🌅 Morning Whispers with Holy Spirit – Companion, Friend, and Helper

Entry #43 — When You Realize You’re Walking Alone

It was just after 3:32 a.m. when I stepped outside.

The desert air was cool and dry, sharp enough to wake you fully whether you were ready or not. Streetlights hummed low. The sky was still heavy with night.

Frankie padded forward, steady as always.

I followed.

And somewhere between the driveway and the first corner, I felt it again.

The space.

Not the physical emptiness of the street.

The relational one.

“Good morning, Holy Spirit,” I said.

The words felt grounded. Familiar.

But under them was something quieter.

“I didn’t expect it to be this lonely.”

We walked a few more steps before I said anything else.

“I thought if I stayed… if I didn’t quit… there would be people walking with me.”

The gravel shifted under my shoes.

Some did walk with you, You said.

“For a while,” I replied.

My throat tightened.

Names flickered through my mind — conversations that used to be regular, voices that used to check in, partnerships that once felt aligned.

Now?

Silence.

Not dramatic. Not hostile. Just absence.

“I didn’t lose them because of conflict,” I said. “They just… faded.”

The street felt wider than usual.

You’re not being punished, He said gently.

“I know.”

But knowing didn’t erase the ache.

“I didn’t realize growth would feel like this,” I continued. “Like looking to your left and realizing no one’s there.”

Frankie stopped briefly to sniff the curb. I paused with him.

The path narrows when it stretches, He said.

I let that settle.

“Did I outgrow them?” I asked quietly. “Or did they outgrow me?”

Neither, He replied. The road changed.

That hit differently.

Not blame. Not elevation. Just divergence.

“I miss who we were,” I admitted.

I know.

That simple response loosened something in my chest.

“You didn’t lose people because you failed,” He continued. “You stayed when the direction shifted.”

The sky was beginning to lighten faintly at the edges — not dawn yet, just the suggestion of it.

“Some people are assigned to a season,” He said. “I’m assigned to the road.”

My eyes stung.

Not because I felt abandoned.

Because I felt seen.

“I didn’t think obedience would thin the crowd,” I whispered.

It doesn’t thin it, He replied. It clarifies it.

We started walking again.

The street was still quiet. Still mostly empty.

But it didn’t feel accusing anymore.

Just honest.

“I’m not alone,” I said.

No, He answered. You’re just early.

That steadied me.

Not superior. Not elevated. Just… ahead of where I used to be.

We walked the rest of the block without needing to say much.

The night wasn’t heavy anymore.

Just open.

And though the company looked different than I imagined—

I wasn’t walking alone.