Light Holding the Empty Space

The fluorescent hum at 4am is a lonely sound. You are standing in the aisle, staring at tiny socks, and your arms are aching from the weight of nothing they hold.

The emptiness feels physical, a hollow space that no amount of breathing can fill. But listen — the light does not require you to be full to be present.

It is here in the ache. It is here in the paralysis.

It is here in the grocery store aisle where the world keeps spinning while your heart has stopped. The Father's love is not a future promise of a filled nursery.

It is the quiet presence standing beside you right now, holding the space where your child would be. You do not have to move.

You do not have to choose. Just let the light hold the emptiness with you.

The socks are small, but the love that grieves them is vast enough to contain the whole night.