Resting in the Light When You Are Empty

The clock on the wall moves slower than the weight in your chest. You promised your child you would play later, build the fort, read the book.

But you already know the truth: when 'later' arrives, you will be empty. The day has taken everything you had to give.

You are performing endurance while dying inside. The light does not ask you to manufacture energy you do not possess.

It is not disappointed by your limits. There is a presence that lives in the middle of your exhaustion, quiet and steady.

You do not have to be strong for the light to stay. It was there before the promise, and it remains when you are too tired to keep it.

The middle is not where you prove your love. It is where you learn to rest in the love that holds you both.