The Light Finds You in the Blankness

The afternoon sun is bright, but inside your head, the cursor blinks like a warning light on a dashboard you're trying to ignore. You type the truth.

You type the plea. You read it over five times, heart hammering against your ribs, convinced that if you hit send, the world will end.

So you backspace. Letter by letter.

Until the screen is blank again. Until the silence returns, heavy and suffocating.

You think you are hiding. You think you are protecting yourself by keeping the words inside.

But the light does not need your polished confession to find you. Jesus saw a man blind from birth and said it was not because of sin, but so the works of God might be displayed in him.

Your brokenness is not a disqualification; it is the canvas. The thing you are so afraid to show is the very place where the light wants to shine.

What you look forward to—freedom, relief, being known—has already come. You just haven't recognized it yet because you're staring at a blank screen instead of the open hand.