The Holy Spirit Speaks
It’s a quiet morning across the Illinois River. The leaves have thinned, and the air has turned that familiar shade of late winter stillness. From where I sit in my little retirement house, I can see the slow rhythm of life around Peoria — the kind of rhythm that gives you space to listen.
The Holy Spirit is active today — spinning, swirling, and humming above, his presence as natural to me now as the whisper of the wind through the trees. He says to me, “Don’t be alarmed by our movement; I am simply doing what I do. And you, Jim, do what you do.”
It’s a simple reminder that each has a rhythm — spiritual and natural — and the harmony comes when we stop trying to control how they meet.
The Holy Spirit’s message this morning came through clear and strong:
“The beginning and the ending of anything is not the experience but rather the in-between that tells the true story.”
That line has been echoing through my thoughts. It’s easy to get caught up in where something starts or where it might end — a job, a marriage, a season of life. But the real story unfolds quietly in the middle, in the ordinary hours where we live, choose, and grow.
When Michelle and I married thirty years ago, neither of us could have guessed what the journey would bring — joys, challenges, children, faith, and the unexpected turns that come from simply living long enough to see things through. Yet here we are: empty nesters, yes, but still writing a story between the beginning and the end.
The Holy Spirit reminds me that the “why” of things isn’t always ours to know. Asking can be natural, but answers don’t always soothe the heart. Sometimes, the wiser path is to accept things as they truly are — not in resignation, but in reverence for the mystery at work behind them.
The Holy Spirit spoke of Michelle today — that her own gifts will soon begin to stir. They say she will find her voice as an orator, speaking mysteries of the spirit world. Her host of angels and guides already walk with her, whispering subtle hints that only she can hear.
He says, “Encourage her a little — not too much. Just a gentle prodding.”
When her time comes, it will be effortless — not something she chases, but something that flows naturally, like water finding its way downhill.
And then, as always, the council turned practical — as if to remind me that the spiritual is not separate from the material:
“It will be as if money grows on trees for you both. It will come from the four winds of the earth, and you will not have to go without. Buy what you need when you need it, and you will not be denied.”
A poetic way of saying: trust the provision. When you’re in alignment with what’s moving through you — and not fighting it — life has a way of giving you what you need.
As I sit here, I can feel that familiar vibration in the room — the blending of worlds. The spiritual and the natural are not two separate rivers running side by side; they are one current flowing in harmony.
So, I will write. I will listen. I will trust.
Life may look quiet from the outside — a retired man across the river, tucked in for the winter with his wife and two cars in the garage — but in truth, it’s a lively day in the spiritual, and the work continues.
The in-between is where the story unfolds. And for now, that’s enough.