We were running late.  The traffic was horrible, and the air was cold and full of the early winter breeze. Most of the leaves had already fallen, and the bare trees gave way to the cold wind, chilling our faces and hands.  We struggled to find a parking spot, for the school was packed.  We finally found a spot, and my husband and I ran as fast as we could across campus to not miss his performance.  Out of breath and with cold hands, half frozen cheeks we open the door.  The Christmas program had already begun.  

We looked frantically to find my daughter to make sure we had not missed it. Our eyes finally connected.  She smiled in relief.  We quickly found seating.  Now, to find my grandson.  I could not see him on stage.  I texted my daughter from across the auditorium. “Where is he? Is he next?”  I leaned forward, watching her read my text. She turned around and pointed to the left side of the stage on the risers and then pointed to her phone. The message read: “He is all the way in the back and can’t see us, he is looking sad, Mom.”

I looked again and saw my grandson. He had been placed on the last riser, shoved directly behind another classmate whose height made it hard for him to see anyone in the crowd. His face was sad, and his head was down.  The rest of the kids were singing jolly Christmas carols. 

I put my coat down and walked boldly up the side of the auditorium all the way to the front with my phone.  I found a small window of space between the kids; all he would need to do is slightly turn in my direction, and he would see his grandma. I tried to wave, but he wouldn’t look up. The song was coming to an end.  Here’s my chance, I thought. As the music started to die down, I lifted my voice and yelled, “Hi Judah!” as I turned to the crowd and continued to yell proudly, “That’s my grandson!” 

What came next felt like a movie, the best commercial in the world. He lifted his head. He looked directly at me.  His face lit up like a brand-new pre-lit Christmas tree. He smiled, but didn’t stop there.  He started making his way down off the bleachers to leave the stage and come to me. I rushed toward him as his teachers tried to stop him and encourage him to stay.  I waved my hands toward him, motioning for him to go back and sing. He immediately started singing.  He didn’t return to the top of the risers but went to the front and stood tall.  As he sang, he scanned the audience, and now he could see his mom, his dad, his grandpa, his aunties and uncles, everyone was there for him.  With every noticeable person, he paused and waved frantically, all the while smiling bigger and singing louder. 

There are times when the only thing people need to be great in this world is for the people that they care about to show up and be present. It’s not about what you say, it’s more about what you do. He was already great. He just needed our presence to feel safe to release it. That was enough.

The power of presence is not isolated to family members. This past summer, my phone rang close to midnight.  When I answered, I could literally feel the fear, the tears, and the screams coming from the other end of the phone. The words, although muffled, came through to me crystal clear.  “She’s dead… I think…please, we are at the hospital.” I jumped up as quickly as I could, grabbed some clothes, and tried to explain to my husband the little information that I had, as we rushed out the door. We drove as fast as we could. We had no plan, and didn’t know what to say.  We just knew we needed to get to the hospital. “She is only 19…” I said over and over again, hoping for a different outcome.  Only minutes after we arrived, what we had feared became a reality, and I had no words.  The entire ride there I was thinking of what I could say, how would I show up for them.  I was just as broken as everyone else there, and yet I knew that I needed to show up. As soon as we got there, I began to hug as many people as I could, I offered tissues, I wiped tears, I moved chairs so folks could sit, and I held hands firmly to send a message of comfort. I had no words to offer to anyone, not even to myself, but I did what I could. In that moment, I wished I could have done something more, say something more, but all I had to offer was my presence.

As more family and friends arrived, they began to thank me for showing up. I truly felt their gratitude, and yet I also felt guilty. What had I done, really? I hadn’t said anything, I hadn’t changed anything, and I was still feeling broken and wishing I could have done more to support them. It wasn’t until later that I began to realize why they were grateful.  They didn’t need Nike, the licensed therapist, to show up with therapeutic words. They didn’t need Nike, the minister, to show up and pray heaven down. They didn’t need eloquent words, songs, gifts, or talents.  What they needed in that moment was the “human being” Nike Greene to be there with them in the midst of their hard journey. 

You see, when we show up, it matters. As human beings, we are naturally wired for connection.  There is healing in the power of presence. Our presence boldly proclaims, I see you, I care about you, and I’m here for you! Our showing up for one another amplifies the message that “We are not alone.” It provides a counter-narrative to the negative script that runs in one’s brain, saying; no one cares about you, you are unworthy, no one has time for you, or no one sees you… 

I cannot count how many times I gathered myself to show up, thinking that I was going to be one of many who would be present for that grieving family, for that individual’s birthday party, for that friend needing to talk to someone, or for the one who had just made the call; Just to show up and face the realization that I was one of very few. 

Our world is full of isolation. COVID had devastatingly pushed individuals into the social fringes of isolation, individualism, disconnection, and social division. And yet the greatest prescription to all of these things, to hope, to mental health crises, and even physical disease, is Connectivity.

Some of our close relatives, friends, and neighbors are possibly living in fear and waiting on Hope, waiting on an embrace, waiting on someone’s presence to validate that they’re seen, that people care, that they have a village or a family that has their back. 

When we don’t show up, individuals are left alone face to face with silence; opening their eyes to an empty space, leaning their ear to a phone that never rings, a text message left unread. 

There are three evidence-backed outcomes of the power of presence and relational connectivity that I would like to highlight. 1) Presence protects mental health and builds resilience. 2) Presence improves physical health and longevity. Lastly, 3) Presence in a faith community lowers risk and fuels flourishing

Presence protects mental health and builds resilience

We don’t need a doctor to tell us that presence is healthy. When we have people to share our life with, we feel better. When we can share our ups and downs with folks who care about us, we feel better. It is in the absence of caring people in our lives that it becomes clear something is missing, that something is wrong, and that’s when our mental health is impacted. We know that people with stronger social ties have markedly better mental health outcomes and lower rates of depression and anxiety; national guidance frames connection as a core protective factor, not a “nice-to-have.” HHS+1  We also know that consistent check-ins and companionship reduce loneliness and improve patient-reported mental health outcomes in trials and meta-analyses. BMJ Open+1

My faith also reminds me:  “Let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works… not neglecting to meet together” (Hebrews 10:24–25). “Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep” (Romans 12:15). Presence is ministry.

Presence improves physical health and longevity

The U.S. Surgeon General & WHO reports: social isolation and loneliness raise risks for heart disease and stroke; globally, loneliness is linked to hundreds of thousands of premature deaths annually. HHS+1  Recent cohort data shows chronic loneliness increases stroke risk substantially, underscoring why ongoing connection, not just occasional contact matters. The Guardian

“Two are better than one… if either falls, one can help the other up” (Ecclesiastes 4:9–12). Embodied community is God’s design for our flourishing.

Presence in faith community lowers risk and fuels flourishing

The power of presence within our communities is needed now more than ever. Even our public-health leaders are now calling “rebuilding connection” a national priority because of its mental-health benefits—exactly what the Church practices through gathered worship, small groups, and pastoral care. Axios.  Our nation is plagued with violence, sickness, death, bullying, fear, anxiety, and isolation. Whether through your faith community, book club, athletic team, fraternity/sorority, co-workers or friend group; show up, because your presence matters. Your presence heals.  Your presence encourages. Your presence empowers. Your presence alone is a lifeline to so many.

Bottom line: “Just showing up” is good medicine.