Excerpt
In the last podcast, I talked about community—speaking up, not isolating, and making sure there are people around me who can actually listen. So today I’m following that with something I’ve seen after loss: the illusion of community.
When someone passes, people come out with condolences. It’s a beautiful gesture—I’m not speaking against it. But from the moment of passing until the funeral, it can feel like I’m surrounded… and then the funeral ends and people go back to their regular lives. As they should.
What hurts is when even the closest people start acting weird—not because they don’t care, but because they don’t know what to say. And suddenly I’m grieving the person and grieving a loss of community. One season I feel covered, and the next I feel completely alone.
I’ve realized part of the problem is that we often don’t build real relationship until we need support. We check in only when we need something, and then expect people to know how to show up when life collapses. But if we never fostered that kind of care before the crisis, why do we expect excellence afterward?
And I’ll be honest—“Hit me up when you need me” never sat right with me. Because when someone’s whole world has crashed, they might need support often, in waves, and not have the strength to reach out. Expecting the grieving person to coordinate their own support can be unfair.
The people who truly made a difference for me were the ones who reached out before I could. The ones who didn’t get offended that I was quiet. The ones who injected love into my life without needing a reason.
Community matters. The right community matters. And it doesn’t have to be big—sometimes one or two consistent people is solid. I think about Jesus: twelve disciples, but three especially close. That reminds me I don’t need a crowd. I need the ones who will hold me up through thick and thin.
Reflection
This one presses on a tender truth: grief isn’t just the loss of a person. Sometimes grief is the loss of the life structure that person anchored… and the community I thought would hold me after.
I felt the conviction in this: I can’t wait until crisis to decide who’s safe. I can’t wait until life breaks to discover whether my circle can carry weight. The time to build safeguards is before the collision—just like a car is built with safety features before the accident ever happens.
And Scripture supports it.
God didn’t command love for “neighbor” as a cute idea. He did it because He knows we’re going to live around people. We’re going to need people. We’re going to be called to show up and to receive help. Isolation isn’t holiness. Sometimes it’s just fear with a spiritual filter.
So I’m asking myself: am I investing in the kind of relationships that can hold up in the hard seasons? And am I being the kind of person who shows up—without needing grief to give me a reason?
Because real community isn’t a funeral-week performance.
It’s consistent love.
Prompts
Who consistently checks on me outside of “anniversary days” and visible moments?
Do I only reach out when I need something, or have I built steady rhythm with people?
What “red flags” have I been letting slide because “nobody’s perfect”?
What would it look like to build my safeguards before life breaks again?
Who do I feel more like myself around—and why?
Listen
Take inventory: “Who holds me up when I have no strength?” Then let that answer reshape your boundaries and your investments.