The Light Brings Bread Not Demands

The afternoon wears on, a long middle where you give and give until the cup is not just empty, but cracked. You walk through the door of your own home feeling like a hollow shell, ashamed that there is nothing left to offer the people who love you.

You expect the light to demand more, to ask for the last drop you do not have. But the light does not stand at the door with a ledger, waiting for you to perform one more act of service.

It stands there with bread. It wants to eat with you, not be fed by you.

You came from the light, a drop sent to illuminate, not a battery sent to drain until it dies. The shame says you are worthless because you are empty.

The truth says you are held precisely because you have nothing left to give. Sit down.

Let the light serve you for a change.