To Love Is To Notice

The other day I was working from a café in Barcelona, enjoying my daily café con leche.

You know those moments where you're meant to be focused… but instead you find yourself quietly observing the room around you?

There was an elderly man sitting by himself. A young college student focused on her laptop. A group of friends laughing together like they had nowhere else to be.

And then, out of nowhere, I had this thought: How is it possible that every person here is just as complex as me?

I know my own story. 

I know what I carry. 

The disappointments, the hopes, the prayers I'm still waiting on. 

The fears I don't always say out loud. T

he conversations I replay in my head. 

The things I wish I'd handled differently.

I know my reasons. My context. My complexity.

And somehow, every person in that café carried a life just as deep. 

The elderly man sitting quietly. The student on her laptop. The group laughing in the corner. Each one carrying memories, private grief, dreams they haven't shared, questions they're still wrestling with — things no one else can fully see.

It made me stop.

Because we pass by people every day. But how often do we actually notice them? Not just look at them. Not quickly form opinions. Not reduce them to a first impression. But truly notice them.

We live in a culture that sees faces but rarely sees people.

And distraction is part of the problem. We scroll. We hurry. We multitask. We half-listen. We think about what we're going to say next before someone has even finished speaking.

We can be physically present while mentally somewhere else.

And over time, we slowly lose the ability to truly see one another.

There's a moment in Luke 5 that I keep coming back to.

Jesus walks past a tax collector named Levi. Most people had already made up their minds: Tax collector. Traitor. Sinner. Someone to avoid.

But the text says something simple: Jesus saw Levi. Not the label. Not the reputation. Not the exterior. A person.

And then he moved toward him "Follow me."

I love that. Because while everyone else reduced Levi to a category, Jesus noticed a human being. Later, Levi throws a dinner party. People gather. Community happens. But the religious leaders complain: Why are you spending time with people like that?

Jesus had already seen something deeper.

In Matthew 22:39, Jesus says: "Love your neighbor as yourself."

Maybe part of loving our neighbor means learning to see people with the same depth and compassion we naturally give ourselves.

We understand our own fears — our wounds, our intentions, our complexity. But others? We often reduce.

So maybe the invitation is simple: slow down.

Put your phone away.

Sit across a table from someone.

Ask a real question.

Listen a little longer.

Get curious about someone's story.

Because most people are starving to be truly seen.

And maybe love begins with something far simpler than we think.

Maybe love begins by noticing.