He Waits in Your Exhaustion

The engine is off, but the silence is loud. You sit in the dark driveway, rehearsing a version of yourself that can walk through the front door without making them worry.

You practice the smile. You test the tone of your voice.

You try to hide the shaking. But the light does not need your performance.

It sees you in this metal box, exhausted from the act. There is a story where a man carried a broken body for years, and the light asked him a strange question: 'Do you want to get well?' Not to shame him.

But to see if he was ready to stop pretending the lying down was normal. You do not have to fix yourself before you go inside.

The Father sees what is done in secret. He sees the tears you wiped away on the steering wheel.

He sees the effort it takes to stand up. You are not fooling Him with your mask.

And He is not disappointed by your fatigue. He is waiting in the quiet, right here in the passenger seat of your exhaustion.

You do not have to act normal to be loved. You just have to be real.