Morning Whispers with Holy Spirit

Companion, Friend, and Helper

It’s still dark outside, and I’m sitting here with my Bible open in front of me.

I don't really know what to say this morning.

I tried reading the Word. Just random Scriptures, hoping something would reach through this heaviness.

I know You're here.

I know Jesus is here.

I know Abba is here.

But I feel blocked.

Lost.

Alone.

And I'm trying to fight this depression, this heaviness, but the struggle is real.

“Then don't fight Me to get to Me.”

I sat with that.

I'm not trying to fight You.

“I know. You're trying to fight what you feel because you think it's keeping you from Us.”

Tears blurred the page in front of me.

Maybe it is.

Maybe that's what I've been doing.

Trying to get through the grief so I can reach You.

“You don't have to get through your grief to reach Me. I'm here with you in it.”

I closed my eyes.

Michael.

My brother.

My friend.

I miss him.

“I know.”

Jesus, I grieve for Michael.

You know he wasn't just my brother. He was my friend.

I loved him.

We were 1,875 miles apart, and I didn't physically see him, but that didn't define what we had.

We had years.

A lifetime.

We knew each other.

We could lean on each other.

I could listen when he needed me, and I knew I could lean on him when I needed him.

We laughed.

We talked.

We talked about You.

We talked about seeing Jesus face-to-face.

About going Home.

About not being afraid to go Home.

And now Michael is Home.

And I don't know how to say goodbye to my brother.

“You don't have to say goodbye to everything you shared with him.”

My throat tightened.

But he's gone.

“Yes.”

No correction.

No attempt to make those words hurt less.

Just—

“Yes.”

And somehow, I needed that.

I didn't need someone to tell me Michael is in a better place.

I know where he is.

Michael and I talked about where he is.

I know I will see my brother again.

But he's not here.

“And you are allowed to grieve that.”

The funeral didn't give me closure.

You know that.

You were there.

You saw.

You heard everything.

The speaker tried to minimize what Michael and I had.

It hurt me.

It made me angry.

“Tell Me.”

I'm angry.

Because that was my brother.

My relationship with Michael wasn't something somebody else gets to define.

They didn't live it.

They weren't there through the years.

They don't know all the conversations.

The laughter.

The things we shared.

The times we needed each other.

They don't know what existed between a sister and her little brother over a lifetime.

But You do.

“I do.”

You know what we had?

“I was there for all of it.”

All of it.

Not just the Sunday calls.

Not just the conversations I can remember right now.

All the years.

“All the years.”

And then that Scripture came back:

“I grieve for you, Jonathan my brother; you were very dear to me.”— 2 Samuel 1:26

My brother.

Very dear to me.

That's it.

That's Michael.

“Then grieve for your brother.”

But I don't want to fall apart.

“Grieving isn't leaving Me.”

I breathed.

“And tears aren't evidence that you've lost your faith.”

Jesus wept.

The words came almost immediately.

Jesus wept. — John 11:35

He knew Lazarus wasn't gone forever.

“Yes.”

He knew He was going to see him again.

“Yes.”

And He still cried.

“Yes.”

My chest ached.

Because I know I'm going to see Michael again.

I believe that.

I know where my brother is.

But I miss him here.

I miss knowing he is somewhere on this earth with me.

Even 1,785 miles away, he was here.

My brother was here.

And now he isn't.

It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday.

That old G.C. Cameron song from Cooley High.

That's what this feels like, Holy Spirit.

Yesterday.

Not one yesterday.

All of them.

All those years with my brother.

The things only we remember.

The versions of each other we knew before we became who we eventually became.

The laughter.

The conversations.

The hard things.

The ordinary things.

A lifetime of having a little brother somewhere in this world.

How do I say goodbye to all of that?

“You don't.”

What?

“Those years happened. Love doesn't become unhappened because Michael came Home.”

Holy Spirit...

“You're grieving what you cannot carry forward in the same way. You aren't being asked to erase what came before.”

No.

No, I'm not.

Holy Spirit, I don't know how to pray this.

“You don't have to.”

And then another Scripture:

“The Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.”

— Romans 8:26

Oh.

“That's what Companion means.”

I stopped.

Companion.

The word we've been using all this time.

Morning Whispers with Holy Spirit — Companion, Friend, and Helper.

“You don't only need a Companion when the morning is beautiful.”

No.

I suppose I don't.

“Sometimes companionship is sitting with someone when there are no words.”

And maybe that's what I need this morning.

I don't need You to make me stop missing Michael.

I don't need You to make Saturday okay.

I don't even need You to tell me how long this is going to hurt.

I just need You here.

“I am.”

I love my brother.

“I know.”

I miss my friend.

“I know.”

I don't know how to say goodbye.

There was quiet for a while.

Then:

“You don't have to say it all today.”