Presence

Sometimes presence is all you have to offer.

In the middle of a friend’s loss, when words—any words—seem hopelessly inadequate and contrived. In the midst of a heartbreak when there is no comfort you can give, no solutions you can offer. At the funeral home when condolences seem so empty and incomplete, and you feel helpless to make a difference. In sorrow and anger and loneliness and pain, you want to reach out but don’t know how.

Consider Jesus in the garden. With his friends. His closest companions and his deepest darkness. All he wanted from them was presence. They couldn’t save him from what was coming (though one would try). They couldn’t go through it for him. What words could they offer that would help? That wouldn’t seem trite and empty and meaningless? Still . . .

“Stay here,“ he said to Peter, James and John, “And stay awake. My soul is swallowed up in sorrow” (Mark 14:32-34).

Just stay. Awake. Here. With me. I’m hurting. I’m grieving. My soul is swallowed up . . .

Sometimes all you have to offer is a hand to hold. A shoulder for crying. A hug. A presence.

Sometimes your presence is enough.