“Jesus, I still trust You.”

Sometimes the greatest testimony of faith is not saying, “I’m okay.”

Sometimes it is simply whispering through the tears:

“Jesus, I still trust You.”

Last night, I lost my brother. 

Even writing those words feels impossible.

“The LORD is near to the brokenhearted,  And saves those who are crushed in spirit.”   Psalm 34:18

For a year, we watched him fight glioblastoma. We prayed. We hoped. We believed. We celebrated the good days, held our breath through the hard ones, and kept asking God for more time. And then last night, the fight ended. My brother went home.

Today my heart is broken in ways I did not even know a heart could break. He wasn’t just my brother. He was my big brother. He was the one I looked up to. The one I could call when life got complicated. The one I could sit down with and talk about the big things, the things you don’t talk about with just anybody. Life. Faith. Family. Decisions. Questions. The things that keep you awake at night. There is something about a big brother that makes you feel like a piece of your history is standing beside you. He knew where I came from because he came from there too. He knew the stories. He knew the people. He knew the road that brought us here. And now there is an empty place where his voice used to be.

He Walked by Faith

One of the greatest gifts my brother leaves behind is the way he lived. He walked by faith. Not a faith that existed only when life was easy. Not a faith that disappeared when the diagnosis came. But the kind of faith that keeps walking when the road becomes frightening. The kind of faith Scripture talks about when it says:

“For we walk by faith, not by sight.”   2 Corinthians 5:7

For the last year, there were so many things we could not see. We could not see what tomorrow would bring. We could not see how much time we had. We could not see why this terrible disease had entered our family. And I still cannot see why God allowed this chapter to end the way it did. But my brother kept walking. And somewhere along the way, his walk became a testimony.

A Life That Reached Far Beyond Our Family

My brother was a mentor to so many students. That is part of what makes his life so beautiful to me. He didn’t simply live for himself. He poured into people. He encouraged young people. He taught them. He believed in them. He showed them things about life that probably had very little to do with a textbook. And I have been thinking about how incredible that really is.

When we leave this earth, our influence does not leave with us. A teacher lives on in the lessons students remember. A mentor lives on in the courage someone gained because he believed in them. A brother lives on in the memories his family will tell over and over again.

A man of faith lives on every time someone says, “I watched the way he lived, and it made me want to live differently.” That is legacy. Not money. Not possessions. Not titles. People. Lives touched. Seeds planted. Faith demonstrated. Love given. My brother planted a lot of seeds. And I believe there will be people walking through this world for decades to come who are stronger, wiser, kinder, or more confident because at some point my brother crossed their path.

Faith Does Not Make This Hurt Less

Sometimes Christians feel like we have to be strong when someone dies. We know where our loved one is. We know the promises of God. We believe in Heaven. So somewhere along the way we convince ourselves that maybe we should not hurt quite so badly. But grief and faith can live in the same heart. Jesus Himself wept. When Lazarus died, Jesus knew exactly what was about to happen. He knew resurrection was coming. 

And still:

“Jesus wept.”   John 11:35

Those two words mean more to me today than they ever have before. Jesus understands tears. He understands loss. He understands the moment when your heart knows what Scripture says but your arms still ache for the person who is gone.

Today I know my brother is with Jesus. And today I am devastated that he is not here with me. Both things are true. I have hope. And I have heartbreak. I have faith. And I have tears.

Some Losses That Change You

I have walked through hard things before. I have known loss. I have known fear. I have known moments when life changed in ways I never expected. But losing my big brother feels different. There is a place inside me today that feels empty. There are conversations I already know I will want to have with him. Questions I will want to ask. Stories I will want to tell. Moments when I will instinctively think, I need to talk to my brother about this. And then I will remember. That may be one of the hardest parts of grief. The world keeps moving while part of you is standing still, trying to understand how someone who has always been part of your life is suddenly no longer physically here.

Cancer took so much from my brother during this past year. But there are things cancer could never take. It could not take his faith. It could not erase the lives he touched. It could not undo the years he spent investing in students. It could not change the fact that he was loved. And ultimately, it could not take away the promise he had in Christ. 

Jesus said:

“I am the resurrection and the life; the one who believes in Me will live, even if he dies.”   John 11:25

That is the promise I am holding onto today. Last night, my brother’s earthly fight ended. But his story did not. For those of us who belong to Christ, death does not get the final word. Jesus does.

Faith Looks Different in Grief

Today, faith does not look like having all the answers. It does not look like pretending I am okay. It does not mean I understand God’s timing. 

Today faith looks like this: 

God, my heart is broken, but I still trust You.

God, I don’t understand, but I still believe You are good.

God, I wish You had given us more time, but I am thankful for every year You gave us.

God, I cannot carry this grief by myself, so You are going to have to carry me.

That is what faith really is. Not standing strong because we are strong. But leaning completely into the One who is.

“God is our refuge and strength,  A very ready help in trouble.”  Psalm 46:1

My brother finished his race. He fought his battle. He kept his faith.

And although I would give almost anything for one more conversation, one more laugh, one more ordinary day with my big brother, I know this goodbye is not forever. There will come a day when there are no hospital rooms. No cancer. No medications. No suffering. No final breaths. No funerals. No goodbyes.

Revelation gives us this beautiful promise:

“And He will wipe away every tear from their eyes; and there will no longer be any death; there will no longer be any mourning, or crying, or pain.”   Revelation 21:4

I have read that verse many times. Today I need it. Today it is not simply a beautiful Bible verse. It is a promise I am clinging to with both hands. Because last night I lost my brother. My big brother. My mentor in ways he probably never even realized. The one I looked up to. The one I talked to about the big things. And today my heart is shattered. But underneath all these broken pieces is still faith. Small today. Trembling perhaps. Covered in tears. But still there. 

And maybe for today, that is enough. I will grieve. I will cry. I will remember. I will tell his stories. I will thank God for giving me the privilege of being his little sister. And I will trust that the same Jesus who carried my brother home will carry me through the days ahead. Until someday, when faith becomes sight, and I see my big brother again.

Lord,

I don’t have beautiful words today.

My heart hurts.

Thank You for giving me my brother. Thank You for every year, every conversation, every laugh, every lesson, and every memory.

Thank You for the lives he touched and the students he encouraged and mentored along the way. Let the seeds he planted continue growing long after his earthly life has ended.

Lord, I don’t understand why cancer continues to claim part of our family’s story. I don’t understand why his time here had to end.

But I know You loved him even more than we did.

Thank You for walking with him through this past year.

Thank You for giving him faith for the journey.

And thank You that his suffering is over.

Now, Father, I need You to walk with those of us who remain.

Be close when the house feels too quiet.

Be near when the memories come unexpectedly.

Hold us when grief hits so suddenly that we cannot find the words.

Remind us that tears are not evidence of weak faith. They are evidence of deep love.

Help me honor my brother by remembering the way he lived, the faith he carried, and the lives he touched.

And until the day I see him again, help me keep walking by faith too.

Carry my broken heart, Lord.

I don’t know how to do this without You.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.