Put the stones down tonight

The house is quiet now, and the only sound is the story you are telling yourself. You are rehearsing the past, pulling out old trophies like stones to prove you still matter, as if your worth is something you earned once and must now defend in the dark.

But the light does not ask for your resume. It does not need your history to know your value.

There was a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off. He did not wait for the speech.

He did not ask for a list of accomplishments. He ran.

Before the apology, before the justification — he ran. You are trying to earn what has already been given.

You are fighting for a seat at a table where your place was prepared before you were born. The story you are telling is heavy, and you do not have to carry it tonight.

Put the stones down. You are not what you have done.

You are the light that was there before you did anything at all.