the ministry of presence, aka "a lesson from Christopher and Maroon 5"
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"I don't know how to help."
I hear that a lot. I say that a lot. I feel that a lot.
Just this week, a friend of mine whose son has complex medical needs is recovering from a hysterectomy. I brought meals, but that felt inadequate somehow. Another friend is in the hospital with her warrior son who is recovering from a new trach, whose heart defects are proving to be more complex than they thought, and whose condition needs to stabilize more before they can have schedule open heart surgery. Just down the hall at the same hospital, one of my best friends from high school is camped out with her little three-year-old rascal whose rare immune disorder renders his body unable to fight infection; last week that meant that all of his baby teeth had to be removed, and in a few weeks, that means he'll be getting a bone marrow transplant.
And I don't know how to help.
But Maroon 5 gave me a sweet reminder this morning.
That handsome boy in the middle is 10-year-old Christopher Warner. Last week, his teachers made a video to share how much Christopher loved Maroon 5 and Adam Levine, and a local radio station made it happen at their concert last night. Upon meeting them backstage, Christopher was so excited, he nearly had a panic attack. He had to lie down because he was so overwhelmed. It could have been an awkward moment, but?
The whole band laid down with him.
Goosebumps, y'all.
Just when we thought we couldn't love Adam Levine more, right?
When we don't know how to help, I think this is the answer. I think the ministry of presence is more than enough. Just being with someone speaks volumes of kindness.
Maroon 5's simple act with Christopher reminded me of a story my friend Emily Colson, author of Dancing with Max and single mother to an adult son with autism, tells about a meltdown Max had as a child in the grocery store one day. As he laid on the floor and Emily held him, she watched the wheels pass as other shoppers strategically avoided them with their carts. And then, she saw a pair of shoes. Looking up, she expected judgment, but the woman simply said, "Can I help?" Emily didn't know what could help, so she expected the woman would just leave. After some time passed, she noticed the shoes were still there. When Emily looked up again, the woman attached to what Emily calls the compassionate feet of waiting grace was still there. "I will wait until you can think of a way I can help," she said. And she did.
We like grand gestures. We like quantifiable measures of helpfulness. We like concrete solutions.
But, sometimes, our presence is a ministry of its own. Sometimes just being present is a gift like nothing else.
And Maroon 5 both gave and received a precious gift last night, as they were present with Christopher while he was present with them.
I hear that a lot. I say that a lot. I feel that a lot.
Just this week, a friend of mine whose son has complex medical needs is recovering from a hysterectomy. I brought meals, but that felt inadequate somehow. Another friend is in the hospital with her warrior son who is recovering from a new trach, whose heart defects are proving to be more complex than they thought, and whose condition needs to stabilize more before they can have schedule open heart surgery. Just down the hall at the same hospital, one of my best friends from high school is camped out with her little three-year-old rascal whose rare immune disorder renders his body unable to fight infection; last week that meant that all of his baby teeth had to be removed, and in a few weeks, that means he'll be getting a bone marrow transplant.
And I don't know how to help.
But Maroon 5 gave me a sweet reminder this morning.
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The whole band laid down with him.
Goosebumps, y'all.
Just when we thought we couldn't love Adam Levine more, right?
When we don't know how to help, I think this is the answer. I think the ministry of presence is more than enough. Just being with someone speaks volumes of kindness.
Maroon 5's simple act with Christopher reminded me of a story my friend Emily Colson, author of Dancing with Max and single mother to an adult son with autism, tells about a meltdown Max had as a child in the grocery store one day. As he laid on the floor and Emily held him, she watched the wheels pass as other shoppers strategically avoided them with their carts. And then, she saw a pair of shoes. Looking up, she expected judgment, but the woman simply said, "Can I help?" Emily didn't know what could help, so she expected the woman would just leave. After some time passed, she noticed the shoes were still there. When Emily looked up again, the woman attached to what Emily calls the compassionate feet of waiting grace was still there. "I will wait until you can think of a way I can help," she said. And she did.
We like grand gestures. We like quantifiable measures of helpfulness. We like concrete solutions.
But, sometimes, our presence is a ministry of its own. Sometimes just being present is a gift like nothing else.
And Maroon 5 both gave and received a precious gift last night, as they were present with Christopher while he was present with them.
