We Were Together. I Forget the Rest.

The Super Bowl had just wrapped up when Kristofer headed outside to tackle some repairs on his 2017 Volvo XC60. Earlier that day, he and his son Benjamin had already lifted the hood and begun the work. Benjamin—with the confidence of youth and the wisdom of YouTube—pulled up a video tutorial on how to replace the cabin air filter. They succeeded, and somewhere, generations of ancestors who fixed things without an internet connection probably smiled.

But while clean cabin air was a win, the spark plugs still waited…and spark plugs, as many can attest, rarely wait politely.

The engineers who designed the placement of spark plugs deep in the engine block surely deserve recognition—though opinions may vary on whether it’s for brilliance or mischief. Kristofer stacked at least four extensions onto his socket wrench to reach into the cavernous space. He used one of those “claw grabbers” to fish out the old plugs, but getting the new ones in was another matter entirely. After much frustration—and a rather creative vocabulary aimed lovingly at the engineers—he managed to set three plugs. The fourth refused all cooperation. No amount of twisting, nudging, or pleading would persuade it into place.

I had been inside the house while he wrestled with the Volvo, but on my way out to the garage apartment for the night, I stopped by. Kristofer mentioned the stubborn plug, and though I was tired from an already long day, something nudged me to stay. Maybe this wasn’t about spark plugs. Maybe it was about being present with a friend.

Whether or not we fixed that final plug suddenly felt less important. The real work was in catching up, listening, and sharing the kind of conversation that can only happen while leaning over an engine in the cool night air. We were together. I forget the rest.

Last October, I attended the investiture of Dr. Bar McClure as the Christie Cozad Neuger Professor of Pastoral Theology and Practice at Brite Divinity School. In her address, she quoted the poet Walt Whitman, who once said of spending time with loved ones: “We were together. I forget the rest.” Dr. McClure reflected that this simple line names a deep human hunger—to be connected in life‑giving ways that outlast the task at hand.

Pastoral care classes don’t teach you how to replace spark plugs, but they do teach presence. They teach curiosity about the moment you’re in and the person right in front of you. They help you notice when the real ministry isn’t the problem you’re trying to fix but the person with whom you are present and trying to love.

To my own surprise, I set that fourth and final plug without ever consulting YouTube. (Perhaps my ancestors were proud, too.) Kristofer replaced the wiring and pressed the start button ignition—success! Everything fired perfectly.

We celebrated like we’d rebuilt the whole engine. After he pulled the car into the garage, Kristofer said, “Thanks. I don’t know how long that would have taken. But catching up was the best of all.”

And truly—we were together. I forget the rest.

Shalom,