Fire Behind The Broken Glass

The afternoon sun is unforgiving. It exposes the gap between the body that cannot move and the person screaming to be seen inside it. You watch their eyes drop to your hands, your chair, your limitations, and the rage builds — silent, hot, suffocating. They offer pity, but you need presence. You need them to see the fire that still burns behind the broken glass.

There was a man, deaf and unable to speak, who was brought to the light. Jesus did not look at the disability and sigh with pity. He looked up to heaven, groaned deep in his spirit, and touched the very places that were closed. He did not treat the man as a problem to be solved. He treated him as a person to be opened.

The light does not pity you. It knows the difference between your vessel and your voice. When your loved ones look at your brokenness and see only the damage, they are missing the one thing that matters — the life that refuses to be extinguished. God is greater than their misunderstanding. God is greater than the verdict their eyes deliver.

You are not your injury. You are the light living inside it.