By: Alex J. Nagem © May 6, 2025
There once was a man who wandered far from the light. It was a slow, step-by-step variance. Each choice seemed small. Each compromise is justified. He convinced himself he was fine. Until the silence set in.
But it wasn’t true silence.
In the quiet of his heart, as the world’s noise faded, a whisper brushed his ear. It spoke not with judgment, but with a steady, persistent invitation. There was a tug in his chest. Then, a memory of a distant peace. Then, a sorrow he couldn’t explain.
It was the Holy Spirit.
Though he had sinned, wounding God and mankind, the Spirit did not abandon him. Like a shepherd searching for one of his sheep gone astray, the Spirit pursued with quiet urgency, not to condemn but to restore, heal, and bring him home.
In the darkness of regret, the weight of every mistake, every wound caused and carried, had brought him to his knees in broken honesty. Tearfully, he asks: “God, if You’re still there…”
And the Spirit answered, filling the hollow places in his soul. The places he had long believed were beyond repair. It touched every scar with purpose, every wound with gentleness.
He did not rise to his feet; no strength was found. The ground had become holy beneath him. His tears were no longer of despair, but of release. He was the prodigal son who had seen his Father running to him with open arms.
The Spirit’s words brought comfort: “You are still mine.”
No shame. No lectures. Just the embrace of mercy that is stronger than judgment, and love that runs deeper than ruin.
He stood slowly, as if learning how to walk again—not just with legs, but with hope. The weight wasn’t gone, but it was no longer his to carry alone. Each breath felt like a beginning.
The road ahead hadn’t changed; the consequences, the wounds, the mending still to be done—they remained. But something in him had shifted. Where despair had lived, purpose now stirred. Where shame had ruled, grace had built a throne.
He didn’t have all the answers. He didn’t need to.
Because the whisper was now a presence, and the presence was enough.
And though the scars remained, they no longer shamed him—they testified.
Testified to mercy that chased him into the pit, to love that refused to let go, to a God who met him not at his best, but at his lowest. Each step forward was a kind of worship—not loud, not perfect, but real.
He no longer feared the silence. He had learned that silence is where God speaks loudest.
The journey ahead would stretch far, marked by moments of weakness and the certainty of stumbling. Yet now, each fall would be met not with condemnation but with the steady, unfailing embrace of grace. Every doubt would rise into the silence, met not with explanations, but with the steady reassurance of His presence.
And so, with eyes lifted and heart steady, the man walked on—redeemed, reclaimed, and never alone.
Scripture:
“But the Counselor, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things, and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you. Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid. You heard me say to you, ‘I go away, and I will come to you.’ John 14:26.
From St. Josemaría Escrivá (Christ is Passing By, page 135):
“… because it is the Holy Spirit who, with his inspirations, gives a supernatural tone to our thoughts, desires, and actions. It is he who leads us to receive Christ’s teaching and to assimilate it in a profound way. It is he who gives us the light by which we perceive our personal calling and the strength to carry out all that God expects of us. If we are docile to the Holy Spirit, the image of Christ will be formed more and more fully in us, and we will be brought closer every day to God the Father. “For whoever are led by the Spirit of God, they are the children of God.”
Vocatus Atque Non Vocatus Deus Aderit
Alex J. Nagem