The Glass Does Not Have To Glow

The day is ending, and the weight of the smile you wore all afternoon is finally heavy enough to break your jaw. You curated a joy that no one else could feel, performing a lightness you do not possess, while inside the gathering dark feels like a room slowly filling with water.

But listen — the light does not ask you to manufacture it. It does not need your performance to exist.

In the silence of this evening, the Father runs to meet you not because you were bright, but because you are tired. You can put the mask down.

The exhaustion is not a failure of faith; it is the moment the performance stops and the real light begins to breathe. You were never meant to be the source.

You were only ever meant to be the window. The glass does not have to glow on its own.