You Are Not Faking It, You Are Being Found

The house is quiet now, and that is when the accusation gets loud. It whispers that you are a fraud for still hoping, for still waiting for a dawn that feels like it will never come.

You feel like an imposter in your own faith, clinging to a light that seems to have forgotten your address. But there was a man lying beside a pool for thirty-eight years, watching others get well while he stayed stuck.

He didn't offer a perfect prayer. He offered an excuse.

And the light didn't scold him for his stagnation. It didn't demand he earn his way to the water first.

It simply asked: do you want to get well? Then it told him to stand up.

The hope you feel isn't a lie you're telling yourself. It is the voice of the one who sees you in your longest night and calls you to rise.

You are not faking it. You are being found.