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I came across a story recently that radically shook my entire view of what true love looks like. It will have a tremendous impact on you too.  Everything, I am about to tell you, is 100% true.

 In the book A Promise Kept we meet Robertson McQuilkin.  

 Robertson is no ordinary Man:

- President of Colombia University

- A man high in Christian academic circles

- A man willing to pay the ultimate price for his love

You probably haven’t heard of him because he quit his job. And this is why? 

His wife, Muriel was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. So he quit his job. He then secludes himself for over a decade and takes care of his wife. He bathed her, fed her, and shopped for her among other things as she slowly died. 


- Without his presence, she becomes fearful and agitated.  

- Only with him near is she truly happy and content.  

- Eventually she becomes totally dependent upon him.

 This man was passionate about his bride.  

At the beginning of Muriel’s dementia, she would lose control, and go into a fit of running and take off. One day they were both in Atlanta’s Airport, and she just took off. Robertson lovingly ran after her, lovingly caught her, lovingly calmed her down, and lovingly walked her back to their seat.

As they sat down he notices a young woman sitting in front of them on her computer mumble something to herself. Robertson is a little frustrated and said, “What did you just say.”

Startled, the young girl said, “Sir, I was just saying that I hope one day I can find someone to love me like that.” 

Do you love anyone like that? 

In Robertson’s story, we see the passion he has for his wife by the actions he takes daily. 

What actions are you taking daily to show your loved ones that you passionately love them?

Let me End with Robertson’s farewell address when he made the decision to quit his job

The decision was made, in a way, 42 years ago when I promised to care for Muriel "in sickness and in health…till death do us part." So, as I told the students and faculty, as a man of my word, integrity has something to do with it. But so does fairness. She has cared for me fully and sacrificially all these years; if I cared for her for the next 40 years I would not be out of her debt. Duty, however, can be grim and stoic. But there is more: I love Muriel. She is a delight to me—her childlike dependence and confidence in me, her warm love, occasional flashes of that wit I used to relish so, her happy spirit and tough resilience in the face of her continual distressing frustration.

I don't have to care for her. I get to!

It is a high honor to care for so wonderful a person.

What a privilege to love and be loved. Let us not take this privilege lightly.