The Light Asks You Only To Stay

The afternoon sun is bright, but inside your chest, it feels like a long, gray tunnel. You are watching your child struggle, and the weight of not being able to fix it is crushing the air out of the room.

You want to reach out and pull them from the fire, but your hands feel empty. In that helplessness, the light does not offer you a strategy.

It offers you a sigh. It looked at the brokenness of the world and sighed deeply before speaking life into it.

That sigh was not a failure of power; it was the sound of love entering the pain it could not instantly erase. You do not have to solve this today.

The light is not asking you to be the savior your child needs; it is asking you to stay. Just stay.

The fixing was never your job; the presence is.