Memorial Day

Today, many will gather with family and friends around great food, cold drinks, and refreshing pools as summer unofficially begins.

Our own home will be full of life and laughter as we open our doors to people from all over the world through our church, Nations Church. For many international students in our community, this holiday can feel unfamiliar and lonely, so we love creating a place where they can belong, celebrate, and be together.

And honestly, I love days like this.

But a few years ago, I became convicted that I was missing the true meaning of Memorial Day.

Somewhere along the way, the day had quietly become more about the celebration than the sacrifice. And I began to wonder if, unintentionally, even our gatherings were contributing to that disconnect.

Because while family, friendship, rest, and community are gifts worth celebrating, Memorial Day is ultimately about something far deeper.

It is about the men and women who gave their lives so we could enjoy the freedoms we so often take for granted.

The freedom to worship freely.
The freedom to speak openly.
The freedom to vote.
The freedom to gather.
The freedom to dream, build, raise families, and live without fear.

Freedoms purchased at a price most of us will never fully understand.

So several years ago, we started a new tradition at our Memorial Day gathering. We ask every person who comes to bring a picture and a story of a fallen soldier — someone they want remembered that day.

Then, before the meal begins, we pause.

One by one, people share.

A grandfather.
A friend.
A brother.
A hometown hero.

And for a few sacred moments, Memorial Day becomes personal again.

I still remember 5-year-old Layne bravely standing up and sharing his soldier’s story. And every year, hearing MawMaw share is something that stays with all of us. From the youngest in the room to the oldest, everyone feels it: this day is different.

Not better.
Just different.

For a little while, our eyes are lifted off ourselves — off the food, the schedule, the entertainment, the comforts we enjoy — and redirected toward those who gave everything so we could enjoy the blessings of this country.

In those moments, gratitude deepens.
Humility settles in.
Perspective returns.

And somehow, even the burgers taste a little juicier.

Perspective does that to a meal.

More importantly, perspective reminds us that freedom isn’t free.

So today, celebrate. Laugh loudly. Swim. Eat well. Enjoy your people. Open your home.

But somewhere in the middle of all the celebration, pause long enough to remember the ones who never made it home.

Honor them well.

The Power of Love

Last night, my wife and I watched Roofman. What we expected to be a comedy turned into something far deeper — a powerful reminder that love is not always soft, easy, or comfortable. Sometimes love does the hard thing because it’s the right thing.

As the pivotal scene unfolded, everything in me was screaming, “Don’t pull over. Keep going.” Freedom was right in front of him. He could escape. Start over. Disappear.

But continuing down that road also meant living a life separated from the people he loved most.

Pulling over meant beginning the long journey back “home” — even though that road would take him somewhere he did not want to go, but desperately needed to go.

Jeff’s love for Leigh moved him to stop.
Leigh’s love for Jeff moved her to turn him in.

That’s the part that stayed with me.

In our culture, love is often defined as unconditional approval or protecting people from consequences. But real love is deeper than that. Real love cares more about truth, healing, and restoration than temporary comfort.

By the end of the story, there’s almost a sense of gratitude from Jeff toward Leigh. As painful as it was, the hard love she showed him may have been exactly what he needed all along.

“You did nothing wrong. You have nothing to apologize for.”

The two embrace, weep, and move forward with their lives — apart, but somehow still together in mutual love and respect.

Scripture reminds us that “love rejoices with the truth” (1 Corinthians 13:6). Love and truth are not enemies. In fact, love without truth becomes enabling, and truth without love becomes harsh. Real love requires both justice and mercy.

Sometimes, the most loving thing a person can do is intervene when someone is making destructive choices. Sometimes love says, “I can’t let you continue down this path.”

That truth may not play well in today’s culture, but it’s necessary. Our choices have consequences — both good and bad. And if we want to live wisely, we must become people capable of making wise choices.

That kind of wisdom doesn’t happen accidentally. It’s formed over time through:

• what we put into our minds,

• the disciplines we practice daily,

• and the community we surround ourselves with.

Who we become determines the choices we make when life’s defining moments arrive.

And maybe that’s the real lesson:
Love is not doing what is easiest.
Love is doing what is right.