The Hand That Holds You Steady

The hand on your shoulder feels like the beginning of the end, a gentle pressure that you are certain means you are about to be pushed out the door. You brace for the shove, for the fall, for the silence of being left outside in the cold.

But look at the one standing there. He did not come to push.

He came to see you. Before you even knew your own name, he saw you sitting under the fig tree, hidden in your fear.

The kingdom is not a place you are expelled from; it is inside you, right now, in the very breath you are holding. You do not have to earn your stay or prove you belong.

The light does not drive you out; it wakes you up to the fact that you were never alone to begin with. The hand is not there to push you away; it is there to hold you steady while the sun rises.