The Joy Of Presence

You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore

MY UNCLE JIMMY WORKED at a paper mill, but his passion was horses. For decades, he and my aunt lived on a gravel road surrounded by dense trees, rolling hills, and farmland. Though he worked in town, he was most at home on the farm.

He always had quarter horses you could take for lazy rides down to Windy Lake and back, but his favorite breed was Belgians. The big draft horses were huge but beautiful. As a child, I (Kristin) had a healthy fear of their powerful bodies and their hooves, which I imagined were roughly the size of dinner plates. I’d often sidle along the edge of the stalls across from theirs, as far away from them as possible.

The one exception to my self-imposed rule was when Jimmy hitched them to the sleigh. He’d throw hay bales in the bed for seating, then he’d climb up to hold the reins and direct the horses with his booming voice. Bundled up against the biting cold, and with babies on their laps, the adults would sit and visit, swaying with the movement. The younger cousins sometimes used ropes to tie their plastic sleds to the back of the sleigh. As the horses trotted down the road, bells jingling, the kids would slide around behind, jockeying for position.

Corners were the most fun. Once, my dad decided to “ski” on his boots behind the sleigh alongside the kids on their sleds. He held on to a rope, sliding down the road just fine until we rounded a corner. Thrown off by the motion, he went flying into a snowbank. We stopped, laughed, and waited for him to dust himself off and rejoin us.

Those memories are precious, not just because they remind me of how much I miss my uncle’s boisterous laugh and the animated stories he’d tell, but because they perfectly encapsulated those days on the farm. No one was looking at a phone or distracted by a screen. Instead, we were fully immersed in the experience: the icy cold air in our noses, the wind on our faces, the slight hint of sweat under the many layers of winter clothes. Nothing could distract us from the joy of flying down that road at a brisk speed with loved ones around us and blinding white snow crunching under our sleds. Those memories are special because they helped me experience what I now recognize as the joy of presence.

Our need for one another is innate. Even the early church prioritized sharing meals and meeting together as a community. In fact, the author of Hebrews links gathering together with encouraging one another as a way to “motivate one another to acts of love and good works” (Hebrews 10:24-25). Spending time together positively influences us, but it also provides the motivation and connection we need as humans.

I love how today’s verse, Psalm 16:11, talks about presence in terms of “fullness,” as though it is a physical requirement like food or water: “You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore” (ESV). The author links our fullness—our overall satisfaction—with being in God’s presence. Spending time in the Word or in prayer can help us encounter his presence. It’s only through our relationship with him that we find true fulfillment.

But if the time spent in God’s presence is when we are most connected to him, isn’t the same true for our human relationships? After all, the presence of others helps us feel less alone and encourages us to face what lies ahead. It fills us with the warmth of contentment and reminds us that life is richer when lived alongside others.

On the other hand, a lack of face-to-face connections and true presence can spark a hunger for relationship that goes unsatisfied.

Despite the way technological advances make connecting with others easier than ever before, many people feel incredibly lonely. Survey results vary, but 36 percent of respondents in one recent study reported feeling lonely “frequently” or “almost all the time or all the time” in the four weeks before the survey.^a During the holidays, 55 percent of Americans report experiencing sadness and loneliness. The top reasons mentioned are being apart from loved ones (41 percent), having seasonal depression (37 percent), and coping with grief (36 percent), although over one-fourth of Gen Zers and millennials blamed social media for their loneliness.^b

Those statistics represent millions of souls—friends, neighbors, family members, people in our community, or perhaps even ourselves—who feel disconnected from those around them. Maybe they are struggling with grief over a lost loved one or dealing with a difficult family relationship, and visions of other people’s picture-perfect holidays amplify their own sadness. Whatever the cause, those feelings of disconnection can ultimately affect our physical well-being too. Over time, loneliness can increase our risk of heart problems, strokes, diabetes, depression, anxiety, addiction, suicidal thoughts or self-harm, and dementia. Any of these can shorten our life span.^c

We aren’t meant to live this life alone. That’s why our presence—our real, unvarnished, authentic face-to-face connection—is so significant. When we think of the Christmas season, we often focus on what gift we’re purchasing or which holiday events we need to attend. But the truth is that our undivided attention, one-on-one conversations, eye contact, and listening ear are often the greatest gifts we can give. Each of those gives others the gift of our presence.

In a distracted, distractible world, it can be hard to connect. One way is to begin being more intentional about setting aside our phones and laptops and spending time together in person. For instance, my friend Erin practices Sabbath with her family every weekend. She works at a church, so Sundays are a busy day. As a result, Friday evening to Saturday evening has become the twenty-four hours when they celebrate their Sabbath. She plans a Friday evening meal that her two young children will like. She lets them take turns choosing the dessert and bakes it with her young son when she’s home during the day. Then, that night, she lights a candle for dinner, and the Sabbath begins. For the next twenty-four hours, she and her husband put their phones aside. They seek ways to feel restored as a family and as individuals. Together, they have fun as well as rest. This quiet rhythm has become a central part of their weekly routine.

Instead of getting pulled into the frantic round of Christmas events and obligations, let’s enjoy our time together. Let’s practice breathing deeply and savoring the moment we’re in. Let’s pause in our busy day to notice those around us: going out of our way to interact with cashiers at the checkout line, eating lunch in the break room with coworkers, checking in on a friend, or visiting with someone in the lobby at church. At home, let’s sit quietly with the lights, music, and ones we love around us. When we ignore our screens in order to meet the eyes of those we see each day, we’ll fill their hearts—and ours—with the gift of presence.

Dear Jesus, thank you for your presence on this earth. Thank you for coming as an infant and for spending time with people face-to-face. Please give us the desire to focus on genuine, authentic connections with one another and the courage to make the changes we need for those connections to happen. Nudge us to set aside technology to pursue deeper relationships. Help us to notice those around us who are lonely. May we be reminded of the joy and contentment found in the gift of presence, both with you and with one another. Amen.