You Are the Hand That Holds You
The cup sits on the table, ordinary and still, but your hand will not do what you ask it to do. You reach, and the tremor begins—a betrayal written in muscle and nerve that no longer obeys the command of your will.
In the gathering dark, this failure feels like the whole story, as if the shaking is the only truth left. But there is a bruised reed the light will not break, and a smoldering wick it will not snuff out, no matter how much your own strength fails.
The light does not require your grip to be steady; it only requires your presence. You are not the tremor.
You are the hand that holds you, even when the fingers will not close.
Drawing from
Matthew 12:20, Matthew 11:28-30
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