Together For the Good

We rarely celebrate what's working until it stops.

Think about your refrigerator. When was the last time you gathered your family around it to appreciate how faithfully it keeps your food cold? Probably never. But the moment it breaks down, it becomes the most urgent thing in your life. You're frantically searching YouTube tutorials and calling repair technicians, suddenly hyper-aware of what you had taken for granted.

Our relationships often follow the same pattern. They hum along quietly in the background of our lives until something goes wrong. Then we scramble to fix them, to understand them, to salvage what we can. But what if we shifted our perspective? What if we recognized that some of the strongest, most transformative relationships in our lives aren't the loud, dramatic ones, but the steady, faithful ones that simply show up, day after day?

When Life Gets Loud, Love Gets Quiet
After the crucifixion, Jesus's disciples huddled together behind locked doors. They weren't lazy or faithless. They were terrified. The authorities had just executed their leader, and they had no idea if they were next. In their fear and confusion, they retreated inward, creating a safe space to process the unimaginable trauma they had experienced.

When Jesus appeared to them in that room, He didn't kick down the door. He didn't lecture them about courage or shame them for their fear. Instead, His first words were simple: "Peace be with you."

He met them exactly where they were.

This is what healthy relationships do. They give us space to breathe when things get overwhelming. They don't shame us for needing a moment to retreat, but they also don't let that retreat become permanent. The people who love us well understand that sometimes we need a safe room, but they gently remind us that we can't live there forever.

Some of us are strong today not because we've figured everything out, but because someone stayed with us when things became too much. They sat quietly with us. They gave us space to process. They didn't demand that we be okay before we were ready, but they also didn't let us disappear into our pain.

The Relationships That Prepare Us
Jesus didn't restore His disciples so they could stay behind locked doors forever. He restored them so they could take the love they received and carry it back out into the world. "As the Father has sent me," He told them, "so I am sending you."

This is the beautiful paradox of divine love: it doesn't protect us from the world; it prepares us to reenter it.

The relationships God places in our lives work the same way. They aren't meant to be permanent hiding places. They're meant to be launching pads. When we receive grace, patience, and encouragement from others, we're equipped to extend those same gifts to people around us. Love compounds. It multiplies. What we receive, we can give away.

Think about the people who have walked beside you during your hardest seasons. They didn't just help you survive. They made you strong enough to bless others. They held you together when your life got loud, and in doing so, they prepared you to be that person for someone else.

The Road to Emmaus: When Jesus Walks Unrecognized
Two of Jesus's followers were walking away from Jerusalem toward Emmaus, discussing everything that had happened. Their leader was dead. Their hopes were crushed. They didn't know what to do next.

Jesus Himself came and began walking with them, but they didn't recognize Him. He asked what they were discussing, and they poured out their confusion and grief. Rather than immediately revealing Himself, Jesus did something remarkable: He listened. He asked questions. He walked alongside them in their pain.

Then, gently, He began to reorient their thinking. He took them through the scriptures, explaining how everything that had happened was part of a larger story. By the time He broke bread with them and disappeared, their hearts were on fire. Within the hour, they had turned around and were heading back to Jerusalem—back into the mission they thought was over.

Sometimes the most important relationships in our lives are like this. They show up at exactly the right moment. They listen without judgment. They ask good questions. They help us see our circumstances from a different perspective. And then, sometimes, they move on. Not every relationship is meant to be permanent, but some are meant to be transformational.

The truth is, none of us will ever become everything we're meant to be alone. We need people who will remind us of what's important, who will help us see past our blind spots, who will walk with us when we can't see the path forward.

Love That Multiplies
When Jesus gave the Great Commission—"Go and make disciples of all nations"—He wasn't speaking to perfect people. He was talking to the same confused, scared disciples who had recently been hiding behind locked doors. He didn't wait for them to have all their theology figured out. He invited imperfect, together people into a shared mission.

This is crucial: relationships without purpose eventually turn inward. They collapse under their own weight. But when relationships serve something bigger than themselves, love begins to multiply.

Marriages that exist only for the comfort of the two people involved will eventually feel suffocating. But marriages that create space at their table for others, that model faith for children, that serve their community together—these marriages find a strength that goes beyond chemistry or compatibility. They discover contribution. They experience fruitfulness.

The same is true for friendships, family relationships, and church communities. When we ask ourselves, "Who could we bless together?" rather than "How do we just not make each other mad?" we tap into the kind of love that transforms not just us, but the world around us.

The Quiet Strength We Need
The goal of love isn't perfection. It's presence. It's showing up. It's staying curious. It's asking questions. It's weathering hard seasons together and coming out stronger on the other side.

Some of the most important relationships in your life aren't dramatic. They're just steady. They're the friend who checks in when you're processing grief. They're the spouse who gives you space to work through difficult emotions without making you feel guilty. They're the family members who remind you of who you are when you forget.

These relationships are gifts. They're not boring because they're stable. They're powerful because they're faithful.

So here's the challenge: notice what's working. Express gratitude for the refrigerators in your life that are faithfully doing their job. Don't wait for something to break before you recognize its value.

And then ask yourself: Who could we bless together? What could we build that's bigger than just us?

Because God's love doesn't just hold us together. It sends us out, together, to multiply that love in a world that desperately needs it.