The Light Withdraws to Breathe

The day has finally stopped moving. The noise of the world is fading into the quiet of your room, and a heavy thought is rising: if you close this door, you are pushing away the people who love you.

You feel guilty for needing the dark. But listen — the light itself withdrew to solitary places when the sun went down.

It did not leave because it was angry. It left because it needed to breathe.

Your retreat is not a rejection of them. It is the only way to keep from burning out.

You are not abandoning anyone by stepping into the silence. You are simply going to the room where the Father sees what is done in secret.

The love you fear you are losing is actually being refilled in the quiet. Close the door not to shut them out, but to let the light wash over you so you can love them again tomorrow.