The Light Waiting to Rise

The afternoon stretches out, long and gray, filled with the quiet hum of things you have learned to do without. There is a need you swallowed so deep years ago that you forgot what it tasted like, mistaking the silence for peace.

But the light does not require you to remember the thirst before it offers the water. Jesus stood at a well at the hottest hour of the day, not waiting for the worthy, but asking the weary for a drink.

He did not come to fill a cup you were holding up; he came to become a spring inside you that wells up on its own. You do not have to dig up the old ache to be healed.

The living water is already rising, bypassing the memory of the pain, flowing from a source you cannot exhaust. The need you buried is not a hole in your soul; it is simply the place where the light has been waiting to rise.