My father is a councilman for one of the wards in our small city. As a result, he has to attend many events that are political in nature, which is not necessarily his forte. He has learned, through these experiences, the key to being a great politician: do not speak unless you have something wise to say.

My father has always been a wise man, and he's always been a man of relatively few words. One of the things I respect the most about him is that he doesn't always feel the need to open his mouth and give his opinion. Like the mark of true wisdom, Dad also doesn't over-value his opinion; when he does speak his mind, he doesn't sound condescending or self-important because he knows his voice is subjective.

As I've grown older, I've learned to value his voice because it always reinforces three simple characteristics that I long to maintain in my life: Godliness, wisdom, and class.

Dad recently went to an event that his chamber was invited to, along with chambers from other cities, and was embarrassed when one of his fellow councilmembers stood up and announced that he was going to pray for the entire room before they ate dinner. When a table at which another city chamber sat did not immediately comply, he called them down loudly, repeating his request for silence as he prayed. My father is a strong Christian, so he had no shame in prayer. Something about the way this man approached the subject, though, rubbed him the wrong way.

Later that night, Dad himself was praying about the scenario. He was trying to reconcile how his counterpart behaved and was trying to determine why he perceived it as so abrasive. At that moment, God spoke to my father clearly: "Do not doubt for one second that your counterpart doesn't love me with all of his heart. The problem is that he is ignoring my second commandment: love your neighbor as yourself."

As children, we are often taught of the greatest two commandments in the Bible:

1. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul and mind; and 2. love your neighbor as yourself.

It seems to me, though, that the message most reinforced is the first one. We love God to a point where we are almost a captive in His arms, fearful of what would happen if we chose not to love Him. Because we're so caught up in what we treat as chains, we fail to comply with the second greatest commandment. As a result, we fall short of the love we are called to give.

Because we aren't allowing ourselves to experience the true nature of God's love--freedom and peace--we are unable to pour the same love into others. We are so concerned with our image and essentially "earning" God's love that we cannot do what He asks of us: freely give that love to others.

Sometimes, though, I think our inability to love is born out of a selfish mentality. Maybe we experience the freedom of Christ, and take advantage of it to the point where we're living simply for ourselves. God forgives us, right? So why can't we just do what we want and ask for forgiveness later? Why can't we just love God and do our own thing? Why do we have to give to other people? Other people don't have our best interests at heart. Other people don't care at all about us. Other people, to be frank, suck. So why should we love our neighbors at all?

Good question.

My family recently lost an aunt, who died after fighting with cancer for over two years. Sadly, few people in our family are truly grieving her loss. Why? Because her life was marked by selfishness. She loved Jesus, but she did not love her neighbor. She was not considerate of those around her, and she was known as a "selfish princess." She may have loved Jesus, but I never saw the love of Jesus within her. I only saw a person focused on herself, who refused to pour into the lives of those around her because she was too busy with her own life. So when she died, I was not sad. How could I be? I hardly even knew her, and what I did know of her, I did not respect at all.

Selfish living is small and tragic. It leaves no eternal impact. None of the things you do, buy or achieve for your gain alone can be taken with you when you die.

The intrinsic value of selfish living is minute, if not nonexistent.

There is nothing that remains in its wake but ashes because those who live selfishly fail to invest in the eternal currency: the souls of their neighbors.

I did gain something from my aunt's death. I learned that I don't want to be anything like her. I learned that I want to love people so boldly and passionately that when I die, there are a thousand people at my funeral praising Jesus because they knew His love better through the way I lived. I learned through my aunt's death that I want to serve with every second of my time.

Through recent trials in my life, I have become so aware of God's great love for us. I have learned how to love by loving Him, and watching Him love me. I am far from perfect, and my love is flawed as a result. Despite it all, I long to tell the story of God's love through my own love. I have learned that love is the noblest and purest of beauties in this world.

It is underrated in the utmost capacity. I want to sing of the joys of love.

I want to love my neighbor second only to how much I love my God, and I want my life to be evident of that love as if it is tattooed across my chest. I don't ever want to be accused of living selfishly. I don't want my life to be so small that it only focuses on me. I want to love my neighbors even if they suck--even if they abuse me, or betray me, or reject me. I want to love them because God loves them, and if I can see them through the lens that God does, then I'll really be flying high.

I want to love because love is the noblest and bravest thing we can do in this world. It requires vulnerability and openness. It invites a pain that demands to be observed. But oh, the joy that comes from love.

Oh, the joy.

I covet that joy, and I will take risks that expose all of my vulnerabilities in a desperate attempt to capture that joy which only love can provide.