Introduction
Why am I writing this?
Because inspiration often visits me at night.
There’s something so special about the still of the house and the glow from tiny bulbs in night lights and bright, boxy numbers on alarm clocks.
Whether it’s been for my spiritual, family, personal, or professional life, many of my most memorable ideas have come when the people and the home that I love are sleeping.
It never lasts too long, but for a few magical moments, it’s just me, my imagination, and heaven
.
In March of 2017, I was preparing for an unusual early morning speaking engagement in a northern Virginia suburb. I’d been invited to address a gathering of about fifty high schoolers who choose to attend a Bible study class—often called seminary—each day before school.
I spent hours that week pondering, organizing thoughts, and jotting down straggly notes. The night before the event, I went to bed feeling mild confidence that I had something interesting and valuable to share.
Then, it happened.
I woke up in the middle of the night and met either inspiration or indigestion face to face.
Either way, I felt prompted to scrap what I had prepared and to start fresh.
Before I could even rub the sleep from my eyes, three phrases scrolled through my mind like starring credits at the start of a movie. I stared at the ceiling and processed this middle-of-the-night flash.
After a few minutes of peace, I reached over to my nightstand and fetched my phone. Then I opened my notes app and, with my eyes squinting from the blinding light of my display, tapped out a phrase with my fat thumbs.
“We all possess three rights. We have a right to be seen; we have a right to be loved; we have a right to be lifted.”
I read the words back several times before powering down the phone and powering down my mind.
I wasn’t so successful with the latter.
Eventually, I made my way to the shower, to my closet, to my kitchen, to my car, and to my commitment about fifty miles from home.
With the green Virginia hills rolling by, I outlined some remarks using Siri on that same phone that bailed me out in the middle of the night. Soon, I walked into the room with little more than some instinct and a few stories.
It’s always hard to know how well received you are as a speaker. But I admit I drove home feeling hopeful that I’d delivered the right message at the right time to the right students. Maybe more importantly, I realized the message might have been more for me than for those sleepy-eyed teenagers.
As the weeks and months marched by, I spent a lot of time pondering those three phrases.
What might they mean in my life?
Or in the lives of the people I love, live with, and work with each and every day?
I’ve since spoken about the concept many times in other venues.
When I’m in a school, corporate, or conference settings, I focus on the global, practical benefits of living our lives this way. I like to remind audiences of all kinds that kindness doesn’t care what church you go to.
When I’m speaking to church groups, I tend to focus on the spiritual blessings of embracing these concepts and what I believe with all my heart are the truths that drive these rights.
May we all remember that when tragedy, depression, loneliness, sickness, or simple sadness strikes, our neighbors in need don’t check the status of our friendship at the door.
And you don’t need to be following someone on Instagram to see them in real life.
Regardless of what the speaking engagements look like, or whether I’m staring at a few or a thousand faces, each time I dive into this notion of these rights, I seem to better understand why I had the impressions that night in the first place.
Perhaps that’s why I’m writing this little book. Because more than anyone I’ve ever known, I have so much to learn about the need to better see, love, and lift others.
Maybe, just maybe, we’ll learn something together.