There is a quiet lie many of us learn early:
Be strong. Don’t need too much. Figure it out yourself.
It can sound responsible. Mature. Faithful, even. But it is not the story Scripture tells. From the very beginning, God looks at a world still untouched by sin and says something is not good:
“It is not good for the human to be alone.”
Before failure. Before fracture. Before fear. Loneliness was already named as a burden too heavy to carry solo.
Community is not a bonus feature of faith. It is part of God’s design for how we survive, heal, and remain human.
The Myth of Self-Sufficiency
Somewhere along the way, many of us were taught, explicitly or subtly, that needing others is a weakness. That mature faith looks like quiet endurance. That prayer replaces people.
But even Jesus did not live that way.
He gathered friends.
He ate with them.
He wept in front of them.
And on the night of His deepest anguish, He asked them to stay awake with Him.
Jesus did not say, “I’ve got this. Go home.” He said, “Remain with me.”
If the Son of God did not choose isolation, why do we believe holiness requires it?
Why Community Heals What Faith Alone Cannot
God absolutely meets us in solitude. But healing often requires witnesses.
There are places inside us that only soften when they are seen. Grief that loosens when it is named out loud. Shame that shrinks when it is met with compassion. Fear that quiets when someone steady stays near.
Community does not fix us. It holds us.
Scripture reminds us: “Carry one another’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”
Notice the word carry, not advise, correct, or rush through. Carry implies weight. Time. Shared effort.
Some burdens are simply too heavy for one nervous system, one heart, one body to hold.
The Risk and the Gift of Letting Others In
Community is beautiful. And it is risky. People disappoint us. Misunderstand us. Leave. Some of us learned early that connection comes with cost.
So we adapt. We manage alone. We spiritualize our isolation and call it strength. But avoidance is not the same as safety.
True community does not mean constant closeness or forced vulnerability. It means chosen connection. Safe people. Honest pacing. Mutual care.
It might look like:
- One friend who knows the real story
- A small group where you don’t have to perform
- A counselor, pastor, or spiritual director who can hold what feels too heavy
- A table where laughter and lament are both welcome
Community grows slowly. Gently. With consent.
And it often begins with a quiet, brave prayer: “God, show me who is safe.”
You Are Not a Burden
If you’ve ever held back because you didn’t want to be “too much,” hear this clearly:
Your need does not disqualify you from belonging.
Your weariness does not make you a burden.
Your longing for connection is not a failure of faith.
It is evidence that you are human.
And God, again and again, chooses to meet human need through human presence.
The early church understood this instinctively. They shared meals. Resources. Tears. Hope.
Not because life was easy but because it was hard.
Community was how they endured.
A Gentle Invitation
You don’t have to build community all at once.
You don’t have to trust everyone.
You don’t have to tell your whole story today.
But you might consider this small step:
Who is one person you could let a little closer?
One place you could show up as you are, not as who you think you should be?
God often answers prayers for strength by offering companionship.
May you notice the hands reaching toward you.
May you have the courage to reach back.
And may you remember on the days it feels hardest: You were never meant to carry it alone.
Run with Patience 