I don’t know about you, but I don’t call impressive people in hard seasons. I call the people who understand.

I love my community, and so many of them are incredible, accomplished, talented, and successful, but in the depths of my own challenges, success doesn’t hold a candle to presence.

I remember a time, a few years ago, when a couple I know invited me to visit their home in another city. 

“It will be small,” they wrote, “but it will be worth it.”

They knew I was going through a really difficult season, and rightly assumed I probably needed to get away.

Thinking it might be a big inconvenience for them, I hesitated but packed my things for the weekend and went to a city to stay with friends I had never stayed with before.

While the city strolls, restaurant hopping, and window shopping were all welcome reprieves from my heavy season, it was one night on the couch when they sat with me to talk; and truly listen.

As we sat together, the wife of the couple began to cry. 

She didn’t offer advice. 

She didn’t try to smooth over my situation with scripture. 

She was mourning with me. 

Romans 12:15-16

Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.  Live in harmony with one another. Do not be proud, but be willing to associate with people of low position. Do not be conceited.

I look at my own life and can identify a million little moments in my own days where I am working to appear in some way.

Every social media post, every email, or phone call that each of us makes carries baked-in signaling of some kind. We want people to see us as we wish to be seen, but what if that is drawing our focus away from seeing them?

If I’ve learned anything in my own seasons of struggle, it’s that it was the people who drew near

The people who inconvenienced themselves

The people who hosted and gave up their weekends

The people who extended the invitation

The people who let me in on their family time

The people who remembered the little things

The people who said, “Meet us at the soccer game.”

The people who stayed close,

These are the people who have shown me the love of Christ, because that’s exactly how He lived, how He walked, and where He paused. 

Our humanity draws us to one another; our imperfection unites us and orients us toward the only one who is perfect. And in the sticky in between, we have an opportunity to choose love over the armor of appearing impressive.

Will we choose the former?