The Advocate Might be You

Hey,
I know we’ve been talking about floods
and funerals.
About holy ghosts and hearts that ache.
But I just want to say:

You’re still here.
You’re reading this.
And that means we made it, at least this far.
That matters.

This is a promise of presence.
When we realize: it’s us.

When the floodwaters rise again,
may you find the Advocate beside you—
boots muddy, laughter dry,
adding your survival to the sacred calendar.

There will be lemon bars at the church potluck again.
There will be sun waiting outside of the house,
warming the sidewalk just for you,
and the other flowers like you.

There is the memory of my best friend laughing
(even if a little frantically)
while she bails water from our rowboat.
She was laughing.
And that, my friend, is also the Advocate.

The one who says, Come on.
Let’s make a little mischief.
Let’s dance at the edge of this broken thing
until it turns into a garden.

May you remember: the Advocate might be your friend.
The Advocate might be you.
May you trust that even if love doesn’t stop the storm,
she will kneel with you in the wreckage,
pick up the pieces,
and hold you when you can’t put them
back together.

And the next time a storm tells you
to lay your life down like a sacrifice,
may you rise up instead—
and remember what the commandment says:
To lay it down like a strike.

You are not forgotten.
You are not forsaken.
The Spirit stays.
So do we.

Inspired by John 14:15–21