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Ecclesiastes 4:9–10 “Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up.”

Think

Running solo might sound peaceful—until you fall.

If you trip on the trail and no one’s around, it’s a lot harder to recover. That’s why so many long-distance runners train and race in pairs or groups. Not because they’re slower, but because they know the truth: endurance is a team sport. When one person fades, the other pushes. When someone needs to slow down, there’s someone walking with them. Community doesn’t make the race easier. It makes it possible.

Faith works the same way.

Ecclesiastes reminds us that we are not built for isolation. “Two are better than one.” That’s not just about marriage or family. It’s about life. The Christian life, especially. Because no matter how strong you are, you will fall. You will grow weary. You will face moments when your grip on truth feels slippery. And in those moments, the people around you will either carry you forward—or you’ll be left trying to crawl on your own.

There’s something deeply spiritual about friendship. Not the casual kind that’s built on convenience or shared hobbies. But the kind that says, “You don’t have to pretend here.” The kind that sits in your mess, prays for your family, calls out your blind spots, and reminds you what’s true when your feelings say otherwise. That kind of friendship is rare. But it’s worth seeking.

Jesus modeled this. Even though he was fully God, he didn’t walk alone. He invited people into his life—flawed, impulsive, imperfect people—and he called them friends. He didn’t need their strength. But he wanted their presence. And in his darkest hour, he asked them to stay with him. If Jesus didn’t isolate, why do we so often think we can?

For some, the pull toward isolation isn’t pride—it’s pain. Maybe you’ve been burned by people before. You opened your heart and it wasn’t safe. You showed up and someone let you down. Or maybe you feel like your struggle is too much, too messy, too complicated. So you stay silent. You keep your pain internal. You smile and nod while your soul limps in private.

But here's the truth: whatever you keep in the dark, the enemy will use against you. He loves isolation because it's where his lies grow unchecked. But the moment you bring your life into community, the power of shame starts to break. Not because you’re fixed, but because you’re seen.

And when you are seen in your weakness and still loved? That’s when you start to heal.

Paul uses the image of the church as a body—each part connected, each part necessary. No one is self-sufficient. No one gets to say, “I don’t need you.” And no one is allowed to say, “I don’t belong.” That’s not just theology. That’s survival. You were not made to carry your calling, your burdens, or your pain alone.

Think about the times you’ve struggled in your faith. Maybe it was a season of doubt, a painful loss, or a silent prayer that seemed unanswered. Did someone walk with you through that? Even one person? A friend, a mentor, a small group member, a parent, a pastor? Often what kept you going wasn’t your inner strength—it was their quiet presence. Their text message. Their voice saying, “I’ve got you. You’re not alone.”

Now think about this: someone else needs that from you.

You may not feel equipped. You may not know what to say. But your consistency could be someone else’s lifeline. Your check-in could interrupt their spiral. Your encouragement could remind them they still have a place in the story.

And you don’t need a huge circle. Even Jesus had just a few. The goal isn’t popularity. It’s proximity. Who’s close enough to see the real you? Who are you close enough to encourage without needing a script?

It doesn’t happen accidentally. Real spiritual friendship takes time and intention. It takes awkward first steps, text messages that feel too vulnerable, and rhythms that are sometimes inconvenient. But it’s worth it.

You don’t run this race alone. Not because you’re weak. But because you’re human. And God made you to need others. Let someone walk with you. And choose to walk with someone else.

Apply

Text someone today and say, “Hey, I’m thankful for you. How can I pray for you this week?” It could be a friend, a coworker, a family member, or someone in your small group. Open a door for honest connection—then follow up.

Pray

God, thank you for not designing life to be lived in isolation. I need people. I need encouragement, correction, prayer, laughter, and presence. Help me let others in, even when it’s uncomfortable. And show me who needs me to walk with them right now. Teach me how to be a faithful friend and a good listener. In Jesus’ name. Amen.