Holy Ground in the Driveway Silence

The engine clicks as it cools, and the silence rushes in to fill the space between the street and your door. You sit with your hands on the wheel, gathering the strength to wear the face everyone expects to see.

But the light does not need you to perform okayness before you come inside. It sees the exhaustion behind your eyes and calls it holy ground.

You do not have to fix your heart before you walk through that door. The Father is not waiting for a mask; he is waiting for you.

There is a peace that does not depend on your composure, a rest that is already sitting in the passenger seat. You are known completely, and you are loved exactly as you are in this quiet moment.

The light shines not because you are strong, but because it is the nature of light to be there.