💛 Hey Reader,

Over the past few months, several friends have lost their battle with cancer (lung, colon, prostate, etc.), and a family member committed suicide. For the past few months, it seems at least once a week, someone I know is diagnosed with a life-threatening illness or is doing their damnedest to stay healthy in the face of medical challenges. Fold in the deaths of notables like Aretha Franklin, Anthony Bourdain, and John McCain, and those who lose their lives to senseless acts of violence, and well, I find it a little overwhelming. Apparently, noting the increasing numbers of people shaking off their mortal coil is a part of growing older. And it’s all a bitter pill to swallow.

For me, there’s a certain wistfulness that comes with the passing of public figures. I’m sure some of you out there are wondering how does the death of some famous person you’ve never met possibly affect you? The real question is, how can their death not affect me?

To my thinking, we’re all interconnected.

It’s easy to note the works of highly visible singers, writers, sports figures, artists, government officials, etc. Their contributions help form the backdrop of our lives. Surely, everyone has a memory tied to a song, a book, a cultural event, a place, a meal, a movie, or a political event. It’s just the way we’re wired. None of us lives in a vacuum of our design. Like it or not, the efforts of others have the potential to become milemarkers in our lives.

I can tell you where I was the first time I heard Michael Jackson’s Off the Wall, the way it moved me, and how I listened to it again and again and again. Don’t get me started about seeing the movie Jaws and how the tidal wave of fears it unleashed stayed with me for an embarrassing number of years before I ventured waist-high into the ocean again. (I was not about to be mistaken for a baby seal or an amuse-bouche for any shark.)

Sports has never been my thing, but I remember the exhilaration of attending the 1993 Orange Bowl (Florida State vs Nebraska football game) with friends. After experiencing the highs and lows of that game and FSU winning its first Orange Bowl, I came away with a deeper understanding of what being a sports fan was all about, not to mention newly kindled convictions that Bobby Bowden deserved canonization.

When those bigger-than-life personalities leave this world, there’s a flood of memories attached to said personality, not because I knew them, but because some facet of their area of expertise or giftedness overlapped with my life. That loss, knowing that person is no longer here, a part of this wonderfully flawed and beautiful experience we all share, takes me to a place — not the realm of the fabled ugly cry — but to the outlying and equally as messy outlying domains of sadness.

I adore relationships — both professional and personal. People enthrall me. I thoroughly enjoy people who invite me into those personal spaces where they show me who they are behind the public persona and reveal, knowingly and sometimes unintentionally, how they came to be who they are today. Well, yes . . . it may take me a while to open up with those who are a bit bombastic in their efforts to show me what’s behind their curtain . . . but I always try to reciprocate. (Don’t judge. I’m a work in progress.)

Kindness, character, an ability to laugh at oneself and with others, openness, humility, and a connection to a spiritual life draw me in every time. A person’s ability to broaden my perspective of the world and how I fit into it works like Superglue to bond that relationship to my head and heart. And I hold those relationships dear. Why? For the simple reason that relationships and friendships are a gift. Sure, faux friendships can be bought, but in the end, that’s not a gift; it’s a transaction.

When I lived in L.A., I retained the services of a personal trainer, Dave. This guy could wield weights several times my own weight and trained lots of people who were “built.” He pushed me, not in a manner that was condescending or demeaning, but in a respectful manner, yet gave me no wiggle room for whining to do less than I was capable. The result was a six-pack, confidence in an arena I never imagined, and a great friendship. (Unfortunately, the six-pack of years ago has since become a pony keg, but don’t tell Dave.)

There’s the Rockette and stage manager I met while performing in the Chicago-Boston touring company of the Radio City Christmas Spectacular. A fast friendship formed between the three of us. Laura and Dan’s willingness to exchange some of their personal journeys has been transformational. Thanks to them, I firmly believe that everybody has quirks, whether they acknowledge them or not.

My friendship with Danny, a New York police officer with whom most people would assume I would have nothing in common, is another example. A shared work experience and different life experiences opened the door to a friendship that has endured long past my annual three-month stints in New York and speaks to me about his dedication to applying a positive outlook to make the best of any circumstance.

Then there’s my cousin Quinn and his wife Shirleen. He’s the family genealogist who’s organized our massive reunions for the last fourteen years. He towers over mortals at six feet three and a half inches tall. He’s physically imposing, and she’s undeniably beautiful inside and out. These two have the kindest, most generous hearts of anyone I know. They personify faithful giving, living, and loving family ties.

And then there’s my late friend Ben, the former music director at my church, who demonstrated a dedication to his music ministry and an unparalleled love for people. His passion has called me to step up my own game and be present for people.

I could go on and on and on with tales of people who’ve had more of an impact on me than they know. My life has been and continues to be showered with family and friends who take my breath away with the care and respect they show others. I’m sure your life has a sprinkling of similar family and friends, but “I” have the best family and friends. And I boldly say without hesitation that my friends and family are better than yours.

When relationships like these end, forget it. The loss drops me, without a parachute, right in the middle of the emotional wasteland known as grief. It’s a land I wander aimlessly in for far too long, and the escape route changes with each visitation. But I will always hold on to my Christian beliefs about salvation and the afterlife. Plus, gratitude for knowing the person and the hope of being reunited on the other side buoy my spirits and give me the strength to go on.

But despite all my professions of love and adoration, I find myself hating on so many fronts.

I hate when people deceive one another for their own gain at someone else’s expense.

I hate that caring for others has become passé.

I hate that compromise has been replaced with all-or-nothing thinking.

I hate that people can no longer discern between right and wrong.

I hate that humility is seen as a weakness.

I hate that only natural disasters unite people of different stripes and not social injustice.

I hate that nationalism has replaced patriotism.

I hate that people can be so willfully destructive to one another.

I hate thinking that mandates the end justifies means.

I hate when people refuse to recognize the inherent humanity we all share.

But hatred of one another is a dangerous thing. The choice to regard one another with fear and loathing consumes the person traveling down that road. Hate leeches the life force from those conversant in its ways and turns a flesh-and-blood heart into a charred, petrified lump. Hatred for others destroys everything it touches and leaves massive ruins in its wake. How sad is it that virtues are only valued when signaling one’s piety or used in demeaning others?

But rest assured, friends. I choose not to succumb to hatred. Instead — I. Choose. Love.

And not a namby-pamby brand of love. I choose a love that radically welcomes “others.” I embrace a love that understands paradigm shifts don’t happen overnight. I want to demonstrate a love that strives to be a force for good for everyone, but especially for marginalized people. I’m claiming a love that celebrates when good things happen in other people’s lives, not castigates. I want to become well-versed in a love that is neither arrogant nor sees itself as all-important. I want to model a love that seeks to help others without flying off the handle. I want to practice a love with the hallmarks of forgiveness, truth, a protective nature, and trust that can be seen at fifty paces. A love that is optimistic about today as well as tomorrow, that stands firm in tough times, and never fails –that’s what I’m talking about.

I’ll be the first to admit it’s a tall order, but it’s good to have a high standard to strive for. And it’s only with help from above and everyone here that my broken, flawed efforts to extend the love of Christ are even possible.

I choose love because we deserve better. Now more than ever.

Love one another.

Originally published at Medium.com, October 9, 2018.