Light Spills Across Your Emptiness

The 'amen' hangs in the air, and then comes the long walk back to your seat. You feel exposed, as if everyone can see the hollow space inside your chest where the words just came from.

You worry they see the gap between your prayer and your pain. But look—the sun is rising anyway.

The light does not wait for you to be full before it touches you. It spills across the floor, indifferent to your performance, warming the very emptiness you are trying to hide.

You are not a vessel that must be filled to be useful; you are a window that is clear because it is empty. The light passes right through the hollow place, making it a path rather than a pit.

The morning does not judge the night for being dark; it simply arrives to hold it.