Love Thy Neighbor. Actually Do It.

A trip to the Club World Cup became an unforgettable lesson in joy, humanity, and loving your neighbor across the globe.

Love thy neighbor. Not just the one who lives next door. Love the one who lives 7,000 miles away too.

I know, it’s one of those sayings we hear so often that it almost loses its meaning. We imagine waving at the guy across the street, taking cookies to the elderly couple down the block or helping someone move a couch. That’s neighborly.

But what if your neighbor lives in the Democratic Republic of the Congo?

On Saturday, Morgan and I made another trip to Atlanta for the FIFA Club World Cup. I simply can’t stay away. There’s something happening there that feels much bigger than soccer.

This time it was Congo versus Uzbekistan. Just watch the video posted above to feel the energy of the moment.

I’ll be honest. Before Saturday, I knew almost nothing about either country. Literally nothing. That’s a little embarrassing for someone who considers himself fairly well-traveled and curious about the world. Maybe that says something about me. Maybe it says something about how little attention we pay to places that aren’t considered “world powers.”

Either way, I went to Atlanta knowing almost nothing about either place.

I walked out feeling like I had made thousands of new friends.

My daughter Morgan is twelve now. Sports have never really been her thing. She’s a theater kid through and through. She’s happiest on a stage singing under bright lights. I honestly can’t keep up with all the productions she’s been in already, and she’s getting ready to perform in Annie later this summer.

American Football? Nope. Baseball? Not interested. Basketball? I tried.

Believe me, I tried.

I took her to plenty of games growing up, hoping something would click. It never really did.

Then along came soccer.

Part of it is Nashville SC. My friend Bobby and I split a pair of season tickets, and every once in a while I’d bring Morgan along. Something about the atmosphere grabbed her. But the Club World Cup has taken that interest to an entirely different level.

Now she sits through entire matches. She studies the players. She asks questions.

She’s even adopted Brazil as her team. We have absolutely zero connection to Brazil. We’ve never been there. We don’t know anyone from there. Doesn’t matter.

She’s got shirts, flags and excitement that can’t be manufactured.

That’s what this tournament does. It gives kids permission to fall in love with places they’ve never seen.

After Congo defeated Uzbekistan 3-1, the celebration started immediately.

The fans poured into the streets of Atlanta to celebrate. And then everyone made their way over to Fan Fest.

What happened next is something I’ll remember for a very long time.

One of the smaller stages had become an absolute party. A DJ was playing African pop music. People were dancing.

Kids were dancing.

Grandparents were dancing. Complete strangers were dancing together. Everyone was smiling. Not fake social media smiles.

Real smiles. PURE JOY. I saw it, I felt it. It’s real.

The kind that happens when people forget about politics, algorithms, headlines and everything else designed to convince us we’re supposed to hate each other. For a few minutes, it honestly felt like heaven on earth.

If someone had blindfolded me and dropped me into that crowd, I would have believed I was somewhere in Africa celebrating with friends.

Instead... I was standing in downtown Atlanta. It was glorious.

I will say it again. Pure joy! The energy was contagious. Morgan was smiling. I was smiling. My heart felt completely full.

I’ve written before about how powerful people often profit from keeping ordinary people divided. Every day we’re bombarded with stories designed to make us suspicious of people we’ve never met. Social media rewards outrage. News channels reward fear.

The World Cup is the exact opposite of that. It’s people meeting people. It’s conversations. It’s music. It’s laughter.

It’s children kicking soccer balls together without caring what language the other kid speaks. Others trading Panini World Cup Stickers. Maybe that’s why this tournament has affected me so deeply. I think my spirit needed this. I needed proof that the world is still mostly good.

I found it. Now, I can live. Seriously, live. Since Saturday, I’ve gone back through the videos I took and used Shazam to identify the songs the DJ was playing. Now my playlists sound very different than they did a week ago.

One song in particular keeps coming back on repeat: “Karolina” by Awilo Longomba. Every time it comes on, I find myself trying those African dance moves I learned that night. Poorly, I might add. But with a giant smile on my face.

The people from Congo didn’t treat us like outsiders. They danced with us. They laughed with us. They welcomed us into their celebration without hesitation. And we welcomed them as guests in our country. It was truly beautiful.

That’s how it’s supposed to work. That’s what being neighbors actually looks like. Here’s the lesson I’m taking home.

Don’t be afraid of what you don’t know. Lean into it. Make yourself a little uncomfortable.

Go to the cultural festival. Eat food you’ve never tasted. Listen to music you’ve never heard. Learn a dance that makes you look ridiculous. Talk to someone whose first language isn’t yours.

Ask questions.

Listen more than you speak. You’ll leave richer than when you arrived. I mean truly rich. Not richer financially. Richer as a human being.

Ironically, the more cultures you experience, the more you appreciate your own. You begin to understand what makes your traditions unique while admiring the beauty of someone else’s. The world gets bigger. And somehow... It also gets smaller. That concept alone, when you truly ponder on it, is simply beautiful unto itself.

Maybe that’s what “love thy neighbor” was always supposed to mean. Not just tolerating people who are different. Actually celebrating them. Actually knowing them. Actually loving them.

I can’t wait to go back.

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One more thing before I go...

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Game changer.

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Trust me on this one. Your dinner will thank you.

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