I’ve noticed something in all my years of porch-sitting:
People spend a lot of time separating themselves.
This one here
That one there.
Different colors
Different stories
Different hurts.
Humans make things complicated.
Dogs tend to notice what really matters.
The Apostle Paul says it plain enough for this old dog to understand:
“Now these three remain: faith, hope, and love—but the greatest of these is love.” - 1 Corinthians 13:13
Faith gets talked about and keeps us believing God is still at work.
Hope gets prayed for and keeps us from giving up when the work feels slow.
But love—real, sacrificial, cross-shaped love—is what actually brings us together.
Without it, all our talk about reconciliation is just noise.
Love asks us to get off the porch and move closer to each other.
Love is what keeps me waiting by the door long after the house goes quiet.
Love is what makes me wag when I hear footsteps, even after a long day.
And love—real love—is what breaks down barriers we’ve gotten used to living behind.
Love is what stays when faith gets tired and hope feels thin.
And when it comes to healing old wounds between people who look different, talk different, or come from different places—love is the only thing strong enough to bond them together.
My human once read something out loud that was even more clear:
“My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command.” - John 15:12-14 NIV
I’ve seen how Jesus loves.
He doesn’t love from a distance.
He doesn’t pick favorites based on color, accent, or history.
He steps right into the mess, kneels down, and puts His hands on what’s broken.
He didn’t say, Love the ones who look like you.
He didn’t say, Love the ones who think like you.
He said, Love one another—with the same self-giving, cross-shaped love He took to the cross.
The cross forgives individuals—and it pulls the entire broken world back toward peace.
Racial reconciliation isn’t about winning arguments or pretending the past didn’t happen.
It’s about obedience.
It’s about loving the way we’ve been loved.
That kind of love costs something.
It always has.
As a mature older dog, I know this:
When Jesus reconciles us to Himself, He doesn’t leave us growling at each other on opposite sides of the yard.
He brings us close.
Same porch.
Same table.
Same hope.
Reconciled people learn to live reconciled lives.
So maybe today we sit a little longer and listen a little better.
Maybe we love past our comfort and stay when it would be easier to walk away.
Faith will point us forward.
Hope will keep us going.
But love—the kind God commands—will teach us how to live together as one.
Same porch.
Same Jesus.
And room enough for all of us to rest at His feet.
Keep the Faith… Carpe Diem
