I think one of the purest expressions of love is showing up.
Quietly. Consistently. Without needing attention for it.
I learned that first from my father.
My dad knew how to show up for people. Whether it was convenient or not rarely mattered to him. As long as there was fuel in his car, he would find a way to be there.
Even the day before he died, he was still paying school fees for children whose fees were due.
Growing up, I watched him make himself available to people repeatedly. Through generosity. Through encouragement. Through responsibility. Through his presence.
And something else I noticed was this: he did not only show up for people outside our home. He showed up for family too.
There is a certain kind of safety that forms when people know they can rely on you. When they know you will check in. When they know they do not have to carry difficult things alone. I think that became part of the bond my siblings and I share today. Looking back, I realize that many of the things my father modeled were teaching me what love looks like in practice.
Because love sometimes looks like consistency. Like availability.
Sometimes it looks like remembering people while carrying your own burdens too.
I remember a particular season with a colleague. From the outside, everything looked normal. They still came to work every day. Still functioned and carried themselves with composure.
It was in the place of prayers that I sensed that something was wrong. When we eventually spoke, they opened up.
And I remember feeling overwhelmed listening to the weight they had been carrying quietly. Situations heavy enough to completely destabilize somebody emotionally, yet they kept showing up every day.
At some point, I realized that work itself had become one of the things helping them stay emotionally afloat in that season. So I decided I would show up too.
I checked in consistently. I prayed with them. And during a period when things became financially difficult, I made sure they never had to worry about food at work.
I did not have much myself at the time. But somehow, I always wanted them to know that when it came to feeding, they were covered.
One of the reasons it came naturally to me to do these was because I had experienced that kind of care before.
During one of the hardest seasons of my own life, God surrounded me with people who showed up for me in ways I still struggle to explain fully. Food arrived without me asking. People checked in intentionally. Some prayed with me. Some simply remained present.
And in those moments, I realized something important:
Sometimes God’s provision looks like people paying attention.
Scripture says:
“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” — Galatians 6:2
And carrying people’s burdens is not always loud or dramatic.
It might be just a phone call.
A meal.
A check-in message.
A ride somewhere.
A prayer whispered quietly on someone’s behalf.
A decision to remain present when it would be easier to look away.
And I think many people underestimate how deeply life-changing small acts of care can be. Especially when someone is trying very hard to hold themselves together privately.
Love has a way of multiplying. The care we pour into others rarely ends where we leave it. Somehow, God has a way of returning kindness through community, often through unexpected people and unexpected seasons.
Sometimes you are the one being carried. Sometimes you become part of somebody else’s survival story. And part of maturity is learning how to embrace both seasons with humility.
If someone around you is struggling quietly, I hope you do not underestimate the impact of your presence.
You may never fully know how much your consistency is helping somebody survive.
Sometimes the holiest thing we can offer people is the reminder that they do not have to carry life alone.
Praying that you never lack people who will show up for you too,
Nkiruka