The News Hadn’t Come Yet, the Peace Already Had

Even Though, part 2

A breeze on a June afternoon, and the comfort that found me before I knew I’d need it.

“I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.” — John 14:18 (KJV)

Jesus said that to His disciples in an upper room, hours before His arrest. He knew what was coming for Him, and what was coming for them: grief they couldn’t yet name, and a darkness they couldn’t picture.

The Greek word behind “comfortless” means something closer to orphaned. Jesus was telling a room full of grown men He would not leave them as orphans. They would not be left alone or without guidance or protection. Jesus would send the Holy Spirit to comfort, guide, protect, and strengthen them.

That Bible verse found me 46 years ago, in the weeks before my mom died, when I was 18 years old. I don’t remember how it found me. I just know it did, the way some things land in you before you understand why you’ll need them.

My mom studied her Bible the way other people study a trade. She knew it and lived inside it, and she was the first person who ever showed me what prayer could actually do. She was also my best friend. Whatever I know about unconditional love, I learned it from her first.

It was the middle of June, the kind of day where the heat just sits on you. I was mowing our yard and it was 2:30 in the afternoon, sun straight up, not a breath of wind for at least fifteen minutes.

Then a breeze came through. Cool. Out of nowhere. I can’t explain it and I’ve stopped trying. In that breeze I knew, the way you know your own name, that the Holy Spirit was going to comfort me somehow, some way. I didn’t know yet how soon I would need Him.

A couple of minutes later, a dear family friend pulled into our driveway in one of those big panel station wagons. No cell phones in those days, so word still traveled by a car pulling in and a knock at the door. She told me my mom had just passed.

I was an only child. My relationship with my dad was considered iffy at best. He’d spent years burying himself in work, his own way of running from childhood wounds he had not dealt with, and there wasn’t much marriage or fathering left over for either my mom or me. So, when she died, by every honest measure I had, I was looking at minimal support from my dad. My world felt like it was ending.

Even though that was true, God walked into the darkest stretch of my life and comforted me. Not eventually. Right then, and all through the months and years that followed. I can’t explain how. I can tell you the peace was real, undeniable, and bigger than my circumstances had any right to allow (see Philippians 4:7). God had not left me an orphan.

That isn’t where the story ends.

The relationship with my dad, the one I just called iffy, didn’t stay that way. Over the years that followed, God did some patient work in both of our hearts, the kind you can’t rush and can’t fake. By the time my dad passed 14 years ago, he was my best friend.

I buried my mother when I was 18 years old, and had a dad who struggled to relate to me.

Even though both of those things were true, God was already at work in both, comforting beyond what I knew to ask, rebuilding what I’d written off as gone.

The peace came before the news. I can’t explain that part either. Same as the breeze. I’ve stopped trying.

Even though. Two small words. 46 years later, still true.

For Reflection

• Where has comfort shown up in your life before you knew you needed it?

• Is there a relationship you’ve quietly written off that God might still be working on?

Prayer

Lord, You are the One who will not leave us as orphans. Thank You for the breeze before the news, and for the slow, patient work of rebuilding what looked beyond repair. Give us eyes to see where You are already at work. Even though we may not yet see You working, give us strength to trust You. Amen.