The cart sat just outside the hospital room, filled with bright yellow paper gowns that each of us had to don along with masks and gloves before we could enter. As an ICU nurse, I took great caution with these patients on “contact isolation.” That cart signified they had a highly contagious bacteria that I needed to protect myself from. I covered myself to keep from getting infected or spreading it to others.
I thought about those paper gowns a few weeks ago when my husband was sharing stories from his life just before we met. He was in a small town, working full time, and living in a dark apartment his friends nicknamed “the dungeon.” To make matters worse, the small beach town where he lived went from bustling with life in the summer to deserted and desolate in the winter.
He spoke of how difficult that season was for him spiritually and emotionally. Then he shrugged his broad shoulders and spoke the hard truth he’d learned: “Isolation breeds depression.”
When we are left alone and isolated, there’s nothing to stop our dark infectious thoughts. They breed and fester when left unattended.
The opposite is also true: healthy vibrant relationships breed hope. And hope is contagious.
Communities full of joy and hope are contagious. When we come in contact with other believers who have encountered hardship and who continue to trust the Lord, we are inspired to do the same. We become infected with hope.
“And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out His love into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.” Romans 5:5
My friend Ellen just recently moved to town. We’d worked together at the hospital a few years back in a different city often donning those yellow paper gowns, and now we found ourselves gladly together again. She messaged me this last weekend and asked if we could get together and go for a walk. We strolled and talked, then when we got back to my house, she came in and stayed. She stayed through my toddlers’ needy afternoon snack hour, then through dinner, and only left shortly after I put the kids to bed. My extroverted heart was so full.
She shared some truly personal things about her family history and how it has affected her present day. I thanked her for trusting me to tell me. It’s a treasure when friends are open about deep things. Toward the end of our time together I remarked how glad I was that she had come over, and she said, “I didn’t want to have to get dressed up, or spend money on dinner, or go to some event to be with friends. Today I needed a couch friend.”
I needed a couch friend.
She needed to feel accepted just as she was, uncovered by a yellow paper gown. Not fancy, just sweatpants and her whole heart.
We find hope in places like this. Places where we are known and still loved. We are vulnerable and still safe and secure.
If we are longing to grow deep roots in the Lord, community is the necessary soil our hearts need to thrive.
Ellen understands this truth. Even as an introvert, she knows she’s created in the image of God who is a relational God. She is, by human nature, relational, and needs friendship and community to thrive. She and her husband have been intentional in their short time in town so far to cultivate life-giving relationships.
But…sometimes this requires risk. She had to message me and ask to hang out. I could’ve said no. I could’ve rushed her out of the house and made her feel like an inconvenience. I could’ve rebuffed when she shared her heart with me and wounded her. But she risked that anyway.
Relationships require risk. Healthy relationships grow trust in spite of the risk and become a place of safety, but starting at ground zero can be a scary place. Let’s take that risk anyway. Let’s reach out and be intentional to cultivate friendships. Let’s be the one who suggests to hang out. Let’s also be the one whose couch is a safe place. Let’s have open hearts to those who are different than us. Let’s help others feel welcome just as they are. Let’s be couch friends.