The Dawn Breaking Inside Your Chest

The fear hits hard at this hour: the quiet certainty that joy is gone forever unless you reach for the thing that numbed you. That the light inside has been extinguished by your own hands.

But listen — the darkness you feel right now is not the absence of light. It is the withdrawal of the fog.

There was a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off, still covered in the filth of the pig pen. He did not wait for the boy to clean up.

He ran. Before the apology, before the speech — he ran.

The joy you are missing is not locked behind a substance. It is buried under the ash, waiting for the wind to blow.

The light that lived in Jesus lives in you — it was there before the first use, and it is here now, in this crushing silence. You do not have to manufacture excitement.

You only have to stop hiding the spark that never went out. The night is long, but the dawn is already breaking inside your chest.