Stay
The Gift of Staying: When Love Costs Us Something
We live in a culture that tells us when something becomes uncomfortable, it's time to leave. When a relationship requires too much effort, when following God feels harder than expected, when disappointment settles in—we're told these are signs to walk away. But what if the most transformative moments of our lives happen not when we quit, but when we choose to stay?
The Hill We Almost Didn't Climb
Picture this: A man decides to get healthier and commits to walking daily in his neighborhood. Day one goes great. Day two, he's feeling proud. But on day three, he encounters a hill. Not a mountain—just a hill. His calves start burning, his lungs protest, and right before reaching the top, he turns around. "Listening to your body is important," he tells himself.
Six months later, at a barbecue, he meets someone who pushed through that same hill. This person lost weight, gained confidence, and even met their future spouse at the park that sits at the top—the park our first walker never saw because he turned back three minutes too soon.
How often do we do this in life? We don't usually abandon things because they're sinful or dangerous. We leave because they're uncomfortable. We quit right before the view changes, right before we reach the place where something beautiful awaits.
We dress it up in spiritual language: "That must have been a closed door." But maybe it wasn't a closed door. Maybe it was just a hill.
When Jesus Asked the Hard Question
In John 6, Jesus said something that made many of his followers uncomfortable. The passage tells us that "many of his disciples turned away and deserted him." In that moment, Jesus turned to the twelve closest to him and asked a simple question: "Are you going to leave?"
What's remarkable about this moment isn't just the question—it's the lack of manipulation. Jesus doesn't guilt them. He doesn't pressure them. He doesn't try to rebrand his message or go on an apology tour. He simply asks where their hearts are, giving them the dignity to choose.
Simon Peter's response cuts to the heart of why we stay: "Lord, to whom would we go? You have the words that give eternal life."
Love is never forced. Love doesn't control. And staying only matters when leaving is an option.
The Failure That Didn't Define Him
Peter's story takes a painful turn in Luke 22. After promising unwavering loyalty to Jesus, Peter denies even knowing him—not once, but three times. When the rooster crowed, Jesus turned and looked at Peter, and Peter left "weeping bitterly."
Most of us would understand if Jesus had been done with Peter at that point. When someone betrays our trust, it's hard to come all the way back. We wonder if it will happen again. We keep score. We protect ourselves.
But Jesus handles it differently.
In John 21, after Jesus' resurrection, we find him having breakfast with Peter by a fire. Three times Jesus asks, "Do you love me?" For each denial, a question. For each failure, an invitation back into purpose: "Feed my lambs. Take care of my sheep. Follow me."
Jesus doesn't confuse failure with the finish line. He doesn't define Peter by his weakest moment. He rebuilds trust not through a lecture, but through a quiet moment of authentic relationship by a fire.
This is revolutionary. Jesus doesn't pretend Peter didn't fail. He just refuses to let that failure be the final word.
The Cost of Love
In John 13, we encounter one of the most powerful demonstrations of staying. Jesus knew his hour had come. He knew Judas would betray him. He knew Peter would deny him. He knew the other disciples would abandon him. And yet, he got up from the table, wrapped a towel around his waist, and washed their feet—including the feet of those who would hurt him.
This is what love looks like when it costs us something:
Staying isn't passive—it's humility in action.
Our culture says if it hurts, leave. Jesus says some things heal because you stayed.
The Middle Season
Every long-term relationship has a middle season. It's not the exciting beginning when everything feels effortless. It's not the end when things become clear through the lens of time. It's that middle section where we choose to love again, where we choose to stay, where we push through even when everything in us wants to retreat.
This is the stage where we ask: "Is this normal? Why does this feel so much harder than it used to be?"
That's the middle season. And it's precisely where Jesus does his deepest work. It's where healing happens. It's where we discover what love is truly capable of when we don't bail at the first sign of discomfort.
What Staying Doesn't Mean
Let's be clear: Staying doesn't mean enduring abuse. It doesn't mean ignoring healthy boundaries. It doesn't mean silencing pain.
Staying means not confusing discomfort with danger. It means not walking away from something meaningful just because it stopped being easy.
There's a difference between a relationship that's unhealthy and one that's simply in a difficult season. Wisdom knows the difference.
The Challenge Before Us
So where does this leave us? Perhaps you're in a relationship right now that seems difficult. The challenge isn't to fix it this week or solve everything at once. The challenge is simply to stay present one more time. One more time than you normally would.
Stay in the conversation rather than checking out mentally. Stay at the table instead of leaving the room. Stay emotionally engaged when it would be easier to retreat.
Or practice repair instead of retreat. Ask: "How can we reset?" Say: "That didn't come out right. Can I try again?" Admit: "I don't want to carry this thing between us. Can you help me understand?"
These small phrases leave a door open for reconciliation, repair, and healing.
The Gift of Presence
What people remember most isn't how perfect we are. It's whether we stayed. Whether we leaned in. Whether we didn't let their bad day affect the future.
Jesus doesn't stay because people deserve it. He stays because love deserves to be shown what it's capable of when it's done right.
Most of us don't need somebody to fix us. We just want somebody who won't bail when it gets uncomfortable. We want to know they're going to stay.
And when we miss the mark—because we will—staying always gives us another chance. It always gives us another opportunity.
The invitation stands: to experience love, to give love, to receive love, and to let that love do a healing work in our lives. Not perfection, but presence. Not having it all together, but showing up anyway.
That's the gift of staying. And sometimes, it's the most powerful gift we can give.
The Hill We Almost Didn't Climb
Picture this: A man decides to get healthier and commits to walking daily in his neighborhood. Day one goes great. Day two, he's feeling proud. But on day three, he encounters a hill. Not a mountain—just a hill. His calves start burning, his lungs protest, and right before reaching the top, he turns around. "Listening to your body is important," he tells himself.
Six months later, at a barbecue, he meets someone who pushed through that same hill. This person lost weight, gained confidence, and even met their future spouse at the park that sits at the top—the park our first walker never saw because he turned back three minutes too soon.
How often do we do this in life? We don't usually abandon things because they're sinful or dangerous. We leave because they're uncomfortable. We quit right before the view changes, right before we reach the place where something beautiful awaits.
We dress it up in spiritual language: "That must have been a closed door." But maybe it wasn't a closed door. Maybe it was just a hill.
When Jesus Asked the Hard Question
In John 6, Jesus said something that made many of his followers uncomfortable. The passage tells us that "many of his disciples turned away and deserted him." In that moment, Jesus turned to the twelve closest to him and asked a simple question: "Are you going to leave?"
What's remarkable about this moment isn't just the question—it's the lack of manipulation. Jesus doesn't guilt them. He doesn't pressure them. He doesn't try to rebrand his message or go on an apology tour. He simply asks where their hearts are, giving them the dignity to choose.
Simon Peter's response cuts to the heart of why we stay: "Lord, to whom would we go? You have the words that give eternal life."
Love is never forced. Love doesn't control. And staying only matters when leaving is an option.
The Failure That Didn't Define Him
Peter's story takes a painful turn in Luke 22. After promising unwavering loyalty to Jesus, Peter denies even knowing him—not once, but three times. When the rooster crowed, Jesus turned and looked at Peter, and Peter left "weeping bitterly."
Most of us would understand if Jesus had been done with Peter at that point. When someone betrays our trust, it's hard to come all the way back. We wonder if it will happen again. We keep score. We protect ourselves.
But Jesus handles it differently.
In John 21, after Jesus' resurrection, we find him having breakfast with Peter by a fire. Three times Jesus asks, "Do you love me?" For each denial, a question. For each failure, an invitation back into purpose: "Feed my lambs. Take care of my sheep. Follow me."
Jesus doesn't confuse failure with the finish line. He doesn't define Peter by his weakest moment. He rebuilds trust not through a lecture, but through a quiet moment of authentic relationship by a fire.
This is revolutionary. Jesus doesn't pretend Peter didn't fail. He just refuses to let that failure be the final word.
The Cost of Love
In John 13, we encounter one of the most powerful demonstrations of staying. Jesus knew his hour had come. He knew Judas would betray him. He knew Peter would deny him. He knew the other disciples would abandon him. And yet, he got up from the table, wrapped a towel around his waist, and washed their feet—including the feet of those who would hurt him.
This is what love looks like when it costs us something:
- Choosing patience instead of winning the argument
- Showing up even when we're emotionally tired
- Staying engaged instead of keeping score
- Valuing the relationship more than being right
Staying isn't passive—it's humility in action.
Our culture says if it hurts, leave. Jesus says some things heal because you stayed.
The Middle Season
Every long-term relationship has a middle season. It's not the exciting beginning when everything feels effortless. It's not the end when things become clear through the lens of time. It's that middle section where we choose to love again, where we choose to stay, where we push through even when everything in us wants to retreat.
This is the stage where we ask: "Is this normal? Why does this feel so much harder than it used to be?"
That's the middle season. And it's precisely where Jesus does his deepest work. It's where healing happens. It's where we discover what love is truly capable of when we don't bail at the first sign of discomfort.
What Staying Doesn't Mean
Let's be clear: Staying doesn't mean enduring abuse. It doesn't mean ignoring healthy boundaries. It doesn't mean silencing pain.
Staying means not confusing discomfort with danger. It means not walking away from something meaningful just because it stopped being easy.
There's a difference between a relationship that's unhealthy and one that's simply in a difficult season. Wisdom knows the difference.
The Challenge Before Us
So where does this leave us? Perhaps you're in a relationship right now that seems difficult. The challenge isn't to fix it this week or solve everything at once. The challenge is simply to stay present one more time. One more time than you normally would.
Stay in the conversation rather than checking out mentally. Stay at the table instead of leaving the room. Stay emotionally engaged when it would be easier to retreat.
Or practice repair instead of retreat. Ask: "How can we reset?" Say: "That didn't come out right. Can I try again?" Admit: "I don't want to carry this thing between us. Can you help me understand?"
These small phrases leave a door open for reconciliation, repair, and healing.
The Gift of Presence
What people remember most isn't how perfect we are. It's whether we stayed. Whether we leaned in. Whether we didn't let their bad day affect the future.
Jesus doesn't stay because people deserve it. He stays because love deserves to be shown what it's capable of when it's done right.
Most of us don't need somebody to fix us. We just want somebody who won't bail when it gets uncomfortable. We want to know they're going to stay.
And when we miss the mark—because we will—staying always gives us another chance. It always gives us another opportunity.
The invitation stands: to experience love, to give love, to receive love, and to let that love do a healing work in our lives. Not perfection, but presence. Not having it all together, but showing up anyway.
That's the gift of staying. And sometimes, it's the most powerful gift we can give.
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