Out of Sight, Out of Mind Is Not a Ministry (Caregiving Darkside #1)

“When you didn’t do it for the least of these, you didn’t do it for Me.” — Jesus (Matthew 25)

I should be writing a happy post. A kind friend brought us turkey & dressing, a birthday cake, and a card. She’s had a hip replacement and still shows up. That’s love in action.

But the good got drowned out—not by my frustration, but by a tidal wave of excuses for why the rest of the church can’t lift a finger.

The short version

I’m a 24/7 caregiver for my mom. No breaks. No “off” switch. It's been over 10 years since I've been anywhere overnight untethered. And forget about a "vacation"...what's that?

I asked for practical help—simple stuff like sitting with Mom for an hour or two so I can get some rest or do some cleaning or work on a project. Or, if they're too scared to sit with mom and worried about "liability", there's so many other ways they could have helped like help with chores while I work with mom on her PT/OT therapy. recall exercises, etc so I’m not folding laundry or doing dishes at 2am.

What I got instead: 1,001 excuses on behalf of the people who never call, never check in, and never show up.

“People just don’t want to get involved”

The phrases came rapid-fire:

* “People are busy.”

* “Out of sight, out of mind.”

* “They don’t want the liability—what if something happens?”

Let’s be real: those aren’t reasons. They’re cover stories for a deeper problem. Because there are a thousand safe ways to help if they actually wanted to:

Sit with Mom while I’m still in the house; if she needs hands-on, call me from the next room.

Do outside work I can’t get to: hedging, trimming, vine pulling, etc.

Inside chores: dishes, floors, laundry, swapping a light bulb.

Errand runs: a gallon of milk, a post office pickup..

Phone calls and cards: just a little "moral support"...the minimum of human care.

If “liability” is the hangup (or the drive feels too far)

If folks truly worry about liability—or they’re simply not going to make the drive—then fund the help. Pool a benevolence gift to hire a skilled home health aide to sit with Mom, a cleaning service for a monthly reset, or a yard crew to keep things safe and tidy. If there’s concern about how funds are used, the church can handle the hiring directly. That’s literally what a Benevolence Coordinator is for.

This is a church of christ in a university city in Florida—smart people who don’t need to be spoon‑fed ideas. It’s not a lack of options; it’s a lack of will.

To their credit, a few folks once rallied to install a porch ramp after Mom’s leg surgery (I believe the former college minister led the charge). That was love in action. But the silence in the years since has been deafening.

I'm repeatedly told "out of sight, out of mind". So I sent letters to the church explaining the situation, hoping it would be announced from the pulpit. I then saw one request to help us posted to our Care Group. No takers, just a lone "praying for you". So then I made a major effort to bring mom to a Sunday morning service, wheeling her down to the 2nd row so he couldn't be missed. The auditorium was packed. There's no way all the leaders, those I've been on mission trips with, those who know me from bible class, those who know Mom... all could have missed us. Not a single follow-up call was received.

Liability? Jesus told the story of the Good Samaritan—not the careful bystander. If your faith can’t survive even a casserole and a phone call, what is it?

The triple whammy

This isn’t a one-off hurt. It stacks.

1. Years ago, leadership let the idea for a singles class die with a snide line: “What are we doing now, starting a singles dating service?” I forgave it—**without apology from them**—and moved on. (Mind you, groups like "Crafty Ladies" and "Ladies Fitness Class" were deemed more biblically sound than a bible class geared to singles.)

2. If that class had lived, maybe I’d have a helpmate today. Maybe I wouldn’t be carrying this alone.

3. Now, in the season I most need community, the same culture of shrug and excuse shows up again: “We don’t want to get involved.”

That’s not poor planning. That’s a posture.

What love actually looks like

Show up. A call, a text, a knock on the door.

Do one small thing. You don’t have to fix it—just lift ten minutes of weight.

Be with. Sit in the quiet with the person who’s drowning. That is ministry.

My friend with the new hip? She brought dinner, cake, and company. She simply loved.

A word to leaders

I’ve watched elders and pastors do hospital visits, home visits, and mission trips. I’ve also watched some vanish the minute the work is messy, long, unglamorous, or intrudes on their picture-perfect schedule.

If the bar for “care” is so low that two years can pass without a single visit or real phone check-in from a leader who once took mom's checks at his clinic…something has snapped.

Church, “out of sight, out of mind” is not a ministry. It’s a confession.

Forgiveness is not amnesia

Someone asked if I watched the recent sermon on forgiveness. I have forgiven—already. I forgave the first offense when leaders killed the singles group before it even got off the ground. I forgave without apology.

But forgiveness isn’t amnesia or approval. It doesn’t erase accountability. This current moment was an opportunity for redemption—to step toward the person you wounded last time. Instead, we got the same shrug dressed up in church clothes.

What I’m doing next

I’m stepping back from a livestream that doesn’t care to live out what it preaches.

I’ll be tuning into a preacher who does hospital rooms and home visits—the kind of shepherding I remember.

I’m telling the truth here, not to scorch earth, but to call for better. If you’re new to faith or old in it: be the friend who shows up.

If you’re a caregiver reading this

You are not crazy. You’re not “asking too much.” You need sleep, help, and a human voice now and then. If your letter went unread, or your plea met silence, I see you. Drop a comment with one thing you wish someone would do this week. Maybe we can be that for each other.

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If this hit home, share it with someone who sits on a church committee or small group. No guilt trips—just a nudge: show up, do one small thing, repeat.