The Light Shines Because You Are Broken

The house is quiet now, but the weight you feel is loud. You dread the mirror because it asks you to wear a face that doesn't fit, to pretend the cracks aren't there before the day even begins.

But listen — the light does not require you to be whole before it shines. It shines precisely because you are broken.

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

He did not wait for the speech. He ran while the shame was still fresh.

That same love is running toward you right now, in this dark hour. You do not have to fix yourself to be seen.

The light sees the real you behind the mask, and it calls that version beloved. You are not a project to be completed before morning.

You are already held.