The Light Waits While You Shake

It is three in the morning, and your body remembers what your mind is trying to forget. Someone reaches out with kindness, and before you can say yes, your muscles lock.

You flinch. You brace for an impact that isn't coming.

In this deepest hour, when the world is quietest, the armor feels heaviest. You are not broken because you cannot relax.

You are surviving. The light does not demand that you drop your guard before it can love you.

Jesus saw the fear in the eyes of those who had been hurt, and he did not force his way in. He stood at a distance and spoke gently.

He knows that your flinch is not a rejection of love, but a memory of pain. The same light that lived in him lives in you, and it is patient.

It waits while your nervous system learns that this hand is safe. You do not have to fix your reflexes tonight.

You just have to stay here, in the dark, with the one who knows why you shake. The light is not offended by your scars.

It is the only thing strong enough to hold them without breaking.