The Light Lives in the Trembling

The afternoon light is harsh, exposing every crack in the mask you wear for your child. You catch yourself rehearsing a lie about your own certainty so they won't see you shaking.

You perform stability because you are terrified that if they see your fear, their world will collapse. But the light does not require a perfect parent.

It requires a present one. Jesus walked the earth not as a statue of calm, but as a man who wept, who sighed, who asked for the cup to pass.

The light lives in the trembling, not just in the steady hand. Your child does not need you to be unbreakable.

They need to see that even when you shake, the light holds you. The truth is not that you have no fear.

The truth is that you are loved in the middle of it.