By Diane Bricker

My son, as he has grown into adulthood, has taught me many things. This learning, certainly unanticipated by me when he was born, started early and has intertwined itself with my spiritual life in surprising and deeply impactful ways. He and God together have taught me much about comfort. I have a story about this learning I would like to tell you.

My son, who was much desired, was born when my husband and I were both 40. His birth brought enormous joy to me. But embedded in that joy, there was also a sadness, an acute recognition of all the dangers and risks involved in loving profoundly. This intertwining of joy and sadness was nothing new to me. At that time in my life, and for as long as I could remember up to that time, I had carried with me an inability to sit with joy without also feeling deep sadness. The surprise here was the intensity of both of these feelings connected to my son’s presence.

I struggled mightily with this issue. I just wanted to sit with the joy as I listened to lullabies and rocked my son at night, but instead I was sometimes moved to tears by an impending sense of loss. So, I prayed to God, repeatedly, for help with this.

Before you hear the next part of the story it might be helpful for you to know something about my prayer life at the time. I had taken a six-week class at my church some years before in order to learn more about how tp pray. We studied Maxie Dunnam’s Workbook of Living Prayer and when we finished the workbook, we just kept meeting. I was still in this prayer group some five years later and would sometimes pray while rocking my son. Images were a very rich part of my prayer life, particularly when praying with scripture.

On one particular night I was feeling both gratefulness and sadness deeply, rocking my son, with my eyes closed, when a brief but vivid image appeared to me. It was an image of my son, in a plaid shirt no less, sitting in a chair at my bedside. He appeared to be in midlife, exactly how old I am not sure, but we were both taking great pleasure in our visit. In fact, we were both laughing. It is hard to express the comfort I took in this image. In fact, I sometimes still call it up when I need comfort.

So, what really was this image about? Did I believe the scene would come to pass? No. Did I believe that is was promising me and my son long lives? No, absolutely not. But I have come to believe that the image was God’s response to my prayer for help and healing; that it was the Holy Spirit bringing me comfort. It was an image, both simple and complex, that anchored me more solidly in my present reality, an image that allowed me to imagine the possibility of something wonderful and full, an image that actually began to overshadow my feelings of loss and sadness. It was God meeting me just as I was. It reminds mw now, at some years distance, of the Lord’s promises in Jeremiah 31, to turn mourning into joy, to give gladness for sorrow, to provide comfort.

So now you’ve heard the beginning of the story. I’d like to tell you the next part of the story, which actually occurred 19 years later. It is about how the healing and comfort and wisdom the Spirit offers grows and changes as we are ready to receive more.

My son had just finished his freshman year at college and was headed to Amman, Jordon, for a two-month course of study. It was the summer of 2011. The Arab Spring had begun and his planned trip to Syria was necessarily canceled. The trip to Jordan was hastily put together, funded by a college grant and terrifying to me.

One early summer morning, we had all of the items he was considering packing for the trip spread out on the dining room table. And we were bickering. I was unhappy with what he was choosing to take, and what he shoosing not to take, letting hi know that in no uncertain terms. My interference in his decision-making was not typical for me; the bickering was out of character for both of us.

Suddenly my son turned to me and grabbed me by both shoulders. In his 19 years of wisdom to my 59, he said to me, “Mom, what is this about? Are you afraid of me going?”

“Probably,” I managed to say, as I thought, “Of course, that is the issue.” And then my 19-year old began to reassure me that he was going to be OK and that he would come back.

“But,” he added, “if something really unusual happens, something really weird, you need to remember this is m y decision to go and not yours. I don’t want you feeling any guilt about it. “ Ah, he is worried about me, I realized; that is the burden he is carrying.

And then, wonder of wonders, the Holy Spirit furnished me words of comfort and wisdom for both of us, that I didn’t even know I had or believed, until they came. The first words, “You want and need to go, and I bless you in that. You are God’s child, and he will be with you with you in whatever happens.”

And the rest, “You are not to be worrying about me and what might happen to me if something happens to you. I, too, am God’s child, and he will also be with me no matter what happens.” And perhaps the most amazing grace of all, I actually believed the words and felt their truth deep in my gut. The Holy Spirit was swirling again, no promising protection against a painful outcome, but promising presence, bringing me comfort, meeting me where I was that particular day, healing me and expanding my understanding of God.

As I reflected on these experiences, I found myself remembering a childhood word I learned for the Holy Spirit: “The Comforter.” I had to search different translations of the Bible to find this word, but I found it in John 14:26, a verse that, particularly during this last year, has comforted me mightily. It appears in the King James version of the Bible, the version used in my childhood church. You will find other words substituted for Comforter in other translations - Advocate, Counselor, Helper, Companion, Friend - all capitalized and all promising a comforting Presence.

In John 14:26-27, Jesus promised his disciples that, as he departs, his Father will send the Comforter to teach them and remind the of all he has said. He leaves them not with what the world gives, but with his peace. He tells them not to let their hearts be troubled. Now there is comfort.

So, what will the next part of this story be? I don’t know, but I do know that it is not over yet. Spiritual stories don’t end; they just keep going. But, for now, here is what I do believe. I believe this peace of which Jesus speaks is available to all of us, not continuously, at least in my experience, but in moments just often enough to reassure us it is there and to remind us it will come again. And I believe the Comforter r is all around us just waiting to break uniquely into each of our worlds with this peace, according to the kind of healing and growth we require at the time. Our task to be open, to accept the gift and to keep on keeping on.

The Comforter was written by Diane Bricker and originally published in House of Comfort, a publication of Retreat House Spirituality Center. Purchase your copy.