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Key insights from
Everybody, Always: Becoming Love in a
World Full of Setbacks and Difficult People
By
Bob Goff
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What you’ll learn
It’s easy to love the lovable. But can you love those who
are different and difficult? That’s a tall order, but Bob Goff thinks it’s
vital if we want love to be a concrete reality and not just an abstraction.
Everybody, Always is a story-driven manifesto that shows how
people loving like Jesus in our everyday lives—with vulnerability and
kindness toward all—can truly make a world of difference.
Read on for key insights from Everybody, Always: Becoming Love in a World Full of
Setbacks and Difficult People.
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1. Love is not
merely something we affirm, but an identity that we should desire to
embody.
What would happen if you showed up at an airport without any
proof of who you are? No matter how earnest or truthful you were in your
insistence that you are you, the TSA officer would not let you through. You
need something more substantial to prove your identity.
This is true in life more generally: how do we demonstrate
who we are? It’s not enough to have the right answers or espouse intentions
of doing nice things someday. Jesus understood this pretty clearly, and
told his disciples that the best way to identify ourselves is through the
way we love each other. More than an abstraction or something that you can
fall in and out of, we actually become love.
This isn’t so bad if you only surround yourself with other
kind, good-natured people; however, Jesus tells us that the true litmus
test for love isn’t loving people who love you back, but rather the people
who are different and downright difficult. God’s desire isn’t that we
merely receive his love, but that we dump it out on everybody, all the
time—starting with the people we find creepy.
This inevitably involves facing fears. We are good at
putting walls or distance between us and difficult others. It’s understandable,
but it’s definitely not what Jesus did. Consider how Jesus conducted
himself right before his crucifixion: He shared his last meal with a group
that would betray, deny, and abandon him to die a gruesome, disgraceful
death. Even though he knew what they were about to do, he chose to break
bread with them. What a demonstration of vulnerable love!
More than the faith traditions we espouse or the social
class or groups with which we identify, we will be remembered for our love.
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2. People don’t
want to be told what they should do; they want to be reminded of who they
are.
No one likes being told what to do. The grown son chafes at
his father’s well-meaning reminder to change his oil. As a display of his
autonomy, he may even refuse to change his oil merely because his father
suggested it. Well-intentioned or not, we instinctively become unbending
and resistant when we sense we are being manipulated or controlled. The
impulse to freely choose for ourselves, based on our surroundings, is wired
into us.
It is always better to tell people who they are instead of
telling them what you think they need. Some people have been bossed around
or at least told what they want as long as they can remember: what sport or
instrument they should play, what university they should or shouldn’t
attend, and so on.
Unfortunately, this is common in the church as well. We are
prescribed a narrow range of activities that constitute a genuine life of
faith, like consistent “quiet times,” weekly church attendance, and
starting conversations about God with the pagans. These aren’t “bad” things
in themselves, but the way they’ve been presented has a way of cultivating
a culture of compliance instead of genuine faith. Compliance can make us
actors rehearsing lines instead of genuinely pursuing faith of our own
volition.
This is not how God operates. He is not trying to control
our behavior, to burden us with a crushing load of directives. He wants our
hearts, and he turns us toward himself by reminding us of who we are. Jesus
tells a parable of a son who abandons his father and squanders his father’s
wealth. When he reaches rock bottom, he comes back to his father, ashamed
and willing to take up a post as a servant. He wants to enter the father’s
good graces by following orders. But the father eagerly welcomes his son
back and throws him a party. He reminds the runaway who he is: the father’s
son.
Shame has a way of driving us from safe places and
disrupting rhythms of life and community. Trivial arguments, pride, and
burdensome expectations placed on self create this. We hide in isolation,
our words and security stolen from us. Don’t stay there. Return to the
people whom you love and who have loved you well—not once or twice, but all
the time. And, ultimately, return to the Father, who is eager to remind you
of who you are.
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3. Deep
friendships can grow one three-minute conversation at a time.
When you fly all over the world, some of the faces at the
airport start to become familiar. Adrian worked for TSA at the San Diego
International Airport for decades. Amidst the milieu of businessmen,
tourists, and vacationers who are far more likely to be anxious, impatient,
and rude than polite and upbeat, he stood out. What made him remarkable was
the fact that he was not desperately trying to be seen as remarkable—or
even to be seen. He had a humble, kind disposition, and was clearly content
to show love to each person whose ID and ticket he verified. Whether the
passengers were disgruntled or easy-going, Adrian met each person with a
smile.
The author decided to let Adrian know that he had
appreciated Adrian’s humble kindness and that it reminded him a lot of the
way that Jesus loved. Adrian’s eyes welled up and he got up and gave the
author a hug. Thus began a friendship that would last for years. It grew
just three minutes at a time, each time the author had a flight out of San
Diego. With each exchange, they learned something more about each other’s
family and life. They began to get meals or coffee together, talking about
life’s challenges and faith. Eventually, their families would meet
for special occasions and Christmases.
Adrian’s wife called the author recently, informing him that
Adrian had died of a stroke in the airport parking lot. It was a deep loss.
Adrian left behind family, dear friends, and a legacy of becoming love.
Adrian didn’t engage in social media, which can offer the enticing opportunity
to project an image of who we’d like to be and how we’d like to be seen.
Adrian quietly loved his family and God and the next person in line.
Sometimes we put so much pressure on making friends. It’s an
all-or-nothing. But friendships don’t happen all at once; they can be built
with small, intentional increments of meaningful conversation.
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4. Our limits are
not determined by what we don’t have but by what we don’t use.
Karl was a kid with a lot going for him: good-looking,
smart, charming. In an attempt to win the attention of a pair of girls
sitting on a dock, he surprised them by jumping over them, diving
head-first into the lake beyond. This light-hearted prank took a grave turn
when Karl didn’t resurface. Unbeknownst to Karl, the water around the dock
was extremely shallow. His friends pulled him out of the water and called
an ambulance.
Karl was devastated to hear that not only was he a
quadriplegic, but he had lost his ability to speak. His eyes, one of the
few organs still in his control, began to well up with tears. He got around
in a custom-made chair that he operated by moving a straw-like joystick
with his tongue.
Karl graduated high school and went on to college, and while
at college he met a few people who told him how Jesus of Nazareth had
changed their lives. Karl found the person of Jesus intriguing, and was
amazed at how love was the motivator for all that he did. As he became
familiar with the Bible, Karl was struck by the numerous references to the
mind, the eyes, and the tongue, and the high importance that was placed on
them. He no longer had control of his limbs, but he still had control over
his tongue, eyes, and mind. Instead of succumbing to despair over what was
lost, Karl decided to make the most of what he still had.
Karl went to law school with the author. He now works in the
office of the attorney general. He’s made a career of bringing people to
justice. Five of his cases have gone all the way to California’s Supreme
Court, and he has won them all. He’s authored scores of legislative pieces
that have enhanced the justice system and furthered victim’s rights.
Karl’s example is a poignant and inspiring one. Our limit is
not set by what we don’t have, but by what we fail to use. His life reminds
us of the boy who brought some bread and a few fish to Jesus. Whatever we
have, Jesus is eager to use it in ways we can scarcely imagine, if only we
bring it to him.
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5. Acts of bravery
are expressed in a variety of ways, and their potential to change the world
should not be overlooked.
Uganda’s first case of a witch doctor being put on trial was
not too long ago. A shaman from northern Uganda had allegedly kidnapped a
young boy, chopped off his privates, and left him for dead. But the boy
(let’s call him Charlie) survived the ordeal. This was the first incident
in Uganda’s history of a witch doctor suspected of a violent crime and a
surviving victim. The case could be brought to trial, and it was the author
had been called in to lead the prosecution.
Witch doctors are revered, or at least feared, in Uganda.
There was a concern that the courts would not be able to find a judge bold
enough to preside over the case. One finally did, however, and he stood his
ground even in the face of intimidation. Shamans conducted eerie, animistic
rituals outside the door to his home throughout the trial. His house had to
be guarded around the clock. Love is sometimes a risky business.
When Charlie took the stand some months after the incident,
he identified his would-be killer without hesitation or fear. He stood up,
pointed at Kabi, and boldly declared him the man who had tried to murder
him. The trial lasted a week longer, and the judge returned a guilty
verdict.
Both the judge and young Charlie demonstrated remarkable
courage. People are often tempted toward cynicism. How could one person
make a demonstrable impact? Young Charlie was barely four feet tall, but he
stood a mighty mountain that day: his act of courage made history for his
country.
What is that work of kindness and mercy that fear keeps you
from pursuing?
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6. We become love
as we move from mere agreement with Jesus to embodying his teachings.
Do we actually want to do the hard, vulnerable work of
becoming love to others, or are we content to merely agree with Jesus’
teachings? Loving your enemy sounds like a lofty, beautiful exhortation
until you actually have an enemy who needs your love.
The moment that Kabi dragged Charlie off into the bush and
mutilated him, Kabi became the author’s enemy and the clearest embodiment
of evil. The author visited Kabi in Luzira Maximum Security Prison, a grim,
dismal place where convicts were brought to die. The conversation began
with Kabi on his knees, expressing deep regret for what he’d done to
Charlie. The author initially viewed these laments with an aloof suspicion,
but as the exchange continued, it became evident that this was hardly a
charade. He divulged what it had been like growing up the son of a shaman,
and what witchcraft had done to him. He ended his story by saying that he
was deeply in need of forgiveness.
“No way. Out of the question!” were the author’s knee-jerk
thoughts. But then, what about the thief on the cross next to Jesus? He
asked for Jesus to remember him when he entered into his kingdom. Jesus
didn’t reward the gasping plea with a quick test about pressing social
problems of the day or a regimen for altering behavior: he merely told the
thief, “You’re in.” As the conversations about family, faith, and what
Jesus taught continued, Kabi decided that he wanted to rest in the kind,
loving arms of Christ.
People in some faith cultures refer to moments like these as
“coming to Jesus,” but this was a come-to-Jesus moment not just for Kabi
but for the author as well. The conversation had moved the author from mere
agreement with Jesus about loving an enemy to actually doing it. They were
discovering the depths of God’s love and forgiveness together.
The meetings continued over the next weeks and months.
Eventually, Kabi was given permission to gather all the prisoners—all men
about to die—and tell them about a new life available to them. Kabi
explained (and pretty much butchered) the central message of Jesus and what
he’s done for us. Here’s the amazing thing though: It didn’t matter that
his words were not theologically robust or even accurate. What those men
saw was a change that could not be ignored: here was a feared witch doctor,
known by many of the prisoners for the horrendous things he’d done to
children, holding hands with the man who had put him in prison, standing
shoulder to shoulder as brothers and friends instead of bitter enemies.
Whatever had been missed in word had been more than compensated for in
action, as two unlikely men became love for fellow prisoners in need of new
starts.
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