Held in the Dark So You Need Not Hold Yourself

The afternoon stretches out, a long gray hallway where your prayers feel like words hitting a ceiling you built yourself. You worry that this numbness is your fault—a silent, steady rejection of the light.

But listen: the ceiling is not real. It is a trick of the dust, a shadow cast by the exhaustion of carrying so much for so long.

There was a moment in a garden, before the end, when the light itself fell to the ground and whispered, 'My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death.' It did not run from the heaviness. It lay down in it.

And in that same spirit, you are told: 'Do not weep and do not grieve nor be irresolute, for his grace will be entirely with you.' Your silence is not a wall. It is the space where the grace is working without your permission.

You are not pushing God away by feeling nothing. You are being held in the dark so you do not have to hold yourself.