“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfil the law of Christ.”
Galatians 6:2

Last Sunday I was at Wembley for Luke Combs. I know. It was every bit as awesome as it sounds.

If you know me at all, you’ll know that this is one of my happy places. Live country music, thousands of people singing their hearts out, flames, pyrotechnics, fireworks, dry ice and me right at the front with a standing ticket, wondering if my knees would forgive me the next day. (Spoiler alert: they did not.)

It was busy. Really busy. We were packed in – not like sardines but closer than I usually care to be, the sun was shining and everyone was determined to have the best night possible.

By the end of the evening, something truly lovely had happened.

The family standing next to me had almost adopted me as one of their own. At one point they even shared a Twix with me, which, let’s be honest, is the foundation of any solid friendship.

Nearby were two younger ladies who had come on their own. I introduced myself and then introduced them to each other, and then offered to guard their hard won patches of Wembley floor if they needed to nip to the loo or grab a drink but were worried about losing their place. Having been a solo concert-goer before, I know exactly how that feels; wanting to go, but not lose your spot. Me and the family next to me turned it into a sport of its own. Spot guarding championship here I come…

Then a disagreement broke out nearby. Nothing too dramatic in the grand scheme of things, just a combination of alcohol, heat and being packed tightly together. One of the young women instinctively came close to me.

Without even thinking about it, my inner mama bear clocked in for duty. My arm was around her and I absolutely would have got her safely away if needed.

Thankfully security quickly removed the trouble makers but it left me thinking on the journey home, and for the rest of the week.

None of those people knew me.

Yet, throughout the evening, complete strangers had decided I was someone they could trust.

Someone to leave their place with.

Someone to share chocolate with.

Someone to stand behind when things suddenly felt a bit uncertain.

And that is a tremendous privilege.

It made me wonder how often we underestimate the impact of simply being a safe place.

Not everyone is called to stand on a stage or change the world in spectacular ways. But every one of us has opportunities to make another person’s world feel just a little kinder.

A smile that says, “I see you.”

A compliment given simply because it’s true.

Holding someone’s place at a concert.

Standing quietly beside someone who needs to borrow a little courage.

I think we’re all borrowing courage from one another far more often than we realise.

Jesus was particularly good at making people feel safe enough to come closer. Children ran to Him. The lonely sought Him out. The broken trusted Him with their stories. Long before He changed anyone’s circumstances, He offered them a place where they were seen, welcomed and loved.

I don’t know about you, but that’s exactly the sort of person I want to become.

Not the loudest person in the room.

Not the cleverest or most talented.

Just someone who, by God’s grace, helps the people around me feel a little safer, a little lighter and a little more loved than they did before we met.

Because in the end, maybe the greatest gift we can offer someone is this: when they stand near us, they don’t have to wonder if they’re alone anymore.

Have an excellent week.

-Laura