The Second Toothbrush I Still Keep in the Cup by the Sink
The Second Toothbrush I Still Keep in the Cup by the Sink
RedeemedExistence daily devotional, October 12, 2026
My wife has been gone three years now, not from this life, just from this house, and I still keep her toothbrush standing in the cup by the sink next to mine. I have replaced my own twice since she left. Hers has gone soft and yellow at the bristles, and I know exactly how foolish that looks to anyone who opens that cabinet besides me, but I have never once reached in and thrown it away. It is such a small thing to hold onto, a two dollar piece of plastic, and some nights it is the only proof left in the house that somebody else used to stand exactly where I am standing now.
I am six years sober, and for a long time I told people the hardest part of getting clean was the shame. What nobody warned me about was the ache waiting on the other side of it, the one that shows up on a random Tuesday with nobody in the house to ask about my day, nobody's keys landing in the bowl by the door, nobody's coffee cup left half full on the counter but my own. I used to drink to drown out plenty of things. I am only now learning that loneliness was one of the quieter ones, patient enough to wait until I got sober to finally get my full attention.
Scripture does not pretend this ache is unusual or shameful to name out loud. The psalmist, in the middle of real trouble, says the exact sentence I have thought a hundred times standing at that bathroom sink. "Look on my right hand and see, For there is no one who acknowledges me; Refuge has failed me; No one cares for my soul" (Psalm 142:4, NKJV). He does not apologize for saying that to God. And before there was ever any sin in any garden to blame for anything, God Himself had already said something true about how we are built. "And the Lord God said, 'It is not good that man should be alone; I will make him a helper comparable to him'" (Genesis 2:18, NKJV). Loneliness is not some flaw in me that needs an extra measure of prayer before He will listen. It is a true thing about how I was made, aching exactly the way it should when the house empties out around me.
Here is where my own reasoning has never once filled that cup by the sink with anything but the same two toothbrushes. I can remind myself accurately that plenty of people have it harder than I do, that I have a good brother who calls most Sundays, that self pity never once sobered anybody up a single day sooner. Every sentence is true, and none of them has ever made that kitchen feel less quiet at nine at night. The ache was never a logic problem waiting on better math. David names where the only real fix has ever actually come from, and it is not a fuller calendar. "God sets the solitary in families; He brings out those who are bound into prosperity" (Psalm 68:6, NKJV). Setting is something done to the solitary, not something the solitary finally manages by trying harder to feel less alone.
This is exactly what abiding in the Spirit gives that my own management of this house has never been able to supply. David asks a question in the very next psalm that I have asked that same bathroom mirror more nights than I can count, and he answers it before he even finishes asking. "Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence? If I ascend into heaven, You are there; If I make my bed in hell, behold, You are there. If I take the wings of the morning, And dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, Even there Your hand shall lead me, And Your right hand shall hold me" (Psalm 139:7-10, NKJV). That reach is not poetry written for somebody else's trouble. It is a claim being made on this kitchen, this sink, this cup with two toothbrushes still standing in it. Isaiah hands me the same promise in a shorter shape for the nights the psalm feels too big to carry. "Fear not, for I am with you; Be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, Yes, I will help you, I will uphold you with My righteous right hand" (Isaiah 41:10, NKJV). And Jesus did not leave that promise back in somebody else's old covenant. He said it plainly to ordinary men right before He left them in the flesh. "Teaching them to observe all things that I have commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age" (Matthew 28:20, NKJV). Always, not most days, not only the days I remember to ask.
None of that arrives through sharper thinking on my part. It arrives through abiding, through staying close enough to actually receive what reasoning was never built to manufacture, a peace that does not depend on whether anybody else's keys ever land in that bowl by the door again. Paul names the one thing in all of creation that can never pry God's presence back out of a lonely house. "For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord" (Romans 8:38-39, NKJV).
I left her toothbrush right where it was again tonight. I do not know if I will ever throw it away, and I am starting to believe that is alright, that keeping it is not the same thing as refusing to heal. God is alive tonight, standing in that same quiet kitchen with you, and He already knows exactly which empty chair or empty cup or empty side of the bed you keep looking at before you turn off the light. He has a plan for you that was never contingent on somebody else's keys landing in that bowl by the door, and He has told you Himself, in His own words, that He is not going anywhere. "And lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age" (Matthew 28:20, NKJV). He never has, and He never will.
Scriptures used (NKJV): Psalm 142:4; Genesis 2:18; Psalm 68:6; Psalm 139:7-10; Isaiah 41:10; Matthew 28:20; Romans 8:38-39.
RedeemedExistence daily devotional, October 12, 2026
My wife has been gone three years now, not from this life, just from this house, and I still keep her toothbrush standing in the cup by the sink next to mine. I have replaced my own twice since she left. Hers has gone soft and yellow at the bristles, and I know exactly how foolish that looks to anyone who opens that cabinet besides me, but I have never once reached in and thrown it away. It is such a small thing to hold onto, a two dollar piece of plastic, and some nights it is the only proof left in the house that somebody else used to stand exactly where I am standing now.
I am six years sober, and for a long time I told people the hardest part of getting clean was the shame. What nobody warned me about was the ache waiting on the other side of it, the one that shows up on a random Tuesday with nobody in the house to ask about my day, nobody's keys landing in the bowl by the door, nobody's coffee cup left half full on the counter but my own. I used to drink to drown out plenty of things. I am only now learning that loneliness was one of the quieter ones, patient enough to wait until I got sober to finally get my full attention.
Scripture does not pretend this ache is unusual or shameful to name out loud. The psalmist, in the middle of real trouble, says the exact sentence I have thought a hundred times standing at that bathroom sink. "Look on my right hand and see, For there is no one who acknowledges me; Refuge has failed me; No one cares for my soul" (Psalm 142:4, NKJV). He does not apologize for saying that to God. And before there was ever any sin in any garden to blame for anything, God Himself had already said something true about how we are built. "And the Lord God said, 'It is not good that man should be alone; I will make him a helper comparable to him'" (Genesis 2:18, NKJV). Loneliness is not some flaw in me that needs an extra measure of prayer before He will listen. It is a true thing about how I was made, aching exactly the way it should when the house empties out around me.
Here is where my own reasoning has never once filled that cup by the sink with anything but the same two toothbrushes. I can remind myself accurately that plenty of people have it harder than I do, that I have a good brother who calls most Sundays, that self pity never once sobered anybody up a single day sooner. Every sentence is true, and none of them has ever made that kitchen feel less quiet at nine at night. The ache was never a logic problem waiting on better math. David names where the only real fix has ever actually come from, and it is not a fuller calendar. "God sets the solitary in families; He brings out those who are bound into prosperity" (Psalm 68:6, NKJV). Setting is something done to the solitary, not something the solitary finally manages by trying harder to feel less alone.
This is exactly what abiding in the Spirit gives that my own management of this house has never been able to supply. David asks a question in the very next psalm that I have asked that same bathroom mirror more nights than I can count, and he answers it before he even finishes asking. "Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence? If I ascend into heaven, You are there; If I make my bed in hell, behold, You are there. If I take the wings of the morning, And dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, Even there Your hand shall lead me, And Your right hand shall hold me" (Psalm 139:7-10, NKJV). That reach is not poetry written for somebody else's trouble. It is a claim being made on this kitchen, this sink, this cup with two toothbrushes still standing in it. Isaiah hands me the same promise in a shorter shape for the nights the psalm feels too big to carry. "Fear not, for I am with you; Be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, Yes, I will help you, I will uphold you with My righteous right hand" (Isaiah 41:10, NKJV). And Jesus did not leave that promise back in somebody else's old covenant. He said it plainly to ordinary men right before He left them in the flesh. "Teaching them to observe all things that I have commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age" (Matthew 28:20, NKJV). Always, not most days, not only the days I remember to ask.
None of that arrives through sharper thinking on my part. It arrives through abiding, through staying close enough to actually receive what reasoning was never built to manufacture, a peace that does not depend on whether anybody else's keys ever land in that bowl by the door again. Paul names the one thing in all of creation that can never pry God's presence back out of a lonely house. "For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord" (Romans 8:38-39, NKJV).
I left her toothbrush right where it was again tonight. I do not know if I will ever throw it away, and I am starting to believe that is alright, that keeping it is not the same thing as refusing to heal. God is alive tonight, standing in that same quiet kitchen with you, and He already knows exactly which empty chair or empty cup or empty side of the bed you keep looking at before you turn off the light. He has a plan for you that was never contingent on somebody else's keys landing in that bowl by the door, and He has told you Himself, in His own words, that He is not going anywhere. "And lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age" (Matthew 28:20, NKJV). He never has, and He never will.
Scriptures used (NKJV): Psalm 142:4; Genesis 2:18; Psalm 68:6; Psalm 139:7-10; Isaiah 41:10; Matthew 28:20; Romans 8:38-39.
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