Recently, in a conversation with a friend, I learned I had deeply hurt her. 

It was not what I had done.

It was what I had not done.

When she was going through a traumatic experience in her life, I stayed safely tucked in my own warm, fuzzy world.

It was hard to hear her wounded words. I was tempted to justify myself.

I didn’t know what to say.

I didn’t want to infringe on your space.

I thought others would come alongside you. After all, we weren’t close.

I did show up initially, remember?

But hurting people don’t want our excuses. They need our empathy. 

They don’t want space. They want us to show up.

If I had dug deeper into why I stayed on the fringes of her pain, why I hadn’t been willing to roll up my sleeves and sit alongside her in rubble, the answer is pretty simple: I had checked off the box. I had done my bit. I felt good about myself for my perfunctory attendance. And I preferred the convenience of moving on. 

We’re a generation that’s okay with distance. We’re fixated on personal comfort. We’re fine with putting superficial over sacrifice.

Today, friendships revolve around sharing Instagram reels. 

Relationships start with swiping screens and end with text messages.

Mentoring evolves in digital spaces with influencers rather than in coffee shops, where an older saint might actually challenge us.

Discipleship happens on stages rather than at dinner tables. 

But here’s the thing: Jesus got involved in other people’s messy situations. He didn’t stay at a safe distance. He got his hands dirty.

He went out of His way to speak to a woman with five husbands.

He stopped in His tracks to acknowledge the bleeding woman as “daughter.”

He invited himself over to a tax collector’s house. 

He touched lepers, He healed the sick, He drove out demons.

Friend, in a world that is disconnected and distant, let’s be the people who show up. Not just once or twice. Not to check off a box for good deed of the day. But to be present. Imperfectly, awkwardly, perhaps even wordlessly, present.

As children of God, one of the greatest promises we have is that God is with us. He is Emmanuel. We don’t do life alone because of His promise that He will never leave nor forsake us.

If we are to be like Jesus in broken places, then our presence matters. 

No, we can’t be all things to all people. But we can ask ourselves whether we’re insulating ourselves because we don’t want the inconvenience.

Friend, today, we speak about “giving people space” as if we are some kind of emotional real estate agents. But those boundaries are sometimes just cowardice posing as politeness. 

I learned that the hard way. 

Pick up the phone. Even if texting is easier.

Drop off a meal. Even when there’s DoorDash (or Swiggy in India)

Give them a ride to the airport. Even if they can take a cab.

Invite them over for coffee. Even if your house is messy.

Keep showing up. 

My friend was deeply hurt because most of us checked off a box and then moved on with our lives. We had walked past the debris because we didn’t want to deal with the disruptions. 

After the conversation with my friend, it felt too late. By God’s grace, I asked her for a chance to meet and apologize. And she graciously agreed. An apology can’t undo my absence. But our God can begin to mend our broken relationships and give us second chances. 

We’ll never get it perfect. But we can prioritize presence over perfection.  

May we be a people willing to embrace disruption and enter into the burdens of others. Not because we are pseudo-saviors, but because we belong to One who entered our mess first. Presence won’t fix everything. But it reflects the heart of a loving God who draws near to the brokenhearted and never leaves nor forsakes His children.

 

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