The Light Sees Your Shaking Hands

The candlelight flickers across the table, and for a second, their gaze locks onto yours. You feel the tremor starting in your fingers, so you clamp your hands together under the edge of the table, hiding the shake so they won't ask what's wrong.

You are working so hard to look like you are still here, when inside you are already gone. But the light sees the hands you are hiding.

It saw Nathanael under the fig tree before Philip ever called his name. It knows the tremor before it starts.

You do not have to perform wholeness for the light to love you. The mask is heavy, but you were never meant to wear it at the dinner table.

The shaking is not a failure of faith; it is the truth trying to get out. Stop holding your breath.

The one who sees you in the dark is not waiting for you to be steady. He is waiting for you to be real.