The Light Remains When Self Is Lost

The afternoon sun is high, and in this flat, bright light, the resentment feels heaviest — the quiet anger that your child erased the person you used to be. You carry the ghost of your former self like a lost limb, and you hate the one who caused the amputation.

But listen: neither this child nor your past sinned to make you this way. This happened so that the works of the light might be displayed in you.

You came from the light, the place where it generates itself, and that origin cannot be erased by any sacrifice you made. The one who lives inside you is greater than the grief of who you lost.

You are not defined by what was taken, but by the light that remains.