Giving; A way to learn to Love

 

“Love is all we have, the only way that each can help the other.”
— Euripides, Orestes (408 BC), translated by William Arrowsmith

Dear Reader,

This morning, a friend shared the above quotation from the ancient Greek playwright Euripides.

At first, I was drawn to its simplicity. But what caught my attention was the date. These words came from a play written more than 2,400 years ago.

I began to wonder whether the meaning of love, and its place in helping one another, has changed very much over the centuries.

That curiosity led me even further back in history, to the writings of the prophet Isaiah, who lived approximately three centuries before Euripides.

In Isaiah 1:17, we read:

“Learn to do well; seek judgment, relieve the oppressed, judge the fatherless, plead for the widow.”

What struck me about this passage was that Isaiah does not specifically mention love. Instead, he describes actions that we might recognize as expressions of love: seeking justice, relieving suffering, and caring for those who need our help.

Elsewhere in the book of Isaiah, we find an equally meaningful thought. Isaiah 58:10 tells us:

“And if thou draw out thy soul to the hungry, and satisfy the afflicted soul; then shall thy light rise in obscurity, and thy darkness be as the noon day.”

These words, preserved in a later portion of Isaiah, seem to suggest that something happens within us when we reach beyond ourselves to help another.

Centuries later, Jesus Christ would teach:

“That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another.” — John 13:34

Notice the progression of these teachings.

Isaiah calls us to relieve suffering and defend the vulnerable. Euripides recognizes love as the means by which human beings help one another. Christ teaches us to love as He loved.

Different centuries, different cultures, yet a remarkably similar concern for our relationship with one another.

I find this especially meaningful when reflecting upon my own years in recovery.

In Alcoholics Anonymous, I learned that helping another alcoholic was not simply a matter of offering advice or sharing knowledge. It involved listening, understanding another person's suffering, and sometimes remembering experiences from my own past that were painful to revisit.

There have been times when I have offered help without knowing the person well enough to say that I loved them. Yet through listening, sharing, and serving, something changed.

Compassion grew. Understanding deepened. A stranger became someone whose welfare genuinely mattered to me.

I have experienced something similar through service to those who are hungry, homeless, lonely, or struggling to find their way.

Sometimes the love does not come before the act of service. Sometimes it grows because we chose to serve.

And this brings me back to my friend's quotation.

Is love truly all we have? Is it the only way we can help one another?

We have knowledge, resources, time, abilities, and many other gifts to offer. Yet when these gifts are accompanied by genuine concern for another human being, they become something greater than the assistance itself.

They become expressions of love.

Perhaps the important question is not whether love must come before service, but whether our willingness to serve can teach us how to love more deeply.

Across the centuries, from Isaiah to Euripides, from Christ's ministry to our present lives, the circumstances of humanity have changed beyond recognition. But our need for compassion, understanding, and the kindness of others remains.

We may begin by helping another because we care. But through helping, we often discover how deeply we are capable of loving.

Dear Reader, as you go about your day, consider this simple invitation:

Reach out to someone who may need a little encouragement, a listening ear, or a helping hand. You need not know them well, nor wait until you feel some extraordinary measure of love.

Begin with an act of kindness.

You may discover that the love you hoped to give was also growing within you.

Did Jesus Ever Stub His Toe?

 

Dear Reader,

Did Jesus ever stub His toe?

At first, the question may seem almost foolish.

Yet while reading Isaiah 53, I found myself thinking more deeply about the humanity of Jesus Christ.

We often speak of Christ as the Son of God—the Messiah, Redeemer, and Savior of the world. And rightly so. But in emphasizing His divinity, I wonder if we sometimes forget how fully He entered mortal life.

Jesus was born as an infant, grew as a child, became hungry and thirsty, grew tired and slept. He walked dusty roads, worked with His hands, knew friendship and rejection, and wept.

And yes, though Scripture does not say so, I suppose He could even have stubbed His toe.

That small thought points to something much larger.

Isaiah wrote:

“He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief.” 
—Isaiah 53:3

Those words, “acquainted with grief,” have begun to mean something more personal to me.

In recovery, I have learned that one way we help others is by remembering where we once stood.

When I sit with a newcomer struggling simply to stay sober, I do not have to imagine fear, regret, confusion, or uncertainty. I remember my own early recovery.

I remember facing the past honestly—the pain of taking inventory, admitting wrongs, and making amends. I also remember learning that recovery was not only about stopping drinking; it was about rebuilding a life.

Those experiences do not compare with the suffering Isaiah describes in Jesus Christ. Still, they have taught me something about compassion.

When we have known pain ourselves, we can sometimes sit more gently beside someone else who is hurting.

Over the years, service has become part of that lesson. Sometimes it has meant feeding people who are homeless. Sometimes it has simply meant listening.

Today, part of my service is helping manage our Intergroup twenty-four-hour hotline, where someone struggling with alcohol can reach another alcoholic who understands what they are going through.

The volunteer may not know exactly what the caller is facing, but they can say, in one way or another:

I have been there too. You do not have to face this moment entirely alone.

And that brings me back to Isaiah.

“Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows.” 
—Isaiah 53:4

Christ did not observe suffering from a distance. He entered it. He knew physical pain and loneliness.

He knew betrayal, rejection, misunderstanding, and abandonment.

Isaiah continues: 

“He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities.” —Isaiah 53:5

My recovery gives me only the smallest glimpse of what it means to understand another person’s suffering through experience.

Christ’s understanding is infinitely greater.

When we hurt, we do not turn to a Savior who merely understands pain in theory.

We turn to One who has experienced it—who grieved and wept.

When we feel abandoned, we turn to One who knew abandonment.

When we are ashamed of what lies behind us, we turn to One who forgives and redeems. 

Perhaps that is one lesson of recovery: our wounds can either close us inward or make us more compassionate toward the wounds of others.

The things I once wished I could erase from my life have become part of what allows me to understand the newcomer who calls for help today.

Not because I have all the answers, but because I know something about starting over.

The question, “Did Jesus ever stub His toe?” may still sound insignificant.

But behind it lies a profound truth:

Jesus Christ came close enough to humanity to know our pain, and He loved us enough to suffer for us.

Perhaps Isaiah’s description of Him as “a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief” invites us to do more than admire Christ from a distance.

It may invite us to feel His humanity and then ask ourselves:

Can I become a little more human in the way He was human?

Can I listen more carefully, judge less quickly, and sit beside someone who is hurting without needing to fix everything? Can my own life become a source of compassion rather than bitterness?

If Christ entered fully into the human experience to lift us, then perhaps following Him means being willing, even briefly, to enter into another person’s experience.

To see them, listen to them, remember our own wounds, and say: 

I understand you. You do not have to walk this path alone. 

That may be one way we begin to understand not only the suffering of Christ, but also the humanity He asks us to share.

🙏🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️ 

What Cannot Be Taken Away

 

Dear Reader,

Today, while reviewing some items on YouTube, I came across a video about the life of a Roman statesman and philosopher named Boethius. While imprisoned and awaiting execution, he wrote a work called The Consolation of Philosophy.

For some background, Boethius had once possessed position, influence, wealth, respect, and political power. Then almost everything was taken from him. Accused of treason and imprisoned, he faced a question that human beings have continued to ask ever since:

What remains when the things upon which we have depended are gone?

In his writing, Boethius reflected upon something we still struggle to understand today: wealth, reputation, position, health, comfort, and even the approval of others can change very quickly.

He described much of this changing experience as Fortune.

Good fortune comes.

Bad fortune comes.

Neither remains forever.

The prophet Isaiah expressed a similar truth:

“All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of the field.”
—Isaiah 40:6

Grass grows and fades. Flowers bloom and fall.

So do many of the things we once believed would make us secure.

However, Isaiah does not stop there. He also gives us another promise:

“Fear thou not; for I am with thee.”
—Isaiah 41:10

This is a beautiful message.

Notice what Isaiah tells us will remain.

Not wealth.

Not position.

Not certainty.

God remains.

In my own experience, I once held wealth and enjoyed a rewarding career. Much of that was lost through addiction and poor choices.

Yet through the grace of a Higher Power and a program of recovery, I found a better path. It was a path that allowed God to enter more fully into my life.

By turning my life over to Him, I began to learn how to live without depending upon the desires, prestige, and status that once seemed so important.

With some difficulty at first, I came to understand something very simple:

I did not need certainty, prestige, and control.
I needed guidance.

That guidance came through prayer, service, and a willingness to accept life as it came, trusting that God was present to support and direct my steps.

Through His guidance, my relationship with the world began to change.

Challenges that once might have overwhelmed me became opportunities to rely upon an inner strength that I came to believe was supplied by my Heavenly Father and His Beloved Son.

Boethius discovered from a prison cell that circumstances could take away his office, his possessions, his freedom, and eventually his life.

But they could not take away his search for truth, wisdom, and the deeper meaning of his existence.

From my Christian perspective, I would take that thought one step further:

Circumstances cannot change who we ultimately are before God.

Perhaps that is one of the quiet lessons life eventually teaches each of us.

What happens to us is not always within our control.

What we become through it still matters.

By living faithfully today and remembering that our deepest worth is not measured by what we possess, what we have lost, or how the world judges us, we can find freedom from our past and discover a life whose deepest value the world cannot corrupt or take away.

There are things the world can give us.

There are things the world can take away.

And there are things that were never the world’s to take.

🙏🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️

Sawubona — I See You

 

Dear Friends,

Have you ever thought about the way we greet one another?

In English, we commonly say “hello” or “How are you doing?” These greetings are friendly and perfectly acceptable for everyday conversation. Yet sometimes I wonder if something more personal is missing.

In Zulu-speaking communities of South Africa, there is a greeting: Sawubona.

The word carries a warmer idea than our ordinary “hello.” It is connected with seeing and is often understood more literally as:

“I see you.”

But Sawubona can suggest more than simply noticing someone physically. It acknowledges another person’s presence, dignity, and humanity. It also reflects something of the South African idea of Ubuntu—the understanding that our humanity is bound together with the humanity of others.

Philosophically, Sawubona can carry the feeling:

I see you. I recognize you. Your presence matters.

I find that especially meaningful because it lifts a greeting from simple acknowledgment to genuine recognition. It says, in effect, you are not invisible to me.

That thought seems particularly important in a world where we can pass people on the street, speak to neighbors, work beside others, and even live near one another without ever truly seeing them.

So I ask myself: when I say “hello” to someone, can I also convey something deeper through my expression, my tone, or a simple gesture?

Can my greeting say:

I see you. You have value. You matter.

The movie Avatar used the words “I see you” in a more intimate and spiritual sense. Although the story gives the phrase a deeper meaning between its characters, the idea is not far removed from what I am considering here. To truly see another person is to move beyond appearance and recognize something of their worth.

My own experience has been that when I take a sincere interest in the people I meet, something changes in me as well. The day becomes lighter and often more meaningful.

Kindness and compassion, even when expressed through something as simple as a greeting, can change another person’s day with very little effort on our part.

Many of us have heard the question, “What would Christ do?”

Perhaps one answer is that Christ truly saw people.

He saw the lonely, the rejected, the sick, the forgotten, and those whom others passed by. His example reminds me that the real power in either “hello” or “Sawubona” is not the word itself. It is the love and compassion we place behind it.

So I leave you with this thought:

What kind of world might we create if every greeting carried the message:

“I see you. I recognize your worth. You matter.”

The first step begins with us.

🙏🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️

When Fear Pulls Us Down

Dear Reader,

Tonight I had a conversation with a close friend about fear.

Not the ordinary worries that come and go, but the kind of fear that can reach deeply into our lives—the fear that comes when something feels dangerous, uncertain, or beyond our control.

As we talked, the conversation gradually moved from fear itself toward faith.

We spoke about how Christ can help us face difficult and even frightening circumstances, and how recovery often comes the same way many of us learn to live life: with faith, and one day at a time.

Earlier today, I listened to Elder Patrick Kearon speak in General Conference. Later, during my evening conversation, I realized how useful his words were to what my friend and I were discussing.. 

He said:

“We can learn to live in spiritual lift. And when we sink, our gentle Savior is there to lift us up as we turn to Him. Jesus Christ loves to lift.”

His words brought back two memories from my own life.

Years ago, while on vacation, I went parasailing. I remember being lifted above the water, carried upward by forces I could not see but could certainly feel.

On another occasion, one Sunday afternoon, I parachuted from an airplane.

That experience taught me something very different.

Once you step from an airplane, gravity becomes very real.

There is no pretending that you are not falling.

Yet there is also something above you capable of catching the air, slowing your descent, and carrying you safely toward the ground.

As I listened to Elder Kearon today, I began to see those experiences differently.

Life also has its gravity.

Fear can pull us downward.

So can grief, loneliness, disappointment, illness, uncertainty, regret, and circumstances we simply cannot control.

Faith does not mean pretending those forces are not real.

Faith reminds us that gravity is not the only force at work.

Elder Kearon taught:

“Your Savior is your lift. He is your ever-rising air. There is no limit to how high you can climb with Him. Jesus Christ lives to lift.”

I find great comfort in those words.

There have been times in my own life when encouragement alone was not enough. Telling myself to be stronger, think more positively, or simply “get over it” would not have changed the circumstances.

Sometimes we need something beyond our own strength.

Sometimes we need to be lifted.

The prophet Isaiah expressed a similar hope:

“But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles.”

—Isaiah 40:31

Christ does not promise us a life without fear.

He does not promise that we will never feel ourselves falling.

What He offers is His presence in the middle of those experiences.

Sometimes He changes the situation.

Sometimes He strengthens us enough to face it.

Sometimes He carries us through one day at a time.

And sometimes, when we cannot lift ourselves at all, He becomes the lift.

Today, my conversation with a friend and Elder Kearon’s message seemed to come together around one simple truth:

Fear may remind us that gravity is real. Faith reminds us that gravity is not the only force at work.

There is also love.

There is grace.

There is hope.

And there is a Savior who still lifts.

As Elder Kearon said:

“At the heart of our faith is the glorious truth that we have an adoring Father in Heaven, whose Son, our Savior, loves to lift.”

Perhaps that is what faith sometimes looks like.

Not the absence of fear.

Not the absence of falling.

But trusting that when fear pulls us downward, Jesus Christ is still there—lifting, carrying, strengthening, and helping us take the next step.

One day at a time.

🙏🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️