Thirteen Words (Part 1)
I was attending a conference session on attachment and how it works in the brain across different relationships. Much has been studied on this in psychology, of course.
I had gotten there a little early. The presenter was setting up with the event tech staff, making sure the presentation wouldn't have any difficulties. Her husband was there too, and as I rested and observed, I noticed a sense of urgency, a concern, between the two of them. The tech was simply tending to the recording and sound check.
Right before the minute struck for the session to begin, her husband held her close for more than thirty seconds. I realized he was praying over her. I have found myself doing the same.
She stepped to the microphone and said, somewhat flustered, "Good afternoon. My name is ___, and I want to let everyone know ahead of time that my contact information is on the first slide. My husband and I have to return to our hometown as soon as possible. We just got word that close friends of ours have lost their teen to suicide, and we're rushing back to them as soon as we're able."
The energy in the room shifted.
An academic, a professional, an accomplished provider. A wife, a caregiver, a pastoral leader, a friend. A wounded provider. Then she said, "My husband is a pastor, and they've asked him to lead the funeral service."
The embrace and the prayer took on new meaning for me.
Prayer Came Before the Words
I couldn't stop thinking about it through the session. My creative and compassionate brain seemed to take over in the moment. What better thing to do than to join them in prayer? So I did.
Then, as I looked at the email address on the screen, I was prompted to think: What would happen if they knew they were not alone?
Technology. These days we all carry a little heat source in our pocket. So I wrote them a short note. Nothing asked of them, just prayer, and an offer to help carry the boulder. For such a time as this, I could pray to a source of divine comfort and sustaining grace, that she is able, that he is able, to move forward into the abyss and still hold to their commitments to teaching.
What do you say to a couple on their way to bury a friend's child, a child they had known, had connected with, had ministered to? Never wanting death, but always wanting life?
From Seven Rows Back
At the end of the presentation, the speaker opened a time of interaction. We answered questions from a case study she had presented and talked with our neighbors. There were maybe a hundred people in the room.
I turned left to talk with another clinician. We considered what it would be like to support the couple in the case. I told my seat partner I had recently been fixed on a Scripture, Colossians 1:17, which says that God holds all things together, and that in some way this could be conveyed to a couple who believes all is lost.
After our side-by-side conversation, the speaker brought us back to center and surveyed the crowd. It felt right. Should I raise my hand? I still felt timid. I was almost discouraged. In a crowd this size, seven rows back, would she see me, or choose me? Twice the hands raised in front of me thought she was pointing to them. But I still felt an insistence in my heart, and I kept my hand up. She seemed to sense my urgency.
"You, sir. What would you like to contribute?"
Raising my voice to the room, I said I would share Colossians 1:17 with them and help them understand that as Creator, He is the one holding all things together, and He can do this for them. Then I read it from my phone:
"And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together."
Colossians 1:17, ESV
There was a general murmur of agreement, the way crowds respond when they hear something they affirm. But the moment seemed to catch the speaker differently. She paused, as though struck by the simplicity and depth of what had been spoken from the Word.
Then she said, "I have to take a moment and tell everyone that this is the exact verse inscribed on the inside of my wedding band."
I had never spoken with her before. I had never met her or her husband. And yet in a busy conference, in a crowded room, the Spirit was continuing to minister and move.
Jesus Is Breaking Through
Right after the session closed, I went back to my email and wrote to them again: I had just spoken Colossians 1:17 over them both. A Holy Spirit moment.
I wanted them to know, in all the travel ahead, that they would be held. That they would be helped. That they would go on sharing the Good News with a heartbroken family. That in spite of the evil of this world taking a life too soon, God was going to make Himself known, and He was doing so in the very moment they were rushing home to tend to the broken hearts they would find.
Two days later, I heard back from Anna.
Her reply carried gratitude for the prayers for travel, the prayers over the loss, and the acknowledgment of how hard this was. But what struck most at the heart of attachment and connection was her resounding belief in the Rock of Ages: that even in this, even still, Jesus was breaking through.
"Trust in the LORD forever, for the LORD GOD is an everlasting rock."
Isaiah 26:4, ESV
Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
let me hide myself in Thee.
That thirty-second embrace, those thirteen words, and her reply have stayed with me. In Part 2, I share what that room taught me: theology is already explaining science.
This piece reflects my own theological and clinical reflection and is offered for educational purposes only. It does not constitute counseling, therapy, or a counselor-client relationship, and reading it does not establish one. Names and details have been changed. If you're in crisis, call or text 988, go to your nearest ER, or see national mental health resources.