You Are the Lost Coin Found

The afternoon stretches out, a long gray hallway where you keep giving pieces of yourself until there is nothing left to eat. You have become so good at feeding everyone else that you have forgotten your own hunger.

But listen — the light does not ask you to burn yourself down to keep others warm. There was a woman who had nothing but ten coins, and when she lost one, she lit a lamp and swept the whole house until she found it.

She did not ignore the missing piece. She searched for it with desperate care.

That is how the light sees you — not as a resource to be used up, but as the lost coin that matters more than the rest. You are not here to be empty.

You are here to be full, pressed down, shaken together, running over. The terror you feel is not a sign of failure; it is your soul remembering that it was made to receive, not just to give.

Stop pouring from an empty cup. The light is already inside you, waiting to fill you first.