The Silence Between Us
A letter to you, brother.
Dear brother,
There’s something I’ve been meaning to say. Something I’ve carried for too long in silence. And I think, if you’re honest, you’ve felt it too.
We are losing each other.
Not to war. Not to politics. Not even to violence.
We’re losing each other to silence.
The last time I heard from one of my closest friends, it was a text. Simple.
Forgettable.
"Bro, I can’t chat now. Can we catch up soon?"
But soon never came.
We used to walk into each other’s homes without knocking. We shared laughter, food, pain, and dreams. Now, we pass each other on timelines. We scroll past each other’s lives like strangers peeking through windows. No call. No check-in. Just like. Emojis. Muted pain.
This isn’t just nostalgia talking. This is grief. And I believe God grieves too when brothers drift.
Because Scripture makes this truth loud and clear:
“Two are better than one... but pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up.”
(Ecclesiastes 4:9–10)
Brother, who will help you up when you fall? Who knows the sound of your silence?
Who would show up at 2 a.m. not with judgment, but with presence?
Too many of us walk through life with no one to call. We confuse acquaintances for allies. We confuse performance with connection.
We confuse surviving with living.
And it’s killing us.
There’s a study that found that chronic loneliness is as harmful as smoking fifteen cigarettes a day. That’s the toll of disconnection. It eats away at our health, our minds, and our faith.
And still, we pretend that we’re fine.
But we are not fine.
We are emotionally starved in group chats.
We are spiritually tired in churches.
We are men with full calendars and empty souls.
And I need you to hear me now, not later:
You were not created to walk alone.
Even Jesus, Messiah, miracle-worker, Son of God, didn’t carry His cross in isolation. He wept in the garden and asked His friends to stay with Him.
He needed community. So do we.
We don’t outgrow friendship. We grow into it. We need friends who will sit in our silence, challenge our pride, remind us of who we are when we’ve forgotten, and lead us back to the truth when our minds are dark.
But here’s the hardest part: rebuilding requires you to move first.
You must send the text. Make the call. Break the silence.
Not when the moment is perfect. Not after your pride calms down.
Now. Today.
What do you have to lose?
Send a simple message:
"Hey bro, you crossed my mind today. Just wanted to check in."
It might feel awkward. Do it anyway.
Because pride won’t hold you when grief comes.
Shame won’t sit beside you and comfort you when the darkness rolls in.
You need your people. And your people need you.
God has not called us to independence.
He’s called us to interdependence. To brotherhood. To spiritual kinship.
That’s why the Bible says a friend loves at all times, and a brother is born in adversity. (Proverbs 17:17)
You were born for this. To reach. To show up. To remember that friendship is a sacred act.
This is your invitation to become a good brother again.
To go first. To close the distance. Because friendship doesn’t just ease suffering.
It saves lives.
And it may just save yours, too.
With you in truth and hope,
Alex
If you like these letters, let me know. I would love to connect further with you.
Hope your week is going as you planned.
Alex