As a kid, one of my favorite stories was the one about stone soup. You remember it. Travelers on a long journey stop in a village. They have nothing but a hunger in their bellies and a good idea. It wasn’t just food they were hungry for, it was a desire to create community. What if all the very different people who live there could eat a meal together? At first, they got some pushback to their idea. I think I know why. Perhaps some people in the village had been raised to think food was scarce and they should hang on to what they had. How could everybody actually be fed? Others may have had disagreements with some of the villagers in the past or didn’t understand why everybody needed to be invited. Can’t we just invite the popular ones or the ones who are easy to get along with? Be practical. How could we all sit at the same table together? Wouldn’t there be arguments? Still others, I imagine, had burned the toast more than once when they had tried to host a big meal. Or maybe when it was tried in the past no one showed, so why try again? Or maybe instead of a good meal, people thought they would get pressured to buy timeshares at a rundown resort.
Unafraid of the voices who disagreed with them and undeterred by all the reasons not to try, these travelers set up a pot in the middle of town. They invited anyone who believed in the idea to throw in a couple of carrots, some celery, onions—whatever they could offer. In the end, everybody was fed, but they got a lot more than food that day; they got each other.
Writing this book has been a feast, and there have been a lot of people who have thrown in the pot what they had. They didn’t come with radishes and tomatoes; they came with love. The Cordon Bleu couldn’t have set a more beautiful table. These pages contain the stories of some of my friends and what they’ve taught me about extravagant love and acceptance. I’m indebted to each one. The first thing I’ve learned from them is that I have a long way to go to be the kind of loving person I’m hoping I’ll be some day. The second is that only the kind of radical love and acceptance I’ve experienced from them will help me close the distance. This is probably true for many of us.
There have been many cooks in the kitchen. Sweet Maria Goff, you continue to be one of my greatest teachers. You’ve helped me flip ideas like they were pancakes. Most of what I’ve gotten right about loving people is because I’ve seen you do it for the people around you.
Our kids and their spouses have been my teachers too. Lindsey, Jon, Richard, Ashley, Adam, thank you for letting me be your student. You’ve worked tirelessly to help me in every aspect of my life and, more importantly, have shown me a better, more beautiful way to live than I could have imagined myself.
My family and more than a few friends have also read these words many times and helped me live out the best parts of them. When I got it wrong, they didn’t scold me; they loved me and pointed me toward a better version of myself. They didn’t just help me with punctuation. They reminded me of my purpose, too, which is to love everybody, not just the ones who are easy to be kind to.
To my eight people. You know who you are. Thank you for being closer than friends and for holding me close. You’ve poured unreasonable amounts of love into my life.
Bryan Norman, you’ve been a friend and trusted confidant. Thanks for helping me figure out which words to keep and which ones to scrape into the bin. To the many chefs at Thomas Nelson— Brian Hampton, Webster Younce, Janene MacIvor, Jeff James, Karen Jackson, Tiffany Sawyer, and the team—thank you for being endlessly patient with me as I gathered the groceries I’d need to make the soup. It’s been a rare privilege to have the chance to write another book with you. To the massive number of new friends I’ve met in schools and cities in the past few years, thank you for making me feel welcome and for letting me hear your stories. You’ve reshaped how I experience my faith and see the world. The way you’ve loved people reminds me of the way Jesus did it.
To the team of people who help me daily get to where I’m supposed to be and have something to say when I get there, thank you. Dae, Becky, Haley, Tatave, and Jordan, you lead us with love and confidence and kindness.
Finally, to the courageous and hardworking crew at Love Does, the mile-long parade of friends who make the work possible around the world, and to the more than one hundred teachers and thousands of kids in our schools, keep being brave and courageous and steadfast in your love for people who aren’t like you. Don’t give in to the pressure to be like each other; be like Jesus. You haven’t backed down as you’ve fought for a better future for yourselves. Keep fighting for the people who haven’t felt included yet—even if they creep you out. They are your brothers and sisters. Invite them to the party. If they say no, it’s just because they’re scared; invite them again.
God doesn’t give us a recipe for living as a community, but He gives us great ingredients: He gives us everybody, always. If we’re going to get it right, it’s going to take everybody to pull it off. It won’t get done in a day or two either. It’s going to take always.