The Verdict Overturned by Love
The afternoon light is flat and heavy, pressing down on the roof while you lie perfectly still, rehearsing every small stumble of the day. Your mind acts as a prosecutor, compiling a list of minor errors into a final verdict, convincing you that your worth is hanging by a thread.
But the light does not keep a ledger of your stumbles. It sees the child who is tired, not the record of mistakes.
The verdict you fear has already been overturned by a love that refuses to calculate. You are not being judged; you are being held.
Drawing from
Gospel of Thomas, Matthew
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