In September, I started having panic attacks for seemingly no reason. It made me reach out to a counselor and trusted friends for support. I was frustrated because things were going just fine. Why would I suddenly need to pay attention to my mental health?

In October, I started to level out and find rhythms of healing. Peace started to settle in my heart,  but I was still confused as to why this effort was needed. It was like training for a marathon with intention and building stamina, but I didn’t register for a marathon.

In November, we discovered that my little brother was struggling with addiction. Our lives were turned upside down, and supporting my family became all-consuming. He went to rehab, we prayed for it to work, and one afternoon, it hit me:

If I hadn’t been prepared to handle stress, this just might have taken me out.

If you’ve ever loved someone who is an addict, you know the intensity. You are waiting for a phone call that everything has gone wrong. You’re trying to find some semblance of routine, but nothing feels certain. What if they relapse? What if they can’t stay sober?

I prepared for decades of this dance by going to support groups and staying in counseling.

In January, I lost my job and even wrote an (in)courage post about how senseless it felt. Why would God do these things? How can I trust Him when life feels like a whole lot of roadblocks?

In February, I got engaged. And several people said, “You should just get married this spring!” We are in our 30’s and we don’t want a long engagement. The lease on my apartment was ending soon, and without work it would help to combine finances. But something in our hearts, by the grace of God, said, “No. Wait. Get married in the fall.”

My brother went to another rehab program in March.

And in April, he died of alcoholism. We were (and are) devastated. We have been asking questions all over again. Lamenting not only for the brother who died in April, but also for the brother we grew up with for 33 years. The brother who had addiction in his blood and got too close to the flame. The brother with the beautiful voice and incredible talent for music, who deeply loved his wife and children and fought so hard to be there for them. It is a tragedy, no matter how you look at it.

My fiancé and I paused wedding planning and flew home to plan the funeral. My family watched home videos and held on to the community in our small town. We told stories and laughed because my brother was the humor of our family. We wrote eulogies and chose flowers for memorial wreaths. (We chose my wedding colors so that I could dry some of the flowers for my bridal bouquet.) My sister and I slept next to each other every night for two weeks like we were kids again.

My (in)Sisters and I were going to all be together the days after the funeral, but I couldn’t make it because it was all too fresh and so much still needed to be done. Still, they prayed for me and have encouraged me along the way, sitting with me in person and far away, helping me navigate through this unthinkable tragedy.

Friends, I feel like so many of my posts since November have been saying the same thing: I don’t know what God is doing, but He’s doing something. If you go back and read my other articles, you can see me trying to make sense of seemingly random heartaches. But now, on the other side, I can see so clearly how God has been protecting me.

If I hadn’t panicked, I wouldn’t have sought reinforcement before the storm began.

If I hadn’t lost my job, I wouldn’t have had the flexibility to go be with my family on the other side of the country as we buried my brother.

If we hadn’t decided to have a longer engagement, we would be getting married imminently, and my heart wouldn’t have been able to hold such raw grief as I walked down the aisle.

My brother loved Jesus. And he also struggled with a disease that claimed his life. In our last sober and clear hangout, we had lunch. He ordered way too much good food at a favorite Mexican restaurant and insisted on paying. My soon-to-be fiancé and I told him that we were planning to get married. He was thrilled and we lingered over good food and hopes for the future before going our separate ways.

The morning after he died, I texted my dad a common phrase I use: New Morning, New Mercies.

I was trying desperately to hold onto hope in the dark. I pulled up my camera roll and found an image I had snapped during that last meal together and zoomed in on my brother. He was wearing a sweatshirt with writing on it. I zoomed in and read, “New Morning, New Mercies.”

Lamentations 3:22-23 NIV states: “Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”

There are days when it feels like losing my brother will consume me. Like the world has stopped being good and beautiful. And then, I start counting the provisions of God in every season and every step of the way. He is near to the brokenhearted, and while it doesn’t make our hearts less broken, His nearness is comfort.

If you are still trying to make sense of the senseless, know that God’s mercies really are new. Keep going. You’re not alone.

 

Listen to Melissa’s devotion here or on the (in)courage podcast.

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