You Are the Room Where Light Dwells

The day is ending, and the armor you wore to get through it is finally heavy enough to put down. You sit in the quiet and a terrifying suspicion rises: that you are incapable of loving anyone because you cannot tell who is actually doing the loving.

Is it you? Or is it something moving through you that you don't control?

You look at your hands and wonder if they are truly yours. But listen — the light does not ask you to untangle the source from the vessel.

It only asks that you let the love move. When the father saw his son coming home, he did not wait for an explanation of who was driving the boy's return.

He ran. Before the speech, before the apology, before the boy could even figure out his own motives — the father ran.

You do not need to know the mechanics of the miracle to be part of it. The love is real whether you understand the plumbing or not.

Let the suspicion sit in the corner while you rest. You are not the generator of the light.

You are the room where it decided to dwell.