spent far too long a time in the birth canal, his cone head a testament to his prolonged arrival?  " You're not very cute, but I love you!"...Those words were just a foreshadowing of who she would be over the next 20 years as a mother, wife and  friend; honest, accepting and always loving...

What has she done?..When she felt that we needed to find a church, she went without me and found a church home.  When my job kept me away on Sundays, she prayed that God would provide a way to bring me back to church...And He did....When I decided to move from a great job working for the state to a ministry opportunity for one third of the money, she scoured the ads and worked the phones, finding us the perfect rental which we could afford.  During those lean years, she stuck with me, inviting kids into our home and loving them as much as I did.  While working full-time, she hauled our son to ballgames in a baby carrier slung to her back and pushed him in a stroller to church events.  When our daughter was born,  and I couldn't bear to be in the Dr.s office when my children had to get their shots, she held them because that's what moms do.  

What has she done?..She stuck with me when I left my job and returned to the State.  She quit her job to be with our children full-time, taking them to dentist appointments, play dates, tumbling classes. When our youngest son was born, sickly and needy, and our world was rocked, she changed his colostomy, did the research and ordered the cream to bring relief to his chafed skin.  During the year he had his colostomy, she performed the necessary daily steps to ensure his little body would be prepared for the the surgery to correct his issue, an invasive procedure that I avoided but she did not, because that's just what moms do...

What has she done?...When I lost my job, a victim of budget cuts, she pushed me to go back to school to get my degree.  As I went to classes during the day and worked all evening, she took care of our children and ran the household.  After I went to interview after interview, eventually giving up and becoming depressed, she searched the internet and put my resume on multiple job sites.  I can still remember taking a call at home and hearing the voice ask me if I were still interested in a job at Target.  I repeated the question out loud, confused, when she rushed into the kitchen and told me "YES...YOU ARE!!"..I worked the next seven years at a job which provided for my family and taught me numerous invaluable lessons...A job that I never even knew I had applied for...

What has she done?...She has worked every angle to make ends meet over the past 25 years.  She has attended nearly every single sporting event and school activity which our children were involved in, often the only parent in the stands, yelling loudly for every child, not just her own.  She has created a growing business  while coaching multiple sports to ensure that kids in our community feel valued and loved.  She took a job in the counseling office at the high school and has made sure that there is always chocolate available for any person, staff or student, who needed just a little reminder that they were appreciated.


What has she done?...She has held me accountable when I was wrong, encouraged me when I was broken, forgiven me when I was hurtful and kept our house filled with laughter.  She has been a steadfast friend and loving mother.

What has she done?..While I have aged and become more tired and haggard looking, she has become more beautiful with every passing year.  She is the person I wish my kids to be...And a model for me to point to for children who, sadly. lack such an example within their own home...

Happy anniversary Michelle, I love you

A wife of noble character who can find?
    She is worth far more than rubies. 
 Her husband has full confidence in her
    and lacks nothing of value.
She brings him good, not harm,
    all the days of her life.
-Proverbs 31:10-12

Ray Lewis vs Rev. Alden

Rev. Alden, pastor of the Walnut Grove Community church and school

I loved Little House on the Prairie.  Pa Ingalls was so wise, dispensing love and direction from his little wooden home on the prairies of Minnesota.  Little Half-pint and her sister Mary finishing their chores and then running down the dirt road to the church building which doubled as the school during the week.  The snooty Nellie Oleson, resplendent in all her big bowed glory, lying and scheming in every episode.  Doc Baker climbing into his wagon in the dark, setting out to yet another frontier home struck with some sudden malady....  And on Sunday, everyone in the community would gather in the church, sing hymns and then sit and listen as the wise and compassionate Rev. Alden would speak to the troubles brewing amongst his flock and then point them back to the way....But how the times have changed...

In a recent study, 64% of people surveyed said that they looked to athletes as their role models more than pastors and clergy.  Even more startling, pastors were ranked #8 on a list of professions people considered to be trustworthy and ethical.  Pastors were one spot behind college professors and just two above chiropractors....But it could be worse. We could be car salesmen or members of Congress ( dead last ).  During the run up to the Super Bowl played last week, the Ravens Ray Lewis was held up as the model for us believers to praise as his faith was played out in bigger than life terms.  But looking to him as a role model can prove troubling as his failures have been well documented.  Sports writer Frank Deford described it in this fashion,

"He is not, shall we say, quite the exemplary family man, having sired six children with a variety of women. He was indicted for murder in the year 2000, turned state's evidence and pled guilty to obstruction of justice. And, of course, he can be a brutal player—witness the monstrous illegal hit he pummeled the Patriots' Aaron Hernandez with in the AFL championship."

 

You see, Ray Lewis and I apparently have a great deal in common.  Not in the specific details of our failings or struggles nor even our near identical genetic advantages in the areas of strength and quickness ( stop laughing, its possible ).  Nor is it our chiseled physiques and fiery competitive nature (  seriously, stop laughing )... What we have in common has nothing to do with what the world values; strength, success, wealth. Instead, our commonality lies in our weakness.  The same weakness that afflicts athletes and pastors, chiropractors and congressmen, husbands and wives, We are all broken and hurting creations, longing to be loved and encouraged in a world quick to strike and destroy.  All of us struggle, to some degree, with the fallout of our worst decisions.... We all struggle with physical illness, emotional hurts.  The ability to deliver a crushing blow on 3rd and 2 no more insulates a person from pain than does the ability to turn a pretty phrase on a Sunday morning.  But, if Ray Lewis is to be believed, we have even more in common. We have found our answer in Christ, we have found our healing in Grace.

 But perhaps, far from being your role model, Ray Lewis' past makes his present message of faith hard for you to swallow. You long to sit next to the Ingalls family in the Walnut Grove Congregational Church and listen to the wise and loving Rev. Alden.  But perhaps, as Paul Harvey ( the voice over in the cool "farmer" commercial during the Super Bowl)used to say, Perhaps you need to hear the rest of the story...Robert Aldens personal story of pain and hurt,  despair and regret?

In the series Little House on the Prairie, Robert Alden was a prairie farmer who lost his entire family to a terrible disaster.  Alone and bitter, he turned to alcohol to dull the demons that raged within him.  Day after day, he descended further into anger and the bottle, until one day, when he came face to face with a god who loved him, who had a calling for his life.  A Father who lifted him above the circumstances of his life and forgave him his worst moments.  Transformed by Grace and called by God, Robert Alden became a pastor.

You see, more amazing than a persons ability to run fast or jump high is Gods ability to forgive and transform the lives of people who have stumbled and fell. Greater than the ability to speak well is the desire to speak hope into the lives of the hurting.  But most amazing of all, still is and will continue to be, the grace of God, equally available to Super Bowl athletes, pastors, chiropractors, car salesman......even congressmen.

John, A Son of Thunder

He was the last one.

He had been there at the beginning, when all was new and amazing.  He and his brother had quit the family business and followed.  He could still recall the throngs of humanity seemingly everywhere they went, crying out, reaching out.  When he closed his eyes, he could still picture his friends around the fire, laughing as each new day brought forth even more amazing  experiences.  Even now, all these many years later, he would just shake his head in wonder when people would ask him to describe all that he seen....It would take volumes of books to recount all the wonders he had witnessed...But he was the last one...

He could picture all of their faces, including his own brother, reflected in the dancing firelight as Jesus taught, his eyes bright and his voice strong.  In many ways, it seemed as if it were just yesterday that they ate together, traveled together...  In some ways, it seemed an eternity since he had watched his friend die horribly on that hill.  He had kept his word.  He had taken care of Mary, treated her as if she was his own mother.  He remembered vividly the shock, the indescribable emotions he felt three days later..Joy, confusion, excitement, amazement, all and more as his beloved friend stood before them, alive!...He was there at the beginning...

He had been there at the beginning, when all was new and amazing.  He had stood next to Peter as he preached, transfixed as his friend held thousands captivated by the words he spoke...But Peter was dead, crucified upside down.  He remembered the intensity of Paul, the questions he asked, the long discussions deep into the night.  He had witnessed Paul tirelessly spreading the word, leading thousands and thousands into The Way...But Paul was dead, beheaded for his efforts...  His brother, James,  had been the first to die, but then, one by one, they had all been killed.  He was the last one.

He had seen the rise and fall of the politicians, the rulers, Tiberius, Caligula, Claudius, Nero...He had watched as each one had rose to power only to fall, despite their claims of divinity.  But he still lived.  He had seen his kinsmen abused and discriminated beneath the weight of an unjust and oppressive government.  The Temple where his family had worshiped as a child, he could still picture its grandeur....It was gone, destroyed, and he knew in his heart his people would never again offer worship in that amazing and beautiful place. He heard daily the accounts of  followers of The Way being persecuted, killed for their faith.  From his home in Ephesus, he offered encouragement to those families mourning terrible loss.

He remembered Jesus telling them that He would return, but he had not returned yet...And so they were asking him to write it all down before he was gone also, to add his voice to those who had written it down before him, friends he remembered fondly, but whose voices lived on only in their writings.

But where so you begin?  How do you describe the indescribable? How do you tell people that the amazing was not the miracles but The Man?!..How can he describe what it was like to watch Him interact with the broken, the hurting?  How can you communicate how He made the self righteous cower beneath His words?..What do you say regarding your friend who you loved with all your heart?..But he was the last..

And so he took up his quill, and thought, and prayed, and the old man began to write with a trembling hand.

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.  He was with God in the beginning.  Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made.  In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind.  The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it....
 The true light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world.  He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him.  He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him.  Yet to all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God— children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband’s will, but born of God.
 The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth...."




.

Hope Amidst The Mess

On May 21st, 1998, I was teaching at East Linn Christian Academy when I received word that a student at Thurston high school had brought weapons to school and opened fire.  We stopped class and awaited the developing news coming out of Eugene, just 50 miles away.  I can remember the looks on the faces of the students in my Bible class.  I remember their questions and I can recall my response, "Lets Pray"...

On September 11, 2001, I was preparing to head out the door to the juvenile correctional facility where I worked when my wife told me that a plane had just hit the World Trade Center.  I saw the first footage air on the news, shocked and stunned like millions of Americans across the nation whose lives had just been altered forever.  I listened to the news as I drove to work and, upon entering the violent offender unit, gathered the youth together in the main room, located a television and sat with these young men who stared horrified as the towers fell.  We canceled the morning classes and I sat in that locked facility and struggled to answer questions from scared young men, whose tough exteriors crumbled beneath the weight of true fear.  When there was a break in the newscast, I walked out into the interior courtyard encircled by drab gray concrete walls, and I prayed...

Over the last 11 years, my children have grown, I have left one career, entered into another, left that career and returned to full-time youth ministry.  I have coached and watched hundreds of athletic events.  I have celebrated births and spoke lovingly at the funerals of saints.  I have gained and lost the same 15 lbs more than once and been dismayed as I have begun to see the face of my father look back at me from the mirror.  I have been upset over my child's playing time and outraged over poor officiating.  I have tried to raise my income and spent hours worried about bills. I have went about my busyness of living and the memories of those tragic days spent confused and questioning God, the scared faces of kids looking for answers, have slowly slipped into my distant memory....Until last week.

Suddenly, none of my life's selfish pursuits seemed so important. As word of the terror that evil had visited upon a community much like ours hit the news, the time my child had on the field was not nearly as vital as the time spent in my arms. The money I did or didn't have not so important as the time I still had, time to tell them I loved them, time to create memories.  The wrinkles on my face did not consume me as much as my desire for my children to live a long and happy life, time for them to develop wrinkles of their own... To see the face of their father looking back at them from their mirror....Because what I felt was not that it could happen here, but rather that it might happen here....

You see, the truth is scary.  We live in a broken world.  It is not as it should be, and we cannot control it. Evil is present and real, despite our desire that it not be so.  And so we shift the discussion immediately to things we can control; Gun laws, the merits of behavioral medication...Anything which can take our minds away from what haunts the recesses of our psyche and gnaws at our hearts...It might happen here, and we cannot control it.  Surely, we can take precautions.  We can use wisdom.  But how do you combat the presence of evil? The twisted darkness that desires to kill?  Despite my best efforts to create a life that is ordered and sane, this past week reminded me once again that we live in a broken world...One that cries out to be restored.  But is that not why Jesus was born in that barn, amidst the mess?  Because it is messy, this world we live in, and He came not to stay clean, pristine and unreachable. No, He came to give hope to those in the dirt, their tears darkening the ground beneath them.  He chose to be born far away from the trappings of wealth so that those who feel far away can draw near to Him.  I don't understand the thoughts of God, but I know He understands my suffering, because He endured it...All to give me hope in midst of a broken world..

Last week, my wife texted me that a schoolroom of small children had been killed.  I avoided the news, changing the channel whenever the footage of a mourning community began to roll.  I tried to push the thoughts far from my mind as I looked at my own children.  But I found myself weeping, the reality pushing in despite my efforts to keep just such thoughts at arms length...The world is broken...My heart is broken..And so I do the only thing I know to do...I pray..........

This past week, I found myself, yet again, standing frozen in the middle of a pizza parlor watching the images of a shooting at a school, this time at a college not far from my comfortable little town. I thought of my college age son, my soon to be college bound daughter, and my joy filled youngest son, so unaware of what evil exists within the world.  And, again, with my eyes misting over....I prayed. I prayed for the residents of Roseburg, for the families touched by the tragedy, for those faithful flocking to the school to offer help and encouragement.  And I prayed for God to remind me to lean into Him, to comfort the fear I felt rising within me....To remind me that while evil exists and tomorrow is uncertain, He has overcome this world.  And so,  I choose today, yet again , to hold to His promises, to not give in to fear, but rather to release myself to continue to love others as He has called me to do.  To live my life in such a way that answers the question to all those around me, the question asked by the shooter last week to those in that classroom, " Are you a christian?".

The Christmas Card Hallmark will Never Print

Last night I went to a church function and had a wonderful dinner.  After dinner, I joined a band onstage and sang carols to the crowd.  The lights in the sanctuary were dimmed and the trees behind me sparkled, the lights glowing softly and reflecting off the walls.  It was a wonderful time, filled with laughter and warmth.  I left and went to a house where the Christmas tree dominates the dining room and the stockings are indeed "hung with care".  During this Christmas season, most of our homes will be filled with the aroma of baked yummies and the sound of our favorite Christmas tunes playing in the living room.  Many of us will force our kids to sit still while their photos are taken in clothes they never actually wear and then send out Christmas cards to people we never actually see.  We will head out to parties and drink egg nog.  We will go to the fire station and take down a name from the tree so that we can buy a toy for a tot.  On the Sunday prior to Christmas, people who haven't been to church since Easter will crowd into churches all across America and sing about the birth of Jesus Christ.  In many of these churches, the pastor will open up his Bible and turn to Luke where he will read the Christmas story full of Heavenly Choirs and worshiping shepherds.  Afterwards, the masses will file out with smiling faces and look forward to opening up their presents in a few short days.

 But there is another event which accompanied the arrival of our Savior upon that dusty backwater region of Israel.  And while you will find Christmas card after Christmas card displaying beautiful angels and adorable nativity scenes, you will never see a card telling this tale nor hear a carol sung in a church.  It is the tale of  mad King Herod, driven insane with paranoia and insecurity, ordering the slaughter of every male infant beneath the age of two.  It is the tale of a legion of Roman soldiers, professional killers all, descending upon a sleepy little burg unaware of the horror coming its way.  Instead of angelic hosts singing in the moonlit sky, it is the sound of terrified parents and screaming babies as they are wrenched from their mothers arms and murdered in the dusty streets.  Instead of Christmas lights, it is the flash of torches reflecting in swords as they strike every male child beneath the age of two in Bethlehem.  It was a horrific and unspeakable act...And one that hearkened the arrival of God on the earth.  You see, God had entered the enemies territory...God had begun the rescue.( Matt. 2:16-18 )


You see, the greatest rescue attempt the universe had ever seen was met with desperate resistance from the enemy who desired nothing so much as to kill and murder all those that the king loves so dearly.  The Little town of Bethlehem did not sleep peacefully on that night.  

This season, there are many families among us sleeping restlessly themselves...They are suffering from the pain of a spouse turning their back on the promises they made,   friends and loved ones struggling with the fear and confusion which cancer has delivered into their lives, the horrible toll which the chemo has extracted from them  parents who must watch their children suffer through no fault of their own, who must now mourn all that they had thought their child would become as they face the uncertain reality of what the future now holds for them instead.  All around us are people who see the lights and festive yard ornaments promising "Peace" and feel like strangers in their own lives.  They want to scream "What Peace?!"......

But the arrival of God into the lives of men on that night so many years ago did not bring peace.  It brought HOPE!  Hope for all those who so desperately need it.  Hope for the confused.  Hope for the hurting.  Hope that they have a future.  Hope that, despite their present circumstances, God will provide.  Because what that night, long ago in that stable proved to them is that they are not forgotten, they are not alone.

I was once told by a wise man that the two most powerful forces in the universe are hope and forgiveness....Because of Christmas, we have access to both.








 

Twilight, Team Edward and my Daughter

For many years, I have felt the tension that arises from being a believer who lives in a secular world.  Growing up in the church, I can remember the heated debates over the merits of christian music versus the sensuous beat of rock and roll.  I once worked at a christian school where an administrator was outraged that we introduced drums into the chapel worship time.  During my first year of teaching, a student hid his copy of a Stephen King novel as I walked by and was shocked by my familiarity with the author.  I have read the entire Harry Potter series and yet have some people in my life whom I respect who feel that believers should avoid such things.  I have no problem listening to the opinions of other believers and I have, at times, changed an opinion that I held after just such a discussion.   The tension that arises from the freedoms we possess as Christians living under grace, free from the law, is very real and requires wisdom and prayer to reconcile.  I do not suppose to have all the answers.

Over the past few years, the Twilight series of books and movies has become incredibly popular.  This series revolving around the love between a mortal girl Bella and her vampire lover Edward is complicated by the amorous feelings which Jacob, a young werewolf, has for her....yeah, I know...Throw in vampire babies and sparkling skin and the fact that this series gained popularity is beyond me also.  Its cheesy, poorly written, the movies are horribly acted, the plot lines are tedious....And I've read them all.

I did so because my daughter and her friends were all reading them and I wanted to be involved in the conversations that these young teenage girls were having.  I have playfully listed the merits of Jacob vs. Edward over pizza ( Jacob is much cooler, Edward is a skinny wimp ) and rented the movies, popped popcorn and subjected myself to the worst acting I have ever seen...Because I am a Dad, and that's what dads do.

But now I can confess the truth....I hate these books.  They go against every thing I believe, none of which have anything to do with vampires, werewolves, etc..  Again, I know of many people who have told me that a believer should not read such things and I will leave that for others to decide for themselves.  But as a youth pastor, the message in this series is far more subtle and dangerous than sparking vampires and shirtless werewolves.  My daughter will never meet a sparkling perpetual teenage vampire with glowing eyes and great hair.  She will never meet a dark and brooding werewolf with great abs.  But she will meet a teenage boy with great hair and a sparkling tongue, one that spews forth what she wants so much to hear.  She will meet brooding and troubled bad boys who will tell her that only she "understands" them...

Anyone who works with teenagers can tell you heartbreaking stories of young girls who so desperately wanted to be loved, to feel special, that they entered into relationships that gave birth to brokenness and heartache.  The real storyline of Twilight is not one of love but of obsession, of a teenage girl who is willing to give up her friends, her family and her life for a boy.  It is page after page outlining what in real life is not romantic but tragic for those of us who have witnessed it.  It is the re-telling of a lie older than myself.  Star crossed young lovers who the world was against...Romeo and Juliet died in a double suicide....Not love, not romantic, just tragic.

I want my daughter to know what love really looks like.  It looks like two people loving each other enough to let them be themselves.  It looks like a couple waiting til marriage to have sex because they want whats best not just for themselves but even more for each other.  It looks like a wedding in front of your friends and family, your dad crying as he walks you up the aisle.  It looks like long walks planning your future and asking God to be a part of it.  It looks like a mother holding a child for the very first time as her husband just stares, equal parts amazed and terrified.  It looks like your husband working long hours but still finding the energy to sit and play tea party with a little girl who wore her tea dress all day waiting for daddy to get home.  It looks like the day that everything goes wrong and your world is turned upside down, but this man, this father, stands in the gap, giving strength he doesn't have to his little family so that they can heal and believe.  It looks like doing shifts in the hospital tending to one child and then heading home and loving your others so that they feel safe. It looks like using all of your vacation time to support whatever season your children are in, soccer, football, cheer, baseball, track, wrestling.  Driving long hours all day only to return just in time for your husband to head to his graveyard shift.  You want to see real love?  Watch a bus as it pulls away to drive two hours to the zoo on a field trip.  You will see love scrunched up in a seat next to his or her child who's chatting a mile a minute, blissfully unaware that their parent was up all night cleaning up vomit and worse from another child who woke them up from a deep slumber with their retching.  Find a Sunday School class and watch a parent who gives of their time to give their child the one thing they need the most.  Watch a football game or a cheerleading competition and see the child decked out in all the gear they need and then scan to the smiling parent in the stands: the one holding the camera and wearing 5 year old jeans they bought at a thrift store....

Real love doesn't always sparkle.  It doesn't always have great abs.  Often it eventually loses its hair and puts on weight...But it is real.  It shows up, doesn't back down and it never leaves.  Even when the world tells it that it has no reason to stay, it does.  

You want to see real love.  Watch the old man who tends to his wife.  Cuts her food, wipes her chin, takes her to the rest room and puts her to bed. Even though he knows that this side of Heaven, she will never again remember their life together; the children they raised, the dreams they had, even his name....But he stays, and honors his vows, and he loves her.

You want to see real love, put down the book and look around...Real love is all around you.